


Inevitable

by Mhalachai



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, F/M, M/M, Necromancy, Other, Vampires, Wizarding World, Zombies, canon-divergent, lost and found family, lycanthropy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-02
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 04:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 80
Words: 494,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1374466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A late-night run-in with werewolves in the woods outside St. Louis dumps Harry Potter into a whole new world of trouble. Now Anita Blake has to deal with a new charge as well as Death-Eaters come to town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you go down to the woods today...

**Author's Note:**

> Started in 2005 and finished last week (in 2014), posted elsewhere in pieces until now.
> 
> Set almost a year after Incubus Dreams and canon-divergent from there. Set in the summer between Harry's sixth and seventh year at school. This was written before _Half-Blood Prince_ came out, so we're AU from that, but including a few details from that book.

* * *

I was angry at Richard. Again. You'd think this would no longer be news.

I jerked open the door of my Jeep, still angry, keen on getting the hell away from the lupanar. It never ceased to amaze me how, after all this time, after all we had been through, Richard could still make biting little comments that dug under my skin. Tonight it had been yet another offhand comment, something dismissive about the dirty work I did for the pack as Bolverk. This after the man himself had called me to take care of a messy problem because he did not want to get his hands dirty.

I hadn't said anything at the time, because really, who want to get into a pissing match with the wolf king, the Ulfric, on the night of the full moon? So I bit my lip, gripped my gun even tighter, and counted weresheep.

At least I hadn't been the only one to pick up on the comment. Sylvie, Richard's Geri, his second, had glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, wondering how I would react. Shang-da, the Hati, protector of the king, had shuffled his feet the tiniest bit. If I hadn't known better, I would have said he was restless, standing there in the dirt in his dress shoes, but his movement had put him a bit more between Richard and I.

The little meeting wrapped up just before dusk fell and the rest of pack started to arrive. I bailed, not wanting some bad little werewolf to mistake me for food just after the change. The trek back to my car lessened my level of tension a bit, but not enough. I wasn't annoyed any longer, I was just mad. At Richard, at myself, at everything. But anger is my friend, and I could wrap it up in a little ball inside me for later.

By the time I backed my Jeep out of the clearing and onto the road, the sun was gone and the moon was up, rising large and full over the road. I had the windows open and the warm summer wind blew my hair around as I drove. From the woods, I heard a howl, then another. The pack was hunting.

A few minutes later, just before the turn-off, a wave of alarm swept over my body, so strong I almost drove off the road. I slammed the brakes on and pulled the car over to the shoulder before I veered into a tree. Another wave of alarm, this one mixed with a tinge of hunger. It took me a second to realize I was feeling Richard's emotions. With that thought, I could see out of Richard's eyes, along for the ride.

The pack was hunting, but the prey this time was not deer. A human was running in front of a few of the wolves, three huge wolves. Richard ran after them, his thoughts still human enough to know that he did not want to kill the boy. Richard came level with one of the wolves and slammed his fist into its head. As his fist knocked the wolf to the ground, I realized that Richard was in wolfman form.

Another of the wolves stumbled, but in the confusion, the third sprang and landed on the human. They went down in a pile of fur and flesh and the boy screamed. Richard was on them, grabbing the wolf's mouth and pulling it back as hard as he could, wrestling with the animal. Claws flashed out, slicing against wolf and human flesh. More screaming, but Richard didn't have the time for this. More wolves had caught the scent of the hunt and were coming.

Richard finally tore the wolf free and flung it hard into a tree. The human rolled to his feet and pointed a stick at Richard. Richard snarled, fighting the urge to go for the boy's throat, then yelled at him, "Run!"

The boy paused, then turned and ran. Richard stood still, crouched, then thought at me, _he's going to come out of the woods near the turn-off to Freeman road_. Then my double vision stopped and I was staring at the road, gasping, a death-grip on the steering wheel.

What the fuck was that? When in doubt, pretend that the crazy metaphysical shit was just another day at the office. I slipped the car into gear and floored it. The turn-off Richard mentioned was only a few minutes away. If I wanted to get the kid out of the werewolf-filled woods before he got himself munched on for real, I'd have to hurry.

I slowed a bit as I approached the turn-off, scanning the woods. Then, just ahead of my car, the boy tore out of the trees and ran to the side of the road. I slammed my brakes on and leaned over to get closer to the passenger-side window.

"Get in!" I shouted at the kid. He looked at me in the moonlight, startled, glasses slightly askew. "Damn it," I yelled when he didn't move. "In another minute those wolves are going to be out of the woods and eating you. Would you please get in the fucking car?"

Maybe it was the please, but the kid finally ran over. He fumbled a bit with the door handle and it took him two tries to climb into the car. Once the door was shut, I slammed on the gas pedal. The kid was flung backward into the seat and stayed there, gasping.

I concentrated on driving for a few minutes, putting distance between us and the hungry wolves. The kid concentrated on his breathing.

"Put your seatbelt on," I said after a few minutes. He turned his head and looked at me blankly with big glassy eyes. Damn. I tried again. "Look, put your seatbelt on. If something happens, you won't like the trip through the windshield."

He started to fumble with the seatbelt, like he had with the car door, but eventually he got the buckle fastened. I kept both eyes on the road, but occasionally glanced over at the kid. Not really a kid, I thought. He wasn't very tall, but he was lanky. Even folded into the passenger seat of the Jeep, I could tell he was taller than me, which wasn't really that unusual, but he didn't look any older than eighteen. His hair was black in the light from the occasional street light, and he had on a pair of glasses with thick black frames.

He didn't say anything, but as we turned onto Carnell, he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. I could probably draw my gun in the space of time for him to try anything, but then again, drawing a gun from a sitting position really sucked.

"Aren't... aren't you going to ask me my name?" the kid finally asked. His oh-so-refined British accent couldn't mask the apprehension in his voice.

"No, I'm not. And I'm also not going to ask you why you were in the middle of a forest on the night of a full moon until after I have had a chance to look at whatever wounds you may have," I replied. I wanted to get him out of the car as soon as it was safe. Whatever injuries the boy had needed to be cleaned and I didn't want to do this in the enclosed space of my car. After all, I'd never met the kid.

"Oh," the boy replied, as though I had confused him. Him and me both.

Finally, we pulled into our destination, a gas station just off the Martin overpass. I stopped the car next to the phone booths, where the overhead light fell in a yellow swath through the window, casting the boy in sepia tones. I killed the engine and leaned back in my seat, drawing my gun as I did so and putting it between my leg and the door, hidden from the boy's view. He didn't seem to notice; he was staring at his hands. There was either dirt or blood rubbed into his fingers.

"My name's Anita," I said softly. The boy turned his head, slowly, like he was caught in a dream. After the hour he'd just had, it was probably more like a nightmare.

"What's going to happen to me?" he asked. He didn't sound scared, like I would expect from someone who had just been clawed by a werewolf. He sounded resigned, like this sort of stuff was old hat. It made me frown, and I put my thumb on the safety of my gun. Just in case.

"We should clean up those wounds of yours, then get you home." I undid my seatbelt with my free right hand and wormed the belt over my left hand, gun and all, without exposing the Browning.

"Home," he said under his breath, to himself. I heard him draw a breath, and he straightened his back, turned to look at me full on. "How did you know I was hurt?" he asked, apprehension in every movement. The outside light fell across his face, highlighting an old scar on his forehead.

I sighed. I'd had enough of this. I opened my door and slid out of the car sideways, then walked around to the back to get the first-aid kit Micah had bought me, the one with lots of odds and ends to clean up cuts and claw marks. Funny how often I used it these days. I tucked the gun into the back of my jeans so I could have both hands free, hoping that no one in the gas station saw it. People had a tendency to call the cops when they saw someone with a gun.

First-aid kit in hand, I rounded the car. The kid was still belted into the passenger seat. I opened the door. "Would you like me to take you to an emergency room instead?" I asked. If he said yes, I'd do it and wash my hands of the kid, but having it on your medical record that you've been clawed up by a lycanthrope made life difficult, especially for international visitors. There had been a case a few months ago in California where a tourist from Russia had been clawed up by a werewolf and it had made the papers, causing quite the international incident. The Russians didn't want him back and the American government kept trying to deport him. Last I heard, he was still in L.A., waiting for the debacle to be sorted out.

The boy must have been thinking along similar lines, for he shook his head. He licked his lips and started to speak, then stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "It's my shoulder. The right one."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. It took a bit more waiting, but he eventually undid the seatbelt and moved around enough for me to see the wound. Three claw marks rode up and over his shoulder, and from the angle of the wounds, I knew it must have been Richard's hand that had injured the boy, not the fully formed wolf that had jumped the kid. Shit.

I kept that cheery thought to myself. "Would you like me to clean that up, or do you want to do it?" I started to put on a pair of latex gloves before he answered.

"Maybe you ought to do it," the boy said. "I might miss something." It sounded as though it had cost the boy something to make an admission that he needed help. It made me knock a few more months off my estimate of his age.

"This is going to hurt," I warned him as I moved him around to face away from me. If he hit out, I wanted it aimed away from the general direction of my torso.

"It usually does," he replied. An interesting way of looking at things. I picked up the spray sanitizer and a gauze pad. When I sprayed the liquid onto his shoulder, he hissed and tensed, but didn't punch or swear. It took me a good ten minutes to clean the more obvious bits of dirt and fabric out of the wound. A small pile of bloody gauze pads lay on the floor of the Jeep when I was done, but the kid's shoulder was patched up and covered against the air. None of the wounds were deep enough to need stitches, but that wasn't the danger. No, the danger had been festering since Richard's claws bit into his skin.

I took the pile of bloody fabric, wrapped it in a plastic bag from under the seat and walked it over to a trash can, leaving the boy to collect himself. On the way back to the car, I put the gun back up into my holster. No matter what they do in movies, it is never comfortable to have a gun anywhere on your person unless it's holstered, and even then it's open for interpretation.

I got back into the driver's seat. "Now what?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I take you home? Someone must be worried about you," I said, frowning. The boy closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat rest.

"Probably not."

"What, you have a late curfew? Mom and Dad not going to worry until midnight or something?" I asked. I was in no mood to deal with the typical teenage angst right now.

He squared his shoulders and barely winced against the pain. He stared out the windshield, very careful not to look at me. "My parents are dead. My guardians... they won't worry."

Okay, maybe different from the typical teen angst. "Do you have somewhere I can drop you?" 

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "If you're going past the Central Hotel, then you can leave me there, if we'd be there before eleven."

"Hotels don't have a curfew, kid," I said as I started the Jeep. "What, your guardians won't let you in after eleven?" I said it as a joke, but he didn't take it as one.

"As a matter of fact, yes," he said, starting to show a bit of anger in his voice. "Look, thank you very much for saving me from the w... the woods, and helping me and all that, but if we can't get to the hotel by eleven, then just drop me somewhere and carry on with your evening." He glared at me, eyes blazing, as if daring me to kick him out of the car. His attitude made me think that he'd been kicked often, if not literally then figuratively.

I looked back at him steadily, one hand on the gearshift and one on the wheel. I wondered why he had faltered on saying werewolf. I also wondered what kind of relationship he had with his guardians that they told him they'd leave him outside for the night. It was 10:48, and there was no way I could get to the hotel by eleven; it was across town. And hey, if I had been clawed up by a were-anything when I was a teenager, I might not have wanted to go home either.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. He hesitated, then nodded, lips pressed together. "Okay, I know this all-night diner. Do you want to go get something? We can hang out for a bit, talk." I really had no idea what possessed me.

Okay, yes I did. I was feeling guilty. Because Richard had infected the kid, maybe, and I knew it was going to eat him up alive tomorrow. The kid also reminded me a bit of my brother Josh. Josh couldn't be more than a year older than this kid.

"Yeah, that sounds good," the boy said, quietly. I put the car in gear and got back onto the freeway. "And I'm not a kid," came out, quietly, as I merged into traffic. I smiled.


	2. Follow The Yellow Brick Road

* * *

There was a spare shirt that the kid put on, one I had found in the backseat. It was Asher's, and I so did not want to go into why I was finding Asher's clothing crumpled in my car. The shirt covered the bandages and almost made the kid look presentable. His pants were scruffy, well-worn and way too big, but his shoes looked like they had been rather pricey before the jaunt into the woods.

We were halfway across the parking lot when my cell phone rang. The kid looked at me curiously as I struggled to get the thing out of my jacket pocket. The screen on the device told me that it was someone at the Circus of the Damned. "Hello?" I said into the phone, turning slightly to get a bit of privacy.

"Are you all right, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked, his voice like warm velvet even over the phone.

I shrugged, even knowing he couldn't see it. "Yeah, it's all good. What's up?" What I mean was, why was he calling. He usually left me alone on the night of the full moon, because more often than not I was buried in problems up to my ass. Like tonight.

He was quiet for a second. "Earlier this evening, our Richard had... how do I say it?" 

I understood. He was talking about the projection of the little hunt disaster. "You don't have to. It's all under control."

"Am I to understand that you are still with the little lamb?" There was a hint of something in Jean-Claude's voice.

It took me a second to clue into what he was talking about. "Yeah, it's time to get a bite to eat." I didn't feel like going into detail, and especially not giving up names.

Jean Claude sighed, the way he did when he was exasperated with me. I'd been hearing that a lot recently. "I take it that you do not need any of us to attend you?" Which was his way of asking if I needed any protection. Geeze, I appreciated the chivalry, but it was only a kid.

I smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "I'll be fine. You know me, tough as nails." 

"I know, ma petite." He paused. "You will call me if you need any help?"

"Of course," I said. His idea of when I needed help and my idea of when I needed help often did not mesh, but he was trying. "I'll call you later."

"And I will await the sound of your voice with eager anticipation," he said, lingering over the last word with almost obscene suggestion. My breath caught in my throat, even though I shouldn't be surprised anymore when he did this. It made me want to drive to the Circus and crawl into bed with him and stay there, doing wicked little things with him, until the sun stole his soul away for the day.

He laughed, and I realized that I was visualizing things for him through the marks. "You do that," I snapped, and hung up on him while he was laughing. I could feel his amusement still and knew that he would be keeping the marks open so that he would know if anything came up.

I turned back to the kid. He was standing a few feet away from me, head cocked to one side, a curious expression on his face. I let my breath out in a hiss. "So. Inside?" I asked.

He nodded and waited until I was next to him to make for the restaurant, although calling it a restaurant was a bit generous. It was an all-night diner that was frequented by cops and dock workers, so you knew the food was cheap, greasy and good. Best of all, free refills on coffee.

A small bell tinkled when I opened the door and stood aside to let the kid precede me. I walked the length of the place to a booth where I could keep an eye on the door and on the parking lot through the window, even though the place was pretty much deserted, and sat down. The kid followed and slid gingerly into the booth facing me, wincing as his back hit the edge of the seatback.

I stared at him in the glare of the florescent lights while I wanted for the waitress to come over with coffee and menus. His hair wasn't as dark as I originally thought, a deep brown instead of black, that looked like it had been cut with lawn shears. He was pale, with the beginning hint of a tan, as though he had been hiding from the sun until recently. His face was thin, with his cheekbones a hint too prominent for natural thinness. The most striking feature was his deep emerald green eyes, so strangely familiar that I found myself staring. Where had I seen those eyes before?

He was more circumspect in his examination of me, glancing at me, then away, then back. His hands were on the tabletop and he clenched his fists, then twined his fingers, then smoothed his hands over the table. He repeated this a few times before I sighed.

He froze, then opened his mouth to say something, but jumped when the waitress came up behind him. She had threaded two coffee cups on the fingers of her left hand, which also held two menus and utensils.

"Nice to see ya, marshal," she said, winking at me as she said it. Oh, it was a great joke in here that I, federal marshal and vampire executioner extraordinaire, would frequent the place. Luckily for me, they either glossed over the point or simply didn't care that I was also the Master of the City's sweetie. The attitude was reinforced a few months ago when RPIT and I had obliterated (oh, sorry, removed from a state of danger to the public) a rampaging demi-demon down on the docks.

"We'll have you some fresh java made in just a minutes. We didn't expect you in tonight," she said as she plunked down the empty cups. The boy stared unseeing at his cup, then his brain started working and he opened his mouth to protest.

"Oh, no, I haven't any money," he said, a bit frantic. Why is it the minor things that set us off when we're ass-deep in trouble?

"Hey," I said, cutting him off, "My invite, my pay." He looked a bit lost, but nodded. He was actually skittish, I realized. I was forcibly reminded of Stephen, and I had to swallow my growing unease. What kind of guardians won't let a kid, even one who was almost an adult, back into a hotel after eleven, or make sure the kid has money when wandering through an unfamiliar city, or make sure he's not out running through woods under a freaking full moon? Forget unease, I was barrelling right toward anger.

The waitress told us what the specials were, then left us in peace. I flicked through the menu, letting the kid compose himself while I thought about getting a burger, then settled on a sandwich.

The waitress returned with the coffee and to take our orders (the kid ordered a burger and chips, which I thought was an odd combination) and once again left us in silence. In the back of my mind I could feel the brush of Jean-Claude's presence, a reassurance for myself as much as him, and a thin thread of rushing blood and movement as Richard hunted with his pack. I held my connections to them loosely but securely as I often did, these days.

"Marshal," the kid said, "Is that your name? Anita Marshal?"

I gave him a blank look. "What are you talking about?"

"The waitress, she called you 'marshal,' and you said in the car that your name was Anita," he explained, firm in his interpretation of the night. Anything to prevent thinking about his shoulder and what may happen in a month from now, I suppose.

"No, it's not. Anita's my first name, but the last name's Blake. The waitress," What was her name again? "Clarice called me 'marshal' because I am. One, I mean." I may have made the sentence more grammatically correct, but that was more effort that I wanted to make.

"Oh, I see," the kid said. "So Marshal was your maiden name?"

I almost laughed. Now I understood what he was driving at. "No, I'm not married. I'm a federal marshal," I said as I pulled my badge out of my pocket and flipped it open on the table.

His eyes went wide and he bent over the badge. "Wicked," he breathed. "Is that why you had a gun in the car and a first-aid kit in the back?"

So much for being discreet. "Uh huh," I answered, and it was not a total lie. "I need to stop calling you kid. You ready to give me a name?"

You would have thought I had told him I was going to push him into traffic, the way he drew back and put his hands on the table. I found it odd that he hadn't reacted like this when I told him I was a cop, basically, but only when I asked his name. Nothing illegal, then, but just not wanting people to know his name? I cast another malicious thought at his absent guardians.

Just as I thought he wasn't going to answer, he said, carefully in his charming accent, "Harry. My name is Harry."

Hey, it was a start. "It's nice to meet you, Harry," I said formally and held out my hand. He seemed to see something in my reaction, or lack thereof, to his name, and reached up to shake my hand.

The second his skin touched mine, I knew I had completely misread him. When his fingers closed around mine, I felt power; raw, clean power. I gasped and pulled my hand away. He was staring at me with wide eyes.

"What are you?" I demanded, just as he said, "What did you do?"

Quickly, I pieced it together. "You're a witch," I breathed, low. The magic on his skin felt like a cool drink of water in the forest on a hot day, green and pure and clear. It wasn't death magic, the stillness that I held in me, but life. He reminded me of Marianne, the vargamour of the werewolf pack in Tennessee. But Marianne had never been so powerful, had never carried so much power under her skin.

"Wizard, actually," he said under his breath. "What are you?"

I shrugged as I answered him. "I'm an animator." It was refreshing talking with someone who didn't know what I was on sight.

"What the bloody hell does drawing have to do with this?" he demanded, as if I was making fun of him.

"Animator, not an animation artist. You know, animator?" He was still staring at me blankly. "Vaundun?" Nothing. "Necromancer?"

He jerked back in the booth at that last, banging his bad shoulder into the booth back, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes were open very, very wide behind his ridiculous glasses.

Okay, so he knew necromancer but not animator. I wasn't all that up to date on the European branch of the business, but I did know that of all the European countries, England probably had the most lax regulations on raising the dead. I hoped this meant that he wouldn't do anything stupid.

His mouth started working, but he couldn't get any words out. It reminded me of that scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and the Scarecrow oil up the Tin Woodman's mouth for the first time, and it wasn't at all amusing. I sat still, hands on the table in front of me. After feeling what kind of power Harry was exuding with a simple touch, I didn't want to see what he might do if threatened.

Finally, he stopped flapping his jaw and swallowed a few times. "How interesting," was all he said.

He wasn't fooling anyone, except maybe himself. He was spooked. "Do you have a problem with animators, Harry?" I asked. My voice was cold.

I wasn't expecting him to say yes. The kid had offered me maybe two words of honesty all night, but he surprised me by saying, "As a matter of fact, I do."

"What happened?" I was curious for a couple of reasons. First, some people tar all animators with the same brush and I did not want to be dealing with someone else's mess. The other reason was that I was, as always, curious. You know the old saying about curiosity and cats. Especially were-cats.

The kid glanced around, and seemed to realize for the first time that he was sitting with his back to the door. He swung half around in his seat, putting his wounded shoulder to the back of the booth. "It was a couple of years ago, now." He stopped and gulped at his tepid coffee.

Gradually, the story came out. Harry told me that a few years ago at his school, someone had tried to kill him, but first used a spell or something to reform the body of a man who was existing in shadow form. He described the spell in detail, in an almost morbid fashion. The surrogate for the spell used the bones of the man's dead father, some of Harry's blood, and then he cut off his own hand. The vitriol in Harry's voice when he talked of the surrogate was thick.

When Harry was finished, he was shaking and I was queasy. I hadn't known there were spells or anything to remake a body for a stranded soul. Of course, I hadn't thought that a soul could exist without a body for more than a few days. Learn something new and terrifying every day.

We were sitting in a well of silence when the waitress brought our food and refilled the coffee. I didn't want to eat anymore. Harry eyed the potato chips on his plate, askance. "Look, kid... Harry," I amended, "I wouldn't do anything like that. Necromancers are just as varied as witches in what they will do."

"You mean what they can do," he said, heat in his tone and a slight flush in his cheeks.

"No, I meant what I said. The ability is not important, it's what we will do, not what we can do, that makes us dangerous. Raising zombies is one thing. Giving a body back to a... wraith is a whole different level." I realized I had eaten half my sandwich while I was talking, even though I hadn't wanted it. "I take it this guy was a really bad guy?"

There was a hollow light in Harry's eyes when he lifted his gaze from his plate. "One of the worst. He killed a lot of people. He tried to kill me when I was a baby. My mother died protecting me. My father died trying to protect us both. Now Voldemort's back and he's trying to kill me again. And I put everyone else around me in danger." There was a stubborn set to his jaw now as he placed his napkin back on the table, his motions achingly careful. "Now, thank you for your help tonight." He made to get out of the booth.

I reached across the table and grabbed his arm. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Weren't you listening to me?" he hissed. There was something close to panic in his eyes. "Bad guy, kills things? After me?"

"Where is he?"

Harry slumped back into the booth, and I let go of his arm. "I don't know. Last time we heard anything, he was in England."

"See? You're safe." I picked up the remains of my sandwich. "And if he comes to St. Louis, he better not try anything."

"And if he does?"

I smiled at the kid, but not like I was happy. "We stop him."

"Stop him," Harry repeated, and stared at me. It was very unnerving, the hopelessness in that stare. "Why are you offering this?" he asked. "You don't know me."

"No, I don't," I said. Truthfully, I didn't know why I was offering this, but something about the kid made me want to protect him, the same way I did Nathaniel, or Stephen. And if it was a big bad wizard guy, I was the one to help protect him. "Look, if what you said about your guardians not letting you back in the hotel is right," I trailed off until he nodded, looking embarrassed about it, "Then you'll need a place to sleep. And we'll need to talk tomorrow about some stuff."

"Stuff?" he said around a mouthful of burger. I managed not to wince.

"Like your shoulder," I said. His chewing slowed, but he managed to swallow.

"Right. Any ideas?"

"I've got a couch. It's not the softest thing in the world, but it's dry," I said as I dug into my jacket for some money.

Harry made a noise that was suspiciously like a snort. "Anything's got to be better than the hotel floor."

I looked up, sure I had misunderstood. "They're not making you sleep on the floor?" I asked sharply.

A flush crept up Harry's cheeks and his gaze wavered, as if he wanted to look down. He didn't answer.

I wondered if he was lying to me, but I didn't think so. I've gotten better at reading when people are lying to me, and I didn't think this teenage boy would be able to fool me. Of course, far be it for me to fall prey to false pride. So I'd be careful.

I dropped my eyes back to the table to sort out the money. I heard Harry sigh shakily, then again. Delayed reaction. I got up from the table to pay the bill and to give him some time to pull himself back together.

Tomorrow, I'd wonder what I got myself into.


	3. Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

* * *

I pushed the door of my house open with my shoulder, groping for the light switch on the wall. Just because no one else in the house needed to use the light didn't mean that I could wander around in the dark. It was embarrassing, walking into things that everyone else breezed around.

"Here it is," I said as I turned on the hallway lights. Harry blinked at the sudden brightness.

"This is a nice place, Ms. Blake," he said as he stepped inside.

"Thanks, but I can't take any of the credit." I closed and dead-bolted the door behind me. "The guys decorated. And clean. I just pay the bills."

"Guys?" Harry asked as he followed me through the living room into the kitchen. "You don't live here alone?"

I shook my head. "No. There are three full-time roommates, and there's often a lot of other people around." It wasn't quite a lie. I didn't want to explain the furry and the undead aspects quite yet. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No, thank you," Harry said. "Any more caffeine and I don't think I'll be able to sleep." He then ruined the effect of the statement by yawning.

I couldn't help myself. I smiled. "Do you want to take a shower, then? It would get rid of the rest of the blood."

Suddenly serious, Harry looked full at me. It was as if he was trying to read my aura, but I couldn't feel anything. Then the movement was over, and Harry relaxed. "I don't mean to be any trouble..." he said.

I felt a rush of amusement that wasn't my own, and realized that Jean-Claude was still paying attention to me. I thought annoyed thoughts at him, but didn't close the marks. "Believe me, if you're being troublesome, I'll tell you."

I ended up showing him the bathroom, where the towels were, and left him to it. I watched as he closed the door, and only then did I go back to the kitchen. If the door opened, I would be able to hear it.

I didn't bother to grind any coffee beans. Nathaniel had messed up the grocery list a few weeks ago and had gotten a pound of pre-ground coffee. He was so distressed when he realized what happened that I'd had to promise him that it was all right, and drink this stuff. Not that it was bad, just that the usual ritual I went though was gone. But I hadn't wanted to upset Nathaniel anymore. When he was unhappy, I was unhappy. And when I was unhappy, trust me, everyone was unhappy.

The coffee was brewing and the shower still running when I heard the front door open. My senses alert, I stood up and padded my way to the edge of the kitchen. The front door closed again, and I heard the locks clicking.

A pause, then, "It's just me, Anita," Damian said. I let the tension relax out of my shoulders and went back to lean against the kitchen island.

Damian came into the kitchen. His long red hair was tied back and he wasn't wearing a shirt under his black silk vest. He looked casual, for Damian, except for the hair. I looked closer and realized that it was wet.

"What's up?" I asked. "I thought you were working tonight?"

Damian quirked the edge of his mouth up into his version of a wry smile. "I was at work. Things were going as usual until a very drunk customer brought the new fountain display down on me and someone I was dancing with."

I winced. Jean-Claude had installed a wrought-iron fountain that was backlit with lights and stuff. It looked very nice at Danse Macabre, when the whole lighting system was going. But the apparatus must have weighed more than I did.

"Is the girl you were dancing with okay?" I asked.

"Yes. I caught the fountain before it hit either of us, but we were soaked in the process. Hannah spent half an hour apologizing to the girl, promised to pay for her dry cleaning and offering her a free night, that sort of thing," Damian explained. His tone made it very clear what he thought of modern customer service.

"And you?" I asked, coming to stand in front of him. I knew he was fine, otherwise I could have felt it, but I knew he would like to be asked.

He looked down at me, so solemn. "Other than a good dousing, I am fine. Hannah let me come home early as my costume was ruined."

The compulsion I had to touch Damian was so strong that it was hard to breathe. I knew he was my vampire servant, a third of my second triumvirate with Nathaniel, that it was my magic that made his heart beat, but acting like it was always so damn hard.

 _Screw it,_ I thought. Damian was very good at hiding his hurt, but I knew he was hurting now, all because I didn't want to touch him, to take what he offered. Well, I'd take a bit.

I put my hands out and laid my palms on his forearms. The power flared between us. Damian sucked in a breath in a hiss. It felt good, I realized. No, it felt right. I concentrated on Damian, on his being, for lack of a better word. It was hard to tell myself in words why it was so right for Damian to be here. He was mine, and he was here.

I moved my hands up his arms, my palms and fingers touching his cool skin. His skin was so pale against the black of his vest, the blood red of his hair. I reached his shoulders and linked my fingers behind his neck. In order to reach him, I had gone up on tip-toe, and the motion pressed me against his body.

He laid his hands on my waist, waiting for me to tell him what to do. I pulled at him until he lowered his face to mine, then I kissed him.

It was a chaste kiss, but where our lips touched, I pushed power into Damian. It was cold magic, the power of the dead with a graveyard's chill. It flowed into Damian and caressed his heart, the inside of his body where no hand could ever touch. Then it came back to me, changed but still powerful.

In a distant part of my mind, I realized that the shower had turned off, and I eased back from the kiss. Damian watched me go, letting me draw myself out of his embrace. I went and propped myself up against the island counter. No need to explain that I felt wobbly, but in a very good way.

"You're getting better at that," Damian said, low. I made myself smile.

"I'm not the only one." 

Damian shook his head, keeping his eyes on me. "No, you're not."

Too much metaphysical power exchange for me tonight. I went to the cupboard on the way to the coffee maker and pulled out a mug that Micah had given me for Christmas. It had the caption, "I'm the evil twin" written in big letters. Bert had threatened to stop my paycheques if I kept that mug at work, so I replaced it with a white mug that read in red lettering, _Nunquam Lamiae Morde Me Dice._ I didn't tell Bert that it was Latin for "Never say bite me to a vampire." My torments are petty, I know.

"Who else is home?" Damian asked.

I took a sip of coffee and felt a bit more centred. "I picked up a stray."

"A stray what?"

"Kid." I took another sip. "He got clawed up tonight in the woods. That's him in the shower."

"Since when do you bring home the newly wounded?" Damian asked. He moved around the kitchen like a ghost.

"I don't feel like justifying myself to you," I snapped. Good mood gone, just like that.

Damian stared at me. "All I asked was, why you had done this. I live here too, it's a legitimate question."

Luckily, Harry chose that movement to come into the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway when he saw Damian. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he stammered. He was wearing the shirt I had given him in the car and the same jeans. It was too bad no one in the house would have clothes that would fit him. Micah and I were too small, same with Nathaniel, and Damian was way too tall.

"You're not interrupting," I said. "Harry, this is Damian. Damian, this is Harry. Damian lives here," I explained.

"It's nice to meet you," Harry said.

Damian nodded his head, then turned back to me. "I'll be downstairs," he said as he left the kitchen. A second later, I heard the door to the basement open and shut.

I swallowed half the cup of coffee in one go, wishing it would take away the beginnings of my headache. I knew what Damian wanted from me, but the problem was that I wasn't willing to give it to him. He didn't complain, but I always felt like the bad guy after situations like this. I wish, for once, that the mystical crap wouldn't make feel guilty for not sleeping with even more people.

"How about that sofa, then?" I asked after I set the mug down.

Harry nodded. "That sounds nice. Sleep would be nice."

"Do you really think you'll get any rest?" I said on my way into the living room. I picked up the video cases from the couch and the floor, the result of the pre-moon vid-fest the pard had that afternoon, and moved the ornamental cushions to the loveseat. Jean-Claude had bought them in many brilliant colours, to match the Persian rug he had given me. They looked nice, but were scratchy as hell.

"I don't know. I guess I can try." Harry's voice followed me as I went to fetch a real pillow and a blanket from the linen closet. It was the middle of summer, so he probably wouldn't need it, but just in case.

"If you need anything, just knock," I said. Harry nodded and sat on the couch. "How's your shoulder?"

"Fine, I guess." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Maybe it will seem more important in the morning, but right now is seems unreal."

I knew that feeling. "We'll talk tomorrow," I said as I switched off the overhead light. I left Harry sitting, staring at the floor, in a small well of pale light from a tiny lamp.

* * *

Harry put his glasses back on, but didn't lie down. He could hear Anita moving around in the kitchen, soft sounds. A chair being moved. The clink of a spoon in a mug.

It was all so normal. Not normal how Harry knew normal. If he were back at the Dursleys, he'd be up in his room or out roaming the streets of Little Whinging. No one would have cleaned up his shoulder, or offered to buy him whatever he wanted for dinner.

Harry looked toward the kitchen. Anita was sitting at the table, bent over some papers, concentrating. Harry just looked at her for a moment. Her hair was dark, so dark, and almost as wild as Hermione's, but her skin was as pale as his was in the winter.

Harry shook his head, willing his hormones to calm down. Yes, she was pretty, but so were a lot of people. _Like Cho,_ a voice in Harry's mind whispered.

He shook his head, hard, and closed his eyes. His childish crush on Cho had never really gone away. It would never work with him and her, what with Cedric's death and Marietta's betrayal of the DA in fifth year. But sometimes, when he saw Cho in the halls at school, he wondered if maybe... just maybe.

 _Stop thinking about Cho,_ Harry told himself sternly. He turned around on the couch and laid down, flicking the blanket over his legs. The room he was in was also normal, like he imagined a normal muggle house might look. When he was little, he had sometimes spent the hours in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys wondering what his mom and dad's house might have been like. Now he knew they were magical, but then... he'd imagined a television, a chesterfield or two, maybe a table in the middle of the room. He and his mom could have put puzzles together on it, while his dad read the paper and watched with a smile.

 _But they're dead and I never knew them_. The rage in Harry bubbled just below the surface, so close to breaking. He had to take a deep breath, but other than that, he didn't react.

He hadn't let himself react since that day in Dumbledore's office, after Sirius had died. _After I led Sirius to his death_ , Harry corrected himself. It had been over a year since his godfather's death, but the pain still cut as deep. The shame and self-loathing hadn't diminished any, either.

Remus had asked about it, over the Christmas hols in sixth year Harry had spent with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Most of the Order of the Phoenix had been there. Remus had sought Harry out one afternoon and asked, clearly wanting to talk with someone about his old friend. Harry had looked Remus straight in the eye and lied with all his might, then excused himself. If he had to talk about Sirius, he knew he'd break.

Harry shifted on the couch, bumping his wounded shoulder against the pillow. He bit back an exclamation at the pain.

 _I wonder if this is what Remus felt when he was infected_. Harry was almost glad to think of something else, even if it was about his potential lycanthropy. He thought back to the woods. He'd had his wand out, ready to hex the wolf, then the one that looked like a man had told him to run.

 _Why would a werewolf tell me to run? Why did it pull those others off me?_ From what Harry knew of werewolves, they didn't stop the attack. But had any of the books they had read in school mentioned a man-like werewolf? Harry didn't think so. He wished he could ask Hermione, see if she knew. _Maybe I can ring her up._

From the kitchen, Anita muttered something about paper, and the chair moved over the floor.

Harry sighed and rolled a bit so his shoulder was up in the air. This not thinking about anything was hard.

What to think about that didn't mean anything... Harry's mind lit upon the Dursleys. It was all their fault that Harry was even here in St. Louis. Uncle Vernon had been incensed when the family's planned trip to London had been bumped due to a vampire event. The man couldn't even use the word vampire without risking apoplexy.

Harry didn't understand much of what was going on. Apparently, the muggle government in England had recognized vampires as legal a few years before, but Harry had been in school at the time, and the ensuing months in Surrey had been so focused on Voldemort that Harry hadn't paid much attention.

But legal vampires... the Wizarding world had been ignoring the muggle press, what with Voldemort's return. What Harry didn't understand is why the Daily Prophet hadn't picked up on the news, made it a big deal.

Fit to be tied about the situation in England, Uncle Vernon had booked a flight to America. They had even dragged Harry along, but Harry suspected that was partly due to fear of having the house destroyed if they left him there. Harry had gone so far as suggesting that the Dursleys contact the Weasleys, leave Harry in England, but Petunia had looked down her nose at her nephew and coldly reminded him that he was going to remain with them for at least a month.

So off to America they went.

Harry's mind stalled on thoughts of that evening, and he pushed them away. He did not want to think about the woods, about the panicked run, about the claws that bit and tore into his shoulder.

His thoughts started to drift around in circles. Somewhere in all of the mess that was his memories, he drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

I checked my cell phone for the fifteenth time. The thing was powered up, with good reception. So why had no one called? It was the night of the full moon. There had not been a full moon in eight months when someone had not called me, due to some sort of lycanthropic or vampiric emergency.

On those days when someone did call, I always bitched and moaned and was unhappy. Now here I was, bitching that no one was calling. Talk about never being satisfied.

The cell phone went back onto the table and I stared down at my paperwork. It was for work and I was using this free time to catch up. It was Bert's idea and I had wanted to mess with it, but John Burke and Manny ganged up on me in the hall one day and made me promise to behave. The forms were to keep an eye on who was raising what, and if there were any problems. I caved, but only because Manny had that disappointed look on his face.

 _Ma petite?_ came a thought in my head. I jumped in my seat.

 _Jean-Claude?_ I thought suspiciously.

A picture grew in my head. Jean-Claude was sitting in his office in Guilty Pleasures, his feet up on the corner of the desk. He was smiling slightly, probably pleased at freaking me out.

_So the little lamb is lying on your couch. Would you be terribly upset if I were to ask you a question?_

_Probably, but has that ever stopped you?_ I thought. I wasn't very good at this. I still preferred a phone conversation to one in my head.

A mental chuckle. _Why do you trust this boy? This witch?_

I dropped my pen. _I just do. My instincts aren't often wrong, and there is something about him._

 _Is it also possible that you are doing this for Richard?_ came the quiet thought.

 _How so?_ I asked. Through the open archway in the kitchen, I could just see Harry's feet sticking out of the end of the blanket.

_Richard injured the boy, and you know what that will do to him. Do you keep the boy safe as one less worry for your Ulfric?_

I thought about it for a while. The house was silent. My sigh sounded very loud. _Maybe._

Jean-Claude withdrew from my head with one last thought. _Take care of yourself, ma petite. Je t'aime._

"I know," I whispered to the empty air.

* * *

Something was nuzzling against my cheek. I ducked my head further into the pillow. Then something touched my hair, stroking my head and drawing me back to consciousness. I relaxed and moved my shoulders, then wondered who was touching me in the daylight with only Harry in the house and Damian dead in the basement. I snapped my eyes open.

Micah was leaning over me, naked as far as I could see and his hair hanging in his face. He gave me a lazy grin. "I was wondering if I would have to resort to licking you to get you awake."

"When I know there are other things you'd rather be doing with your tongue?" I mumbled, the thread of adrenalin gone now.

"Sort of," Micah said, drawing me back to the present. "Actually, I wanted to know who the new houseguest is."

"Is he awake?" I asked, sitting up on the bed. Yes, Micah was indeed naked. I swallowed the ardeur hard; none of the wereleopards were ever up to much the day after a full moon, pardon the pun.

"No, he's asleep. Why is he here?"

I sighed. "It's a really, really long story."

Micah raised his eyebrows at me. "Cliff notes version?"

I thought for a second. "Kid in the woods, gets scratched by a werewolf, I bandage him up, take him for food, find out there's a bad witch after him and since he won't be allowed back in his hotel room, I let him sleep on the couch. I made Damian watch him for a bit so that I could get to sleep."

Micah shook his head and ran his hands through his hair the way he did when he was worried. "I always used to wonder if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time or what. Now I think that it's that you say yes when the rest of us would say no."

I frowned. "Micah, he's just a kid, and he was hurt."

"Do you know who clawed him up?" Micah asked, changing the subject.

I sighed as I slid off the bed. "Yeah, I think it was Richard," I said as I started to get dressed. I got tangled up in the shirt I was trying to pull over my head, and felt rather than saw Micah's hands straightening me out. His eyes, yellow-green cat's eyes, were tired.

"He's not going to deal well with that," he said, then gave me a gentle kiss.

"Nope," I agreed once Micah drew back. I gave him a nudge toward the bed. "Get some sleep, I'm going to take Harry back to his guardians and see what they're like."

I turned my back as Micah flopped down onto the sheets, and headed for the living room. All the little wereleopards were all a-snooze in their beds, or so I thought until I rounded the corner to the living room. Harry was still lying on the couch where I had left him earlier. Nathaniel was kneeling by the couch, staring intently at the strange boy in the house.

I stood still by the wall and watched. The concentration on Nathaniel's face was complete, as if he could memorize Harry as he slept. Soon, a few seconds or a few minutes, Harry's eyes fluttered open. He met Nathaniel's gaze steadily, and a blush started to gather in his pale cheeks.

I cleared my throat, and Harry looked in my direction, peering myopically. Nathaniel turned his head slowly. He had known I was there. "Morning, Harry," I said. "I see you've met Nathaniel."

Harry fumbled for his glasses and winced as he moved his injured shoulder. He sat up carefully. Nathaniel's eyes never left Harry's face.

There was something going on here, and I didn't understand. When in doubt, ignore it. "Harry, we should get you back to your guardians." I was about to say that Nathaniel needed his sleep, but I was so not his mother and I managed to hold my tongue.

"All right," Harry said. He kept looking back at Nathaniel who, I noticed, wasn't wearing an awful lot. His long auburn hair was down and his hands were gathered in his lap, so it wasn't until he moved to stand up that I saw he was wearing shorts. Whew.

"I'm going to get some sleep," Nathaniel said quietly, looking at me. There was something in his eyes, a question that I didn't get. He must have seen my incomprehension, for he turned back to Harry. "It was nice to meet you," he said.

"It was nice to meet you as well," Harry said, his accent very clear. I watched Harry as Harry watched Nathaniel walk out of the room.

"How's the shoulder?" I asked, crossing my arms over my stomach.

"Fine, fine," he said, although the shrug that accompanied the words would have been more effective if he had been able to use both shoulders. "It'll heal."

My eyebrows went up. "Does this sort of thing happen to you often?" I asked. He stared at me, a weight in his bearing that had nothing to do with age.

"Not this sort of thing, per say, but I do manage to get myself into interesting situations," he said. He bit his lip as he said it, a nervous gesture.

"I know the feeling," I said. He stiffened but did not comment. "So, to the hotel?"

You would have thought that I was offering him up to a firing squad, from the way he reacted. He nodded and stood. There was something in the way he held himself, like he expected to be hit. I filed his reaction to the back of my mind and turned toward the kitchen, Harry at my heels.

* * *

We didn't leave right away. I made myself swallow some breakfast, and pointed Harry in the direction of the cereal while I was at it, then I had to return a call to Bert while Harry washed up. I managed to prevent myself from screaming over the phone, as the house was full of sleeping wereleopards and one vampire, although I've never found that a simple screaming match could wake either flavour of creature the day after a full moon.

We drove into town with the windows down and the radio on low. Harry stared out the window, watching the buildings pass in the bright summer sun. I kept my eyes on the road, wondering what I was going to tell his guardians about what I had done with their nephew the previous night. I was thinking about why I hadn't made the kid call his aunt and uncle when he said, "Who is Nathaniel?"

"How do you mean?" I asked, a bit on guard. After all, Nathaniel was tied to me in so many ways, being my pomme de sang, part of my pard, boyfriend, a third of my other triumvirate, and whatever the hell else it was that we had going on.

And I couldn't forget the look on Nathaniel's face this morning when he was staring at the sleeping Harry.

"You know, what does he do? Why was he at your house?" Harry replied, a careful tone in his voice.

Even though I had only know the boy for twelve hours, I actually considered telling him the truth. Then I shook that impulse off. "He's my roommate. He works nights at a club downtown," I said. The omissions were larger than the truth, of course, but it was nice and PG-rated for teenage-consumption.

"Oh," Harry said, almost too quietly to hear, then he closed his mouth and went back to looking out the window.


	4. Knives in the Dark

* * *

I knocked on the door of room 218 again, harder. I could hear movement inside the room, but no one was answering the door.

"This is the right room?" I asked Harry, who was standing beside me.

He twitched his uninjured shoulder, looking ridiculous now in his baggy jeans and Asher's wrinkled silk shirt. "Yeah, they were here yesterday."

"Would they have left? First of August, after all," I demanded.

"I truly hope not, they have my passport and plane ticket to England with them," Harry said.

Whatever I was going to say was interrupted as the door was finally opened by a very large beefy man. The man's eyes flicked over Harry, and disgust seemed to show in the man's face. Then the glare switched to me, and I could see him summing me up, lowering his estimation of me as he took in the height, the hair, the breasts. Oh goody. I do so enjoy being dismissed.

"So I see you finally made your way back," the man sneered at Harry.

"May we step inside?" I asked. I was smiling bitterly now, because it was either that or start shouting. The man's chest started to swell, as if he were about to yell. "Or we could do this in the hallway for the other guests," I continued blandly.

It would seem that I hit a nerve. The man looked rapidly up and down the hall, growing very red as he did, then took a step back to let us into the room. Harry went first, and I followed, stopping just inside the door.

There were two other people in the room sitting by the kitchenette table, a thin, pinched looking woman, and a large, younger version of the man who had answered the door. Neither one looked terribly happy to see Harry.

Now, if someone under my charge had just turned up after being AWOL all night in a strange city, I would have reacted differently, probably some yelling, a guilt trip or two, something about death and ditches, but there would probably be a hug in there. These people acted as if they were disappointed that Harry had come back to them.

The door closed, and the man took another step toward Harry with the force of a small storm. Harry pressed his hands into the sides of his legs, but he didn't take a step back. Points for him.

"You think you can just come back like that after... after running away?" the man hissed at Harry.

Astonishment crossed Harry's face. "Running away?" he said indignantly. "You drove away without me!"

I blinked. Well, that was interesting. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my federal marshal badge. No one reacted, and I thought that if I had been going for my gun, no one would have even blinked in time. I pushed that thought firmly away.

"My name is Anita Blake, and I'm a federal marshal here in St. Louis," I said, stepping in between Harry and the man I assumed was his uncle, forcing the uncle to take a step back. "You are?"

All three members of Harry's family gaped at me. Harry shook his head. "This is Vernon Dursley, my uncle, and that's Petunia and Dudley Dursley at the table." He didn't sound happy about having to claim kin to these folks. Gee, I wondered why.

"What's he done now?" the woman at the table asked. The blonde boy started to gloat at the implication that his cousin was in trouble.

"Harry has done nothing wrong, Mrs. Dursley," I said, still smiling. "Your nephew became involved in something I was working on last night, and I wanted to see him home afterwards."

"You're sure he hasn't done anything... strange?" Vernon Dursley asked. His face was still red.

"Nope, not that I'm aware of," I said. I put my badge away to free up my hands. "Although, if he had, I'd probably be the person to talk to," I continued absently.

The man before me started puffing up again. "What is that supposed to mean?" he thundered. "Boy, did you bring another one of these freaks into my presence?"

Okay. That was it. I had tried to be nice, but being called a freak was enough to drive anyone over the edge, even someone with more patience than me. I took a step forward as my smile dropped. "Look, Mr. Dursley, I've heard just about enough. I'm not sure what they do over in England, but we have child endangerment laws here in America, and it seems to me that you've broken about ten of them in the last twenty-four hours."

The man's mouth was flapping, but no sound was coming out. I went on. "Legally, you can't abandon a kid in the middle of nowhere. Hell, everyone knows you don't leave anyone in an unfamiliar place in the countryside on the night of a full moon! Especially if that kid's been threatened with death by some kind of sorcerer."

That last part was a test on my part. Contrary to popular opinion, I've not taken to buying everything I'm told these days. If Harry's story about his Voldemort was true, it was more ammunition to use against these odious people. If it was a lie... well, it was best to get verification from an outside source.

Vernon Dursley did not disappoint. He pointed a finger at Harry. "I will not have my family threatened by the continued presence of that boy!" he yelled at me. "If that witchy-man wants to take on Harry, he can bloody well do it away from my family!"

Two questions answered at once. Efficient, even for me. However, getting answers did nothing to alleviate the rage I was feeling. "So you abandon your nephew in the woods, with no money and no way to get back here, because you don't want to endanger your family?" I said, my voice going low. "This boy is under your protection, is he not?"

It was not Vernon Dursley who answered, but his wife. "He's seventeen now, since yesterday," she said. "That's an adult with his kind, so he's no longer our responsibility." There was a curious kind of triumph in her nasal voice.

Since when was seventeen an age of majority? I turned to Harry. That little tidbit seemed to have taken him by surprise. "This true? About seventeen being an adult?" I asked him.

He nodded, still looking a bit stunned, then his eyes widened. "If that's the case, then, I'd like my plane ticket and my passport and I'll be out of your hair," he said suddenly, almost spitting the words into his uncle's face.

I've never seen someone as large as Vernon Dursley move so fast. In a couple of minutes, a ragged suitcase and a packet of paper were being shoved into Harry's arms. Without a word, Harry walked to the door, where he paused.

"You know, I should say something profound here, and I know you'd like me to thank you for the care you've given me since I was one, but you probably won't be surprised when I don't," Harry said to his family. "I'll never darken your door again, for which I know you'll be grateful. Enjoy your return to your muggle lives on your muggle street. Goodbye." He opened the door and walked out without looking back. I followed and shut the door carefully on his stunned family. It was quite the exit.

I caught up with Harry at the elevator bank. He had hit the down call button and was staring, jaw clenched, at the wall.

"Now that you've managed to ditch your family, you should really consider changing your last name," I commented lightly. I couldn't help but feel exhilaration, as though I was the one who had made the escape.

Harry turned to look at me, his green eyes bright with emotion. "What's wrong with my last name?" he demanded as the elevator door whooshed open.

It was my turn to shrug as I hit the button to take us to the lobby. "I was just thinking that Dursley lacks a certain romance," I said.

Harry started to giggle, honest-to-God, slump-against-the-wall giggles. "Dursley isn't my last name," he said finally. "Aunt Petunia was my mother's sister. My last name's Potter."

The elevator opened and I walked out into the lobby, letting Harry trail after me. "Yes, I can see how that name does have more attraction," I said, and was going to go on, but my cell phone rang. I looked at the call display and sighed. It was Richard. Great.

"I wonder if I did the right thing?" Harry was saying as he caught up with me.

"Probably not, but when has that ever stopped anyone?" I said, then hit the little green button on my phone. "Hello, Richard."

"Anita," Richard said, then stopped talking. Even over the scratchy phone line, I could hear his breathing.

"So, what's up?" I asked as Harry and I got to my Jeep. I unlocked the Jeep with the little button on my key chain and he opened the back to stow his suitcase inside.

"I wanted... it's about last night," Richard said.

"What about last night?" I hopped up into the driver's seat and turned the car on to let the air conditioning blow over us. Harry was watching me from the other side of the car, but stayed quiet.

"What about last night?" Richard's voice came across the line scalding. "Some human gets clawed up in the woods by some dirty werewolf and you ask what's this about?" The rage in his voice made me wince. I had thought he was over this self-directed anger. Funny, harm an innocent bystander and all progress goes out the window.

"Richard..." I tried to shush him, but he wasn't listening to me.

"What do you want, me to offer up my head on a platter for your help? Is that it? Fine, Anita, I'll bring the fucking knife if that's what it takes," he raged. His shielding broke for a second and I felt his disgust at himself, so strong I almost gagged on my breath. Then the feeling went away as quick as it came, and Richard was silent once again.

"What do you want, Richard?" I asked quietly, almost a whisper.

He sighed, ragged. "I need to find the human I clawed up last night. Did you see him coming out of the woods? Do you know what happened to him?"

I looked over at Harry in the passenger seat. "Yeah, I know what happened to him. When can you be at my place?"

"In an hour. Do you know where he is?" Richard asked quickly.

"Yeah, I can get him there," I said, not wanting to come out and say that the kid was half a foot from me.

"Great, I'll be there." Richard hung the phone up on me. I sighed again and put the phone onto the seat beside me.

Harry glowered at me. "That was about me, wasn't it?" he demanded. "Who was that?"

"That was an old friend of mine. I believe you met last night," I explained as I latched my seatbelt and put the car in gear. The car had moved six inches when the phone rang again. I bit off a curse as I stalled the Jeep. Snatching up the phone, I said, "What?" 

"Is he okay?" It was Richard again.

"Yeah, peachy. Anything else?"

"No," he replied, and hung up on me again. Did I teach him to be so impolite on the phone? I was a really bad influence on those around me.

I put the phone down again, got the car started again, and managed to get onto the road without further incident. Harry was pretending to ignore me, and I was suddenly sick of company, so I reciprocated and concentrated on driving.

We were halfway back to my place when Harry finally broke the silence. "So this friend of yours, he's a werewolf?" 

"Yes," I said, on the defensive. "What, you're a witch but you've got problems with the were-folk?"

"For your information, I'm not a witch, I'm a wizard. And I'll have you know that one of our teachers is also a werewolf." Harry's voice broke on the last word and a look of horrified realization swept across his face. His hand came up to hover above his bandaged shoulder.

"I'm sorry," was all I could say.

"No, it's all right," Harry said, his voice determined. "I was about to die. This... the one that did this saved my life."

"Saved your life?" Harry hadn't know that I had seen what Richard did, and I was wondering how he could have figured out what happened last night. As it happened, I agreed with his interpretation.

"Yes." The bravado was still going strong. "There was some wolves and man, but not a man. Was that a werewolf? Can a werewolf look like that?" he demanded.

"Do you mean a wolfman, as in stalking the streets of London?" I asked.

"What do you mean, streets of London? I've never heard of wolfmen in London," Harry said, confused.

"You know? Werewolf of London, the movie?"

"There's a movie about that? I wasn't allowed to watch movies," he said.

I was glad we were far away from his family. "In answer to your question, yes, some lycanthropes can take two forms other than human. One is the whole animal, the other is a hybrid of the animal and the human form. You probably saw both last night," I explained while I navigated a freeway exit.

"I thought they could only turn into the animal."

"Didn't your teacher tell you about werewolves?" I asked.

"No. It's not a thing he likes to talk about."

"Understandable," I said. "Look, here's a brief were-biology lesson. Lycanthropy is contagious only in animal or hybrid form, not human. The virus isn't carried in blood, only saliva or in claw wounds. Everyone changes with the full moon, but most were-animals can change at will other times of the month. They can heal almost any wound dealt them. And they are as human as you or I." I paused and wondered if I had just made a Freudian slip.

We talked about more hypothetical furry biology, of which Harry apparently knew nothing, until we pulled into my driveway. Richard's car was already there. Oh joy in the morning.

* * *

We were sitting around the kitchen table. I'd made some coffee, but I was the only one drinking it. Richard leaned over his cup of water, which he kept swirling round and round. Harry was standing by the counter, too jumpy to stay still.

 _May as well get on with this_ , I thought, and broke the silence. "Harry, Richard was the one who saved you last night."

Harry relaxed a bit. "You were the wolfman?" he asked, then he turned on me. "How do you know that?" he demanded.

"She's tied to me," Richard said, his voice lower than normal. It made my insides shiver. "She saw what happened last night, that's how she was there to get you into the car."

"Oh," Harry said. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed his face. "So now what do I do? Is there anything that can stop me from becoming a werewolf?"

I stared at Richard. The pain was raw on his face. All these years of being a werewolf, of being Ulfric, and he had never infected anyone. Now, to infect a boy not much older than his own students... I wasn't surprised at his reaction.

"No, there's nothing," Richard said. "Either you change or you don't. The only way to know is at the next full moon." He ran his hand over his head, a gesture so familiar a lump caught in my throat. He used to do that when he had long hair, run his fingers through his hair, but it hadn't had time to grow out since he had cut his hair in a fit of pain and self-loathing, back last fall when Musette and her little entourage were in town.

I took a sip of my coffee. "Harry is, obviously, from England, and he has a plane to catch. One more year of school, right? Then college?" I said.

He nodded, then shrugged. "One more year, yeah, but not university."

I frowned. "Why not?"

"We don't have universities, I don't think. Just jobs," he replied.

"So what are you going to do?" Richard asked. He'd stopped fiddling with the cup and was sitting up straighter, always willing to talk shop.

"I hadn't thought of it, really," Harry said. "I had thought to become an Auror, but then, after last year, I reconsidered."

"Huh?" That was my elegant query.

"Oh, an Auror is like a police detective, they are supposed to fight bad wizards and enforce laws," Harry said. He slipped his glasses back on and slid into a chair at the table. "Did I mention that I'm a wizard? Because I am. I told Anita and I guess if she knows then you can know, right?" I nodded at him.

"And what happened last year?" Richard asked, not to be distracted.

Harry frowned, and I could tell he was lost in his thoughts. "Last year, before Voldemort's annual excursion, the Aurors had started detaining people suspected of being Death Eaters, those are the bad wizards, and interrogating them. They took Theodore Nott, one of my schoolmates."

"What happened?" I asked, softly, although I suspected I knew the answer.

"When we got him back..." Harry stopped and swallowed hard, "He wasn't able to tell us much. He died a week or two later."

I looked at Harry and realized how young he was. I tried to imagine Zerbrowski or Dolph, hurting a teenager so badly that he died later, but couldn't. I wondered if I could hurt a kid like that. Usually I just killed people. I had once tortured a man, cut his fingers off, to get him to tell us where his companions were hiding Richard's family, but I'd shot him afterward to get him to stop screaming. Was that any different? The emptiness where my conscience used to be echoed in my head and I had to swallow hard against the bile in my throat.

Something touched my shoulders and I shrieked. More usefully, I stood up and whirled around at the same time, going for my gun. My hand was halfway to my holster when I registered that it was Micah standing behind me.

Everyone froze. Micah stood there, his hands out in front of him. Richard was in his chair, looking amused. Harry had pressed himself back against the fridge, one hand on the counter and the other holding a stick. Maybe he planned on poking our eyes out.

I made myself lower my hands and straightened out. My chair was on its side, knocked away from the table.

"Anita, what's wrong?" Micah asked.

I took in a breath and let it out, slowly. "Nothing," I said. "I'm just a bit jumpy. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Micah was still standing with his hands out. "Are you going to be all right?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry." 

Micah smiled then, and it almost made everything better. I smiled shakily back.

"If you two lovebirds have made up, we were in the middle of a conversation," Richard said coldly as I righted my chair.

I refused to be baited. "Indeed. Micah, please join us."

"This doesn't concern him," Richard spat.

I was about to snap back at him, but Micah beat me to it. "If it involves Anita, and if she wants me here, then it does concern me."

A baffled expression crossed Richard's face. "Why do you stay with her when she keeps dragging these problems home?"

"Because she took us in and protected us when no one else could or would," Micah said. He looked at me as he said it.

I knew there was more to it, but even after more than a year of living together, we had never talked about exactly what kept Micah in my house and in my bed. God knows the sex couldn't be that good. Part of me did not want to ask, because asking would make it real. The other part did not want to hear the answer. Yes, it was cowardly, but occasionally I'd have a moment where I expected him to up and leave me. Absently I wondered if he thought the same of me.

I sat down. That left Harry still perched by the fridge. "Come on, Harry, show's over. Put the stick away and join us."

Harry gingerly took his seat. Micah pulled another chair around and put it right beside mine.

"What were you talking about?" Micah asked. He was bare-chested but had thrown some shorts on. At least everyone Harry had seen today had been dressed.

"What to do next, I suppose," Harry said. His hands were in his lap and he was far back enough from the table that I could see him holding that stick of his with both hands.

"Well, we can give you a ride to the airport and you can try and negotiate a flight home, or you can stay a bit longer and enjoy a bit more of your vacation," I said. "Then you can tell me what's with the stick."

He looked down at his hands. "We're not supposed to talk about this stuff to mug-- non-magical folk."

I blew my breath out in a sigh. "Harry, look at us. Do we look non-magical to you?"

Harry raised his face and directed green eyes at Micah. "You're a necromancer, and Mr. Zeeman is a werewolf, but what about him?" Harry asked.

Micah stared back. "I'm as human as 'Mr. Zeeman' here," Micah said.

"But you're not a werewolf?" Harry asked. At least the boy wasn't stupid, I thought.

"No, not a wolf," Micah said. "Wereleopard."

Harry's eyes got enormous in his pale face. "There are wereleopards?" he breathed. "Are there any other animals-- I mean, were-animals?"

Micah nodded. "The largest groups in St. Louis are the wererats and the werehyenas, after the werewolves," he explained. "We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Micah." He didn't offer his hand.

"Harry," the boy introduced himself, and gave a shy smile.

"So since we're all magical, you can tell us all about your brand of magic and why you're in St. Louis and all about last night and about that stick," I said.

Harry looked nervous. "As I mentioned, I'm a wizard, from England. The Dursleys, my family, had gotten fed up with the vampires in England ruining their vacation plans. Uncle Vernon picked America as the replacement spot, as they thought it would be nice and bland and ordinary. The mention of werewolves would have driven them screaming from the room."

I made wide eyes at Harry. "Then why the hell did they pick St. Louis? We've got the biggest vampire business and tourism sector in the country, outside of Los Angeles."

"Vampire tourism?" Harry said, astonished. I shook my head and told myself to let it go, for now. He continued, "Anyway, we were out sightseeing at one of the parks out in the country and they drove off without me. By then it was getting dark and I figured I could walk back into town and try and find the hotel. I was cutting across a field to get to the freeway when I heard the wolves start to howl and I... I guess I freaked out and ran the wrong way. I didn't know they were werewolves. Back home I'd only ever met the one."

"Your friend the werewolf, he didn't introduce you to his pack?" Richard asked.

"Pack?" Harry asked. "He didn't have a pack. Do werewolves have packs, like real wolves?"

No pack? How often did a werewolf not have a pack? They were the most social wereanimal I knew. I watched Richard, curious as to what he would say. "Yes, we have packs," Richard said carefully, "but usually larger than real wolf packs. There are a lot more werewolves in St. Louis than in a wolf pack, as you saw last night."

"Wow," Harry breathed, and I saw fear chase through his eyes. "It's probably for the best that I didn't try to defend myself last night, then."

"How would you have defended yourself?" I interrupted.

Harry shrugged. "I was going to try a Patronus charm, although I'm not sure how much use it would be against werewolves, might just have scared them off. A stunner would only have gotten one at a time and even though I thought only three were after me, I'd have been dead before I could cast the second charm. Well, dead or with my wand broken." So his little stick was a wand?

"What kind of magic can you do?" Micah asked. His hand had stilled against my side, and I felt his energy vibrating in the air.

Harry licked his lips. He looked at Micah and me, while Richard stared off into space, thinking. "All kinds. I mean, we're still learning the really hard stuff, but I got nine OWLs last year. I'm best at defence. My transfiguration isn't as good, and potions is a mixed bag. Charms is getting better, though."

My mind had stalled, trying to reconcile the kind of magic I had seen in my time with these things Harry was talking about. "What's charms?" I asked.

"Making things... do magical things," he replied weakly.

"Can you show us something?" Micah asked. Richard was still sitting silently. The expression on his face wasn't his, it was Jean-Claude's calculating expression. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he was thinking about.

Harry started to say no, but stopped. Astonishment crossed his face. "Yes, I can. We're not supposed to do magic outside of school until we're seventeen, but it's the first of August." He looked round the room. He got up, picked a dirty spoon up out of the sink and placed it on the table. He waved his wand at the spoon and said, "Wingardium leviosa."

The spoon gave a shudder, and slowly floated off the table.

"Sweet Jesus," I breathed, my mind completely stalled. I had never seen a witch do anything even remotely like that. Harry was staring at me now, so somber. "What else can you do?" I asked.

"How are you at healing magic?" Richard interrupted.

"Okay, I guess. We only just started on healing spells and charms last year. It wasn't part of the usual curriculum but they put it into Defence Against The Dark Arts in November. I'm better at preparing healing potions than most charms, though," Harry said. He paused. "Why?" The word was heavy with suspicion.

The second before Richard opened his mouth, I knew what he was going to say. "No, Richard, we cannot keep him. You don't know if he's going to change or not!" I said sharply.

Richard turned to me, angry, and I almost flinched in the face of his fury, feeling suddenly very small. You never really remember that Richard's over six feet tall and solid muscle until he gets pissed at you. But right now, his anger wasn't directed at me. "I am Ulfric, Anita, not you, so do not tell me what I can and cannot do," he said, almost growling. "You saw the claw marks, you saw how deep they went. You've felt it. You heard him, they don't have packs in England. I'm not going to ship him home to change on his own when there is another option."

"So altruism is your only motivation," I said, laying on the sarcasm.

Richard smiled and showed his teeth. It was a threat. "Someone who can call healing magic without the munin would be a great benefit to the pack," he said. Harry sat in his chair, watching the conversation over his fate carry on in front of him.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" I said, and made to get out of my chair, but Micah pulled me back and I stumbled as I sat back down. The room was silent for a few seconds as I clenched my teeth around my anger, trying to calm down.

Then, "How are you making the spoon float like that?" Nathaniel asked from the doorway.


	5. Blood is Thicker Than Water

* * *

Both Richard and I turned to glare at Nathaniel at the same time, and our expressions must have been equally intimidating, because Nathaniel looked down and hunched his shoulders in a look of submission. He didn't get down and rub himself along my legs, though. I'd been trying to get the wereleopards to stop the less human dominance/submissive actions in public. Apparently, Harry qualified as public.

Harry flicked his wand and let the spoon clatter to the table before standing up. "Hi again," he said, linking his fingers in the back pockets of his jeans.

Nathaniel looked at me, then at Micah, then Richard, then finally at Harry. He straightened his bare shoulders and smiled back at Harry. "Are you staying for lunch?" he asked.

"I suppose I am," Harry said. "And maybe for longer than that?" he continued, but now the boy was angry and the focus of that anger seemed to be Richard. "Was that what the point was? Now that I'm going to be a werewolf I have to stay in St. Louis?

Richard stood up. He loomed over the boy but I don't think it was intentional. "Question time. Do your people accept werewolves? Functional members of society? Or are they monsters all of the time, not just on the night of the full moon?" he demanded.

A silence settled over the kitchen. I remembered how I felt when everyone was convinced that I was going to be a wereleopard, after Gregory accidentally cut me up in attempting to pull Chimera's snake-men off of me. Richard had gotten a bad batch of lycanthropy serum, and Nathaniel had told me that Gabriel had infected him, pulled him off the street when he was a seventeen-year-old heroin-addicted prostitute. Micah had never mentioned how he became a wereleopard.

The month before the first full moon was so full of change, so much pain, impossible to describe with words. I hadn't changed into a wereleopard, but the changes in my body were almost as severe. I just stayed human on the full moon. Or as human as I had ever been.

Richard turned and walked to the door. "I'll be in the living room," he said over his shoulder. He glared down at Nathaniel. Nathaniel turned to let Richard out of the room, but didn't move backward. I thought that was kind of interesting, but I put Nathaniel's continuous problems with alphas away for a moment and followed Richard. I wasn't finished with him yet.

I caught up with him just as he reached the sofa. My anger was still raging through me. I crossed my arms and glowered at Richard as he flopped down onto the sofa. "You can't be thinking this," I said.

Richard slumped even lower and linked his fingers over his stomach. "I can do whatever I damn well want," he shot back.

I felt Micah at my back a second before his hands came to rest on my hips. "What's he thinking?" Micah asked.

"Mr. Zeeman wants the kid to stay and become his vargamour," I replied.

Richard smirked. "Looks like someone's jealous that she won't be the only witch in the pack."

I stared. "Have you lost your fucking mind? You can't ask a boy to leave his home to play with the monsters, making himself into a target! Anyone who wants to hurt the pack will just have more targets. He's only just seventeen!"

Sighing, Richard dropped his head to the back of the couch. "When I was seventeen, Raina already had me, Anita." He closed his eyes. "I don't know any of the werewolves in England, or wherever he goes to school. I do know our pack. I can keep bad people from getting their claws into him if he stays here."

"You can't ask him to stay," I said, quietly, leaning back against Micah.

"But how can I ask him to go?" Richard asked. I didn't have an answer.

* * *

I had retreated to the other end of the couch, with Micah perched on the side of the couch arm. Richard hadn't moved. I felt movement and turned to see Harry leaning against the wall. Nathaniel came around him and curled up on the floor by my feet.

"That leaves the question of what to do with Harry," Richard said into the silence.

"Why does everyone always decide what's best for me?" Harry demanded.

Richard gave a full body shrug and finally opened his eyes. "So decide what you want to do," he said. "You can stay here for the next month until the full moon. Or you can go home to England."

Harry looked around, at me and Nathaniel, then at Richard, before turning and walking over to the window. The day was beautiful, sunny and breezy, and the greenery outside was moving slightly in the wind. "If I want to stay in town, at least until after the full moon, would that be okay?" he finally said.

Nathaniel whispered, "Yes," under his breath at the same time as Richard said, "Yes."

Harry looked faintly surprised. "But where can I stay? I haven't any American money," he said.

"You can stay here," Nathaniel said. My eyebrows went up. Oh really?

"He could stay with me," Richard protested.

I shook my head at that. "No, it would cause less talk if he stayed here, Nathaniel's right," I said. "Besides, there'd be someone here in case he started having troubles with the change, while you're the only one at your house."

Richard sighed. "Less talk, huh?" he said. I nodded. He had enough trouble keeping his furry identify from the school, he didn't need to start inviting strange teenage boys to stay over at his house, no matter how innocent the explanation. Although which was worse for a teacher? Being outed as a werewolf or whispered talk about your underage houseguest? 

Don't answer that.

Harry had the strangest expression on his face. "Well, it looks like you're staying here," I said. "We can move Nathaniel's stuff into the back room. Harry can be in the front bedroom upstairs."

"No," Harry said sharply. "I mean, I don't want to displace anyone. I can take any place, really."

I sighed and let Nathaniel help me stand. "Look, kid, you're not displacing anyone." I stopped in front of Harry, having to look up. He was taller than Nathaniel. "Where did they make you stay?" I asked softly.

Harry stuck his chin out and shrank back on himself a little. "They let me have Dudley's second bedroom, when I was eleven, but before that I was in the cupboard under the stairs." He smiled faintly at the memory. "That's what my first Hogwart's letter said, 'Mr. Harry Potter, Cupboard under the stairs, 4 Privet Drive'."

I'd heard of worse childhoods; Stephen and Gregory came to mind, as well as Nathaniel, but Harry's still sounded like it sucked. "No cupboards for anyone in my house," I said. "You are my guest and as such you get the best. Come on, let's go get something to eat."

I let Harry precede me, and watched as Nathaniel followed our English guest. Richard came up behind me. "Is this a good idea?" he asked.

I shook my head, feeling drained. "No, this is a bad idea, but what can I do? He's just a kid, with no one. I met his family. They were willing to let the bad wizard who's after him take him, so long as it didn't involve them at all." 

There was a moment of dead silence. "What did you just say?" Richard asked.

I winced. Shit. "They abandoned him in the wilderness last night with no money. They were making him sleep on the floor of the hotel. The way he talks, that was the way they always treated him." So I was intentionally answering the question incorrectly. Sue me.

"Answer me, Anita." Richard's voice was cold.

I turned around to face him. His anger was palpable. I recognized the feel of it, the taste. He felt this way when one of his pack was in danger. How had Harry become part of the pack so quickly, in his eyes?

"Okay, but none of this is to go beyond this room without Harry's approval." I explained the conversation I'd had with Harry at the diner the night before, about Voldemort and how Harry's parents had died. "He made it sound like this jerk would be coming after him. I told him that if he showed his face around here, I'd take care of it."

Richard was breathing heavily. "Jesus Christ. He's just a kid," he said after a minute.

"So does your offer still stand?" Micah asked from the couch. "Is he still welcome in St. Louis, now that you know he's got someone after him?"

"Of course he is," Richard snapped. He glared at Micah, the air full of some arcane alpha male shit. I threw up my hands.

"Good, I'm glad we've gotten that under control. I'm hungry, let's go eat." I had even turned toward the kitchen when my cell phone rang.

I hung my head for a second, then went to dig the bloody thing out of my jacket. "Hello?"

"It's Jamil. Is Richard there?"

I handed the phone to Richard without a word. Richard lifted it to his ear. "Hello? No, I didn't know there was a problem. She what?" Richard yelped the last bit. Micah and I exchanged looks. "Did anyone get hurt? What the fuck was she thinking? Yes, I'll be over as soon as I can." He hung up and very carefully put the phone down. I think that if he wasn't being dangerously careful, he would break something in his anger.

"What's wrong?"

"Suzanne, she's pack, has been for about three years. Turns out that sometime in the last month, she infected her boyfriend. He changed last night for the first time." Richard's voice was even more careful than his actions. It was the voice of someone who wanted to scream and yell more than anything.

"You told me there were no new lukoi last night," I said, worry snaking around in my stomach.

Richard smiled, a tight smile. "I know. He has a house out in the country. The place is torn up, a couple of cows are dead. No one else got hurt."

"Did she know she infected him?" Micah asked.

Richard nodded. "Jamil said she knew, was there to make sure he didn't kill anyone."

"Wait, she knew she had a first-timer and didn't bring him to the Lupanar?" I demanded.

"It looks like that," Richard said. He suddenly looked tired. He must not have had much rest after the change last night. "I have to get over there. Jamil's already there, so is Sylvie."

He turned to leave. I called after him. "Richard..."

"What, are you going to tell me to take it easy on the poor lovebirds?" he asked. The sarcasm was thick.

"No. I was going to tell you that you need to make the decision for the pack, not on how sorry you feel for Suzanne or the boyfriend. We can't have this sort of thing happen again."

Richard turned at my words. He and I had a rare moment of clarity, even though our marks were carefully boarded up. "Scare her good, in front of everyone," he said.

I nodded. "I'll be there for extra threat."

Then the clarity was gone, and we were back to being the same confused individuals. He left and didn't even slam the door behind him.

That left Micah and I in the living room. There were soft voices in the kitchen, but I tuned them out.

"Come here," Micah said as he stood up. I went to him and let him wrap me up in his arms. He rubbed his nose against mine and made me smile.

"How did everything go last night?" I asked in a whisper. My lips were so close to his that a butterfly flapping its wings in China would have brought us together.

"Same as always," Micah replied, his lips touching mine as he spoke. Then he kissed me. It was gentle and wet and it made my knees weak. I responded, putting my hand on Micah's neck to keep him where he was. The tension in my body slipped away as the kiss continued.

The sound of laughter in the kitchen eventually made me draw back. Micah was smiling at me. "Looks like Nathaniel's made a friend," he said.

"Always good to have friends in the pack," I replied.

The smile on Micah's face ebbed away. "So you really do think he's going to change."

I shrugged. "Yes, I do. I'm not sure why, though."

"I do." Micah slipped one arm over my shoulders and drew me along with him toward the kitchen. "There is the tiniest spark in him, something wild. It's so new that I don't think he knows about it yet. I felt something like it in you, back in the days you were still unconscious and healing."

I made Micah stop. "Back when you first saw me, I mean, when I was unconscious..." I looked down. "Open mouth, insert foot," I muttered.

Micah put his mouth next to my ear. "Even unconscious for days, I felt the power in you. I watched you sleep and you looked like an angel."

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. The comment was so romantic it was silly, but it made me smile. "Thank you," I murmured. I let Micah draw me into the kitchen.

* * *

Harry put the last of the plates in the drying rack, and let the water out of the sink. He stared as the suds were sucked down the drain.

"Thanks for helping with dishes," Nathaniel said in a soft voice. Harry turned his head and saw the wereleopard leaning against the counter and smiling.

"It was the least I could do," Harry replied. He was lost in thought, about how much had happened in the last few days, when he realized he had been staring at Nathaniel. He jerked his eyes away, a bit embarrassed. There was something about Nathaniel's eyes, a strange purple colour, that he just couldn't help but stare.

"Should we have saved something for Damian?" Harry asked to fill the silence.

He was not ready for the laughter his comment elicited from Nathaniel. "What on earth for?" he asked, his chuckles hunching his shoulders and sending his long braid over his shoulder.

Harry had never seen anyone with hair as long as Nathaniel's, and it was almost as interesting as his eyes.

"What's so funny?" came a new voice from the door. There was a man standing there. He was short, although a bit taller than Micah or Anita, with long curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. If Harry hadn't spent the last few minutes staring at Nathaniel, those eyes might have been more interesting. Although everyone around the place seemed to have interesting eyes.

A second later, another man and a woman joined the first man in the doorway. The new man was tall and thin, with bright blue hair. The woman was tall, blonde and not wearing a heck of a lot of clothing.

"Harry just asked if we should have saved some lunch for Damian," Nathaniel explained.

Each of the people in the doorway cracked up at that. Harry fidgeted, not seeing why it would be so terribly funny. He knew he was missing something but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask.

"What's going on in here?" Anita asked, coming in the glass doors from outside. She had changed from the clothes she had worn to the Dursleys' hotel into a pair of cut-off shorts and a blood-red tank top. There were scars running up and down her left arm, over her collarbone and continuing down her right arm. Beside Mad-Eye Moody, Harry had never seen so many scars on such a concentrated part of skin.

"Harry asked Nathaniel if they should have saved some lunch for Damian," the short man said, still giggling.

Anita looked at them all with a blank face. "And why exactly is that funny?" she said, the warmth that had been in her voice a moment earlier gone.

The laughter in the others went out like a candle. They all looked at their feet, the walls, anywhere but Anita.

"I didn't tell Harry about Damian last night," Anita went on. There was a frown forming on her face. "He offered to do something nice for someone he'd only met for a second, and you're laughing at him?"

Nathaniel pushed himself away from the counter and got to his knees, crawling toward Anita with his head down. His crawling was oddly graceful, and it made Harry stare. Once Nathaniel got to Anita, he pressed his head against her knee. She let him, although she didn't look down.

The other three in the doorway followed suit, until Anita was surrounded by crawling people. It wasn't until the blue-haired man licked her palm that Anita said, "All right, everybody off the floor."

The three from the door stood up and drifted over to the chairs around the table. Nathaniel stayed on the floor by Anita's feet.

"It's all right, Nathaniel, you can get up," Anita said, offering him her hand. He used it to stand up, and didn't seem to want to let her go.

Now Harry was a bit confused. He had thought that Micah and Anita were a couple.

"Harry, about Damian," Anita started. "He won't need any lunch because he's a vampire."

Harry blinked owlishly. "He's a what?"

"A vampire," she repeated. "But it's okay, he's safe. He's... well, he's mine. So he won't hurt you. But don't look in his eyes, just to be on the safe side." She smiled in what Harry thought was an attempt to be reassuring. It didn't quite work.

"You've got a vampire in the basement?" Harry asked, rather stunned. "But I thought you were a vampire hunter."

Anita waved her hands in the air, as if trying to push the inconsistency aside. "I know, but you have to trust me. He's fine. He won't do anything to hurt you." She suddenly looked a bit awkward, standing there in her raggedy clothes, her hair flying wildly around her face. "Is that going to be a problem?"

All eyes were on Harry. He restrained himself from putting his hands in his pockets and shuffling his feet. To his knowledge, Harry had never met a vampire.

Not until last night, that was.

"He won't try and kill me," Harry finally said, as a sort of question.

Anita looked very relieved. "No, not a chance. You can even ask Richard, however grudgingly that conversation may be."

"In what way?" Harry asked, leaning back against the counter. He noticed that the blonde man was giving him a very strange look.

"Richard doesn't approve of Damian," said the woman as she cuddled in the tall man's lap.

"Cherry," Anita said in a warning tone.

"She's right, though," the tall man said. "Richard has never even tried to understand what the deal is between you and Damian. Which is dumb, 'cause it would help the pack."

"Zane's right," the short blonde man said in turn. "No one hurts the pard in part because they know how very scary you can be. If Richard used half of that, no one would stand against the pack."

Harry wondered how Anita, so small and delicate-looking, could scare anyone. But then, the mere mention of necromancy sent most wizards he knew screaming into the distance. Harry's only run-in with necromancy had been with Voldemort, but Voldemort always scared him for a whole different reason.

"Gregory..." Anita started, then stopped. She took her hand out of Nathaniel's and pushed her hair back. "I don't want to talk about Richard." She shook her head and went to the coffee maker.

"Excuse me," Harry said, licking his lips nervously, "but what exactly is the pard?"

The three people at the table raised their hands. "Us," Cherry said. Zane nodded happily.

"Pard is the word we use to describe our pack," Anita said, still poking at the coffee maker.

"You're all wereleopards?" Harry guessed. More nods, and a meow from Zane. "But how can you be a wereleopard if you were out at the full moon, Anita?" 

"She's Nimir-Ra, but doesn't change," Nathaniel offered. He stood in the centre of the room, looking adrift. At Harry's confused expression, Nathaniel elaborated, "She's in charge. She protects us all."

Harry nodded slightly, trying desperately to take this all in and keep it straight. "Okay, so she's head of the wereleopards." Harry paused, trying to get his words in order. "But then how is she tied to Richard and how does that affect the werewolf pack and its safety?"

A flurry of glances was exchanged between the three at the table and Nathaniel. Anita spoke into the silence. "I'm the Lupa, the pack mom. I'm also Bolverk, to take care of messy werewolf problems." Her tone was dull, uninterested. "The rest isn't important right now."

"Oh," Harry said. Nathaniel was nudging over toward Anita. He tentatively put his fingers on the back of her hand. When she didn't pull away, he stepped into the line of her body and stood against her, touching and offering comfort.

The only time the Dursleys seemed to touch Harry as a child had been in anger or irritation. By the time he got to Hogwarts, he had become accustomed to no touching. Sure, Hermione had hugged him a few times, and then there was that thing with Cho. He had had a bit of a relationship with Susan Bones the previous year, nothing too intense, just a dance or two, and a Hogsmede weekend, holding hands.

But he had never considered closeness for the sheer sake of closeness. Now, watching Anita lean into Nathaniel, he could almost feel her relief. For the first time in a long time, he wondered what it would be like to touch someone casually like Nathaniel was doing to Anita.

Sometime in the middle of his introspection, Anita looked at Harry. "You do realize I can't let you out of the house dressed like that," she said in an attempt at levity.

"Like what?" Harry asked.

"Like some sort of circus clown," Anita replied. She seemed to be getting herself back together. "Do you have any better clothes in that suitcase of yours?"

Harry shrugged, then winced as the flash of pain burned over his shoulder. "I was wearing my best things yesterday," he said.

"Are they hand-me-downs from your cousin?" 

Harry met Anita's gaze, unblushing. He had nothing to be ashamed of. "Yes."

Anita sighed. "Then I guess there's nothing else for it. I'm going to have to take you shopping."

Everyone stared. "Did you just volunteer to go shopping?" Cherry asked.

"Don't look at me like that, I've been known to shop before," Anita said defensively.

"Only under duress," came a new voice from outside. Micah stepped in the glass door and came up on the other side of Anita. "Why do you need to go shopping?"

Three fingers pointed at Harry. He wondered if Zane, Cherry and Gregory always did things in tandem. He hoped not. It was annoying.

Micah glanced Harry up and down. For some reason, Harry didn't mind. He was still trying to place Micah in this whole mess. He had thought he'd gotten it earlier, but that was before he had seen Nathaniel touching Anita.

"When was the last time you went shopping with a teenage boy?" Micah asked.

"Last August," Harry said, before Anita could reply. His comment elicited giggles from the table.

"I could go to help out," Nathaniel said softly. At Anita's questioning look, he said, "You know, just in case he needs any help with guy things that aren't British."

"Not that I mind the love-in," Cherry said, suddenly serious, "But why are we going to buy things for the kid and why is he staying here?"

Anita, Micah and Nathaniel all looked at Harry, who pushed himself off the counter. "It is indeed possible that I will be a werewolf next month," Harry said. He was very pleased that he said it without any hint of wavering in this voice. "Ms. Blake was kind enough to assist me last night, and she and Nathaniel offered me a place to stay after my guardians kicked me out this morning. For which I will always be grateful."

Anita smiled, very slightly. "You keep talking like that and I may even buy you a new pair of shoes."

Gregory stood up and edged toward the door. "What? I so have to call Stephen," he said when Micah pinned him with a glare. Then he was gone.

"I want to look at Harry's shoulder first," Anita said. "Then we shop."

Harry couldn't help but note the distaste she put into the word, before he was distracted by Nathaniel's smile.

* * *

And I thought shopping for girls was hard. It had taken the better part of the afternoon. Harry had wanted to stop after the first pair of jeans and runners, but Nathaniel had pressed on until we were loaded down with bags. I'd had to veto some things, but it worked out well.

After a quick call home, and an even quicker stop at a Chinese restaurant for takeout, we headed home. All of our leopards, with the exception of Elizabeth, were at the house. Stephen also showed up on Vivian's arm. It had been Zane's idea to carry on with the videos we'd started the previous day.

I'd quickly introduced everyone to Harry, and told them no sniffing. Only Caleb pouted at that, and it wasn't enough for me to smack him.

The food was dished out and everyone was sprawled on the living room when Cherry asked, "What are we going to watch?"

"The original Cat People."

"Tomb Raider."

"Planet of the Apes."

"Are there any wereapes?"

"Yeah, they drive jacked up trucks and congregate on Ninth."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"Maybe Harry wants to pick something," Nathaniel said softly. He had been creeping around the room, putting coasters under the open cans of pop on the coffee table.

I paused in shoving noodles into my mouth to glance over at our fair English guest. He'd changed into a T-shirt and some shorts Nathaniel lent him, and he looked much more at ease. He seemed surprised by the suggestion.

"Go on," I said, waving my chopsticks toward the video collection. "Pick something."

Someone muttered under their breath, I think Caleb, but Merle leaned over toward him and Caleb shut his mouth.

Harry went over to the videos and glanced at the titles in front. "What's Bambi?" he asked.

"Saddest movie ever," Gina, one of Micah's wereleopards, said. She was studiously avoiding the bits of pork in her fried rice, which I found strange.

"Best movie ever," Gregory interjected. "Deer." His tone had a finality to it, as if that were the end of the story.

"Didn't you cry when Bambi's mother was shot?" Gina challenged.

Gregory poked at his lemon chicken. "Only a little," Stephen replied for him.

"Is there anyone in this room whose mother didn't die on them at an early age?" I said under my breath. Unfortunately, I was in a room full of lycanthropes with super hearing.

"Ours did," Stephen said from the couch. Vivian, who was already wrapped around him, hugged him a bit closer.

"Mine did," Nathaniel replied. His hand tightened around my calf.

Gina and Noah both put up their hands. I sighed and stuck mine up in the air too.

"Same here," Harry said. Every head in the room swiveled to him.

"How?" Gregory asked.

Harry glanced at me, and I nodded slightly. "When I was only a year or so old, an evil wizard came to kill my parents. My dad went first, then my mum. She died protecting me."

There was a moment of silence. I felt a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes as I thought about my mother. "Okay, group hug," I said in an effort to lighten the mood.

Everyone in the room lumped in, until we were a big bunch of wereleopards on the couch, touching in some way. Harry watched us from over by the TV, a wistful look in his eyes.

I smiled at him, still wanting to cry, as Micah nuzzled my neck. We stayed like that until I felt a hand start to creep up my thigh. "Caleb," I said sharply.

Micah's hand shot out and grabbed Caleb's wrist before any fingers slipped under my shorts. Nathaniel and Zane peeled off me, away from Micah, as my Nimir-Raj got in Caleb's face, energy prickling off him like a storm.

Caleb hunched down on the floor. I knew this game, and I let Micah play it. "The rules are no pawing at Anita, Caleb. Got it?" 

Caleb nodded and was released. He quickly slunk off to sit by Gina, who seemed amused by the whole thing. Of course, she had known Caleb longer than I had. Or maybe I'm just intolerant of idiots trying to get in my pants.

Conversation started again and Harry, in the meantime, had turned back to the videos. He'd perused my entire collection of Disney flicks and was burrowing deeper. He pulled a blank black video case out from behind the children's films and frowned down at it. By my leg, Nathaniel went completely and utterly still.

"What's this?" Harry asked, and made to open the case. Belatedly, I remembered exactly what that was. I dove off the couch and grabbed the film out of Harry's hands. I pulled the other two identical black cases off the shelf, and marched into my bedroom. There, I opened the closet, dropped the videos in the deepest darkest corner, pushed some shoes over them, closed the closet door, and went back to the living room. I was buzzing with adrenaline with the close call.

Micah's pard was looking at me funny. My pard, with the exception of Nathaniel, was careful not to look at me at all. Nathaniel was hunched in, like he was trying to pretend he wasn't there. Harry gave me an odd look before he went back to the videos.

I smiled at everyone, showing my teeth, and went back to the couch. When I sat down, Nathaniel moved over until he wasn't touching me.

I bit back the urge to sigh, and had to pull Nathaniel so his shoulder rested against my leg. I left my hand on his neck and played with his hair. Slowly he calmed down.

"What was that all about?" Micah murmured in my ear.

"I'll tell you later," I replied. I was not about to tell him, here, that the videos had been a present from Nathaniel. Back before I'd been made head of the wereleopards, their alpha had been a sick son of a bitch named Gabriel. His ideal fantasy had been to give me a knife, then rape me while I was trying to kill him. He'd given me the knife, but I'd managed to kill him before he raped me. Anyway, before his messy exit, he and the old Lupa of the werewolves, Raina, had been making pornos with the lycanthropes. Gabriel knew that Raina would kill Nathaniel in a one-on-one situation, so he'd only let her have him during filming. The three videos were porn with Nathaniel in a starring role.

I'd never watched them. I'd have thrown them away, but I was raised not to be rude, never to discard a gift someone give you. I had a suspicion that this was so not what my step-mother Judith had in mind, though.

* * *

Night had fallen when the last of the credits rolled on the Indiana Jones movie. I slipped out from under Micah's legs across my lap and padded across the floor to switch off the TV.

Harry continued to stare at the screen, pensive. "So what did you think?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It was interesting. I haven't seen many movies, though."

"Don't they have movies at your school?" Nathaniel asked quietly.

Harry shook his head.

"How utterly boring," Gregory said. He stood up and stretched as only a wereleopard can do, contorting into positions just this side of impossible.

"Stop being so energetic," Vivian demanded. She and Stephen were slumped against each other on the couch, looking wiped out. Come to think of it, all of the cats looked tired.

"Hey, I've got to work tonight," Gregory said. "And so does your lover boy. If I don't start getting worked up now, I'm not going to be at the top of my game, am I?"

Stephen stuck his tongue out at his twin, then buried his face in Vivian's shoulder.

I heard the faint sound of the basement door opening in the kitchen. Damian must have been awake and ready for the night. I leaned against the TV cabinet and looked over all the wereleopards. A strange urge of protectiveness washed over me, and I had to shake my head. They were all okay. And Micah was there to help me, if anything came up.

Harry got to his feet and went to the video shelf, began to put the cases back in place. "You don't have to do that," Nathaniel interjected.

"It's okay, I want to," Harry replied, turning to smile at Nathaniel. Gregory, who was also watching this little scene, raised his eyebrows.

Damian slipped into the room. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, very casual for him. "Not working?" I asked.

He shook his head, long red hair sliding around his shoulders. "Not this evening, but I was going to the club to help Hannah with the inventory."

"Want a ride?" Gregory asked. "I've got to head to Guilty Pleasures in half an hour."

Damian inclined his head slightly. "Yes."

Harry picked up the last video case from the ground and walked across the room to put it back in place. That accomplished, he straightened up and used his good arm to readjust his shirt over his wounded shoulder.

The movement put him right next to Damian. My vampire moved his head incrementally when Harry pulled at the cloth of his shirt, and I wondered if he had scented the blood.

"Fuck me," Gregory burst out. He was staring at Harry and Damian, mouth hanging open. Everyone turned to stare at the wereleopard.

"What is wrong with you now?" Stephen demanded, getting up to stand beside his brother. Then his blue eyes got wide as he stared at Damian and Harry.

"D'you see it?" Gregory demanded. Stephen nodded slowly.

"What the hell is wrong with the two of you?" I demanded, crossing my arms.

"Look at them!" Gregory said, pointing at Damian and Harry, who were both looking a little shocked at the outburst.

I obliged by looking. "So what?"

From behind Gregory, Micah slowly got to his feet. "Um, Anita..."

"What?"

"Yes, Gregory, what?" Damian said in a low voice.

"They have the same eyes," Stephen said, unable to take his eyes off the pair. "And there's a cheekbone thing going on."

"And they were making the same expression," Gregory continued. "It's like they're related or something."

"No way," Harry said, taking a step back. "There's no American vampires in my family."

"Damian's from northern Scotland, originally," Gregory replied.

The look Damian was throwing at Gregory made me push off the wall and get between them. "Gregory, you need to shut up," I said.

"Okay, no vampires in the family," Harry said. "There's no record of any vampires in my dad's family for as far back as I've ever heard."

"What part of your family did you get your eyes from?" Stephen asked.

The room grew silent. As I watched, Harry went very pale. "My mother. But I've seen pictures of my grandparents, Grandmother and Grandfather Evans. Aunt Petunia had them." His voice had an almost pleading tone.

Through the marks I had with Damian, I felt a cold thrill run through him. "Did you say Evans?" he asked.

Harry whipped his head around. I had never seen anyone looking more stunned.

I'm not sure what I would have said, because Damian brushed past me and out the front door.

Shit. "Micah?"

Micah stood up. "Go," he said. "I'll stay here." Stay with Harry, I knew he meant.

I headed out after Damian.

* * *

I found Damian leaning against my Jeep, his head ducked down. He was very still, but it was a trapped rabbit stillness, not the usual vampire stillness. "Do you know what Gregory's talking about?" I asked very quietly, in the warm August air.

It took a minute, but Damian finally nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked as I stopped beside him. I brushed his hair back from his face, his skin cold. He hadn't fed yet.

"I don't know."

I continued to touch his hair, like blood-coloured silk under my fingers. "Are you related to that boy in there?"

He nodded. "It's possible." He took a shuddering breath and lifted his head enough to meet my eyes. "Almost forty years ago, She-Who-Made Me was summoned to the Council. She left me behind."

"And that's when you met, what, Harry's grandmother?" This was turning into a bad soap opera.

"Her name was Mary, Mary Evans. She and her husband and her daughter were staying at a hotel, trying to fix their marriage. She went out for a hike and became lost, took refuge in some caves near the castle of She-Who-Made-Me." Damian closed his eyes, and for a moment, I saw a hint of Harry in his face. Oh shit.

"What happened then?" I asked. I knew this much, that I couldn't not know the rest.

"She got a fire going. I sensed it, and went to investigate. She... she was very beautiful." He shook his head. "She had never met a vampire before. She was curious."

"How curious?"

Damian gave me a look. "Curious enough."

It took a lot not to smile, but I managed it. "So you satisfied her curiosity?"

Damian pulled away from me and walked a bit further into the dark night. I followed him. "And then guided her back to the road. I flew back to the castle and that was it." He pushed his hands into his hair. "I had no idea there would be a child, you have to know that."

I nodded, not really sure what else to do. What do you say to a guy who has just found out he's got a grandson? 

"I have to go," Damian said suddenly. "Hannah's expecting me."

"Okay," I said. He didn't look at me as he suddenly flew into the air. I shook my head. I'd never get used to the way vampires just flew away like that.

I turned around and took a deep breath. Now all I had to was go back into the house and try and figure out why Damian's long-lost grandson had appeared in our lives. I just wished I believed in coincidences.


	6. A Rose By Any Other Name...

* * *

The wereleopards were talking in quiet huddles in the living room when I came back into the house. Harry, Micah and Nathaniel were missing. I put my hands on my hips. "All right, where's Harry?"

Merle stood up. At just over six feet, he looked like an aging bad-assed biker. Appropriate, because he was an aging bad-assed biker. He was also Micah's bodyguard. "Micah has taken Harry into the kitchen," he said.

Great. "Okay, all of you, clear out," I ordered.

There were some grumbles, but everyone started moving. Once I was sure that they were actually going to leave, I headed for the kitchen.

I wasn't too surprised by what I saw there. Harry was hunched in a chair, his head in his hands. Micah was sitting next to him, while Nathaniel hovered nervously by the kitchen island.

"So." I had no idea what to say, to any of them. "I talked to Damian." Well, it was a start.

When Harry didn't move, Micah raised his eyebrows at me. "So is it possible?"

I nodded, going to stand beside Nathaniel. "He said yeah." Harry's shoulders twitched at that, but he didn't sit up.

"It's weird to think of someone as old as Damian having family," Nathaniel said softly. "Especially someone who dropped into our lives like this."

"That's for sure."

My suspicions must have made it into my voice somehow, because Harry jerked his head out of his hands and glared at me. "What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"Come on, it's a little bit much, don't you think?" I said sharply. "The boy in the woods who runs out and gets himself invited into my house just _happens_ to be my vampire's grandson?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "You think this is my doing?" he asked, incredulous. "It's not! For all I know, you set this up!"

"Me?"

"Yes, you!" Harry stood up and faced me. "You were there in the woods, you helped me and bought me dinner. Was it some sort of plan? You found out about Damian and then--"

"Stop it!" Micah roared, his loud voice overpowering the shouting. "That's enough!" He stepped in between Harry and I, his beast roiling just under his skin, so powerful but in control. "There is no point in yelling about this," Micah continued in a more normal tone. "If we're going to talk about this, we'll do it quietly."

Harry was shaking his head. "How do I know this isn't a trap?" he asked. He wasn't watching me anymore, he was watching Micah.

Micah turned to face him, hands out at his sides. "Harry, we're not going to hurt you. You have to believe me."

"How can I believe you? I don't know any of you." Harry's voice wavered on the last word, and I think I finally understood.

Yesterday, he'd been himself, on vacation with a crappy family. Today, he was in a house with people he didn't know, his relatives essentially gone, and there was the very real chance that he would soon join the werewolf community. Add Damian to the mix, and no wonder he was getting paranoid.

"Harry--" 

I got no further before I heard a heavy knock on the front door.

"Do you want me to get it?" Nathaniel asked, but it sounded like Merle had already answered.

Heavy footsteps, then Merle appeared in the kitchen doorway. "It's the Master and company at the door," Merle said. There was a slightly apprehensive look on his face. I wondered if it was the vampires or the fight in the kitchen.

I waved my hands in the air. "I'll be there in a second," I said. "Harry, this isn't a trap. Much as I hate to admit it, maybe it's a coincidence, you being here and Damian and all."

"I don't believe in coincidences," Harry said, green eyes still blazing. His glare was beginning to turn sulky, and I took that as a good sign.

"Well, I don't believe in fate," I shot back.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched. "Neither do I."

"So where does that leave us?" 

"Back at intention?" Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose and pushed his hair back from his face.

"Well, again, I didn't plan this. And I can guarantee you, Damian hadn't even thought that you might exist."

Harry frowned, but his anger seemed to have abated a bit. "I didn't plan this either. But if we haven't got fate or plan, does that mean we're back at coincidence?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Damn it."

"Anita?" Merle said, reminding me that there were vampires waiting. "The Master is still at the door."

That got my attention. "Jean-Claude has an invite, why is he waiting?"

"There's someone else with him."

I shook my head. "Fine. I'll be right back."

I grumbled all the way down the hall to the front door. There, poised perfectly against the wall just inside the door, was my favourite vampire.

He looked perfect. His jeans hugged his thighs, his dark blue button-up shirt handsome in a strangely conservative way. Normally, I'd be all over him, but tonight I was so not in the mood.

"Who's outside?" I asked.

"What, ma petite, no hello kiss?" Jean-Claude asked lightly, his smile widening enough so I could see his fangs.

I glared.

Jean-Claude pushed himself off the wall and opened the door wider so I could see Jason standing on the porch, looking faintly bored.

"Since when does Jason need an invite?" I asked, honestly confused.

Jean-Claude flicked his fingers, and Jason slipped into the house. With the distraction out of the way, I could see a faint dark shadow on the porch. The shadows shifted and Requiem swept the cloak aside enough for me to see his face.

Of course. "Requiem, please come in," I said.

Jean-Claude's third in command walked slowly into the house, looking around curiously. "You honour me," he said, putting his hand over his heart and giving me a small bow.

I smiled briefly before turning my attention back to Jean-Claude. "Why are you here?" I asked.

Jean-Claude shrugged expressively. "I am here to meet the latest wolf, ma petite. Jason also expressed an interest in an introduction."

"And Requiem is, what, helping you with your rounds?"

"Something like that, ma petite." 

There was something in the way he looked at me, something soft in his eyes, that made me glad to see him. Not because of any of the mess we were in, but just because I missed him.

"Do you want to come into the living room?" I asked. "May as well have this fight with everyone."

"Were you fighting?" Jean-Claude asked, all innocent curiosity. Jason rolled his eyes.

"Just come on," I said, turning on my heel and heading for the living room.

Since most of the wereleopards had left, we were down to Micah, Merle, Nathaniel and Harry, all of whom had already moved to the living room. I liked arguing in the living room better than the kitchen; farther from the knives. Merle hovered by the wall in bodyguard mode, as he always did when a new vampire was near his Nimir-Raj.

Micah was on one end of the couch, and Harry was at the other end. They were both watching Nathaniel clean up the various plates and everything from the earlier get-together.

When he caught sight of the new arrivals, Harry stood up. "Harry, this is Jean-Claude, vampire Master of the City," I said without preamble. "Jean-Claude, Harry."

Harry got a bit pale, and he didn't seem to know quite what to do with his face for a moment. "It's nice to meet you, sir," he said. I was impressed with his recovery. I wondered how many vampires he'd run across.

"And you, monsieur," Jean-Claude replied. His face was a pleasant mask, hiding whatever he was feeling and I didn't understand why. Why would he be masking around the kid?

"This is Requiem," I continued. Requiem drifted around me and Jean-Claude and stood by the mantle, his bright blue eyes taking in everything. "And lastly, Jason."

"Lastly?" Jason muttered as he walked past me. "Hey, how you doing?" He held out his hand to Harry.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry shook Jason's hand. "I've been better," Harry confessed. "You're not..."

Jason glanced back at Jean-Claude and grinned. "No, I'm not nearly pretty enough to be a vampire," he joked. "I play for the other side."

From the look on Harry's face, I could tell that he didn't get it at first. Then he blushed.

"Don't listen to him," Nathaniel said as he picked cushions up off the floor and tossed them on the couch. "He's a werewolf."

"Oh," Harry said sheepishly. "Are you part of Richard's pack?"

Jason nodded. "Same one. There's only one pack in St. Louis, so it's a safe bet that the wolves you meet are ours. I heard you had a run-in with some of us last night?"

Harry adjusted his glasses again. I wondered if it was a nervous habit, like with Zerbrowski. "I did. I spoke with Richard about it this morning, as well." He pushed his messy hair back from his face as he spoke, and his lightening-bolt scar stood out on his pale forehead.

From behind me, I heard Requiem utter a soft oath. "What is it?" Jean-Claude asked.

Requiem moved toward Jean-Claude, his eyes only for Harry. "This is Harry Potter," he breathed, sounding very British.

I turned around, arms crossed over my chest. "I know that."

"But do you know what this boy has done?" Requiem asked.

What was going on? Requiem was seldom so oblique when explaining things. "Are you talking about last night?"

 _Ma petite, be quiet and listen,_ Jean-Claude whispered inside my head. He was so very still, the otherworldly stillness that the old vamps could do. Nothing human there.

"Are you Harry Potter?" Requiem asked.

Harry jerked his head in a nod. I noticed that his hand was edging toward the pocket of his shorts where he must have stuck his wand.

I was about to step forward, but then Nathaniel was back at Harry's side. "They're not going to hurt you," Nathaniel said. "Anita's not going to let anything happen to you."

Swallowing hard, Harry let his hand fall back. "I am Harry Potter," he told Requiem, voice clipped.

"The Harry Potter who vanquished Voldemort sixteen years ago?"

I raised my eyebrows at this. "He's only seventeen, Requiem, how could he have vanquished anything besides naptime sixteen years ago?"

Requiem angled his head at me. "That is indeed the question that has remained for these many long years, is it not?"

"And hold on, Harry told me that Voldemort tried to kill him, like, recently," I said. "How could the Flying Deadman do that if he was previously vanquished? It's not like the name Dracula, is it? Reused by every bad guy to come along?"

Jean-Claude couldn't hold back a smile. "Flying Deadman, ma petite?"

"What? Isn't that sort of what Voldemort means in French?"

"Oui, but when did you learn so much about my language?"

"You know, when I told you in April that Asher was giving me French lessons, I was using that as a euphemism for Asher teaching me to speak French." I shook my head. "But bringing us back to the subject at hand."

"Ah yes, the matter of Harry." Jean-Claude looked at Harry, who stubbornly met his gaze. _He looks me in the eye, ma petite, shall I ensnare him to see if he speaks the truth about his identity?_ Jean-Claude asked me mentally.

 _No,_ I thought back. _I don't want an enraged witch around. Plus, vampire powers on an underage boy? Remember how that falls into the category of bad?_

 _You are no fun at all, ma petite._ "Harry, you are indeed the young man who was the result of the downfall of this Voldemort?"

Harry fidgeted and finally sat down on the couch. "If I say yes, am I going to have to leave?" he asked me. He looked so tired.

"No, of course not. I knew about the Voldemort sorcerer guy last night before I offered up the couch, remember?" I went over and sat on the couch between Micah and Harry. "But maybe you'd better tell us what's up. I can't protect you if I haven't got the facts."

"You offer to protect him so soon, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked. If you didn't know him well, you'd never be able to tell that he was worried.

"I offered last night and it still stands." I watched Harry while I said it. The look of relief that crossed his face was brief, but it was there. "I'm not booting him out today. Especially after that whole Damian thing."

From his place on the rug by the coffee table, Jason snorted. "What, did Damian go all 'grr'?"

I tried to think of a way to phrase it that didn't sound all 'Days of Our Lives', but I forgot one important thing. The marks between Jean-Claude and me were open.

Jean-Claude took a step toward me, real shock on his face. "Damian is Harry Potter's _grandfather_?" 

"Yeah, looks that way. Some coincidence, huh?" I said.

"Damian is Harry Potter's grandfather." Jean-Claude exchanged a glance with Requiem.

"You already said that." I stood up slowly. Jean-Claude was only ever like this with vampire politics and magic stuff like that. "What is it?"

"Mon dieu," Jean-Claude said under his breath. "I cannot believe this."

"Consider what might have occurred if Anita were not Damian's master," Requiem said.

"Believe me, I am."

"Would you two knock it off and tell me what you're blathering about?" I demanded.

Jean-Claude and Requiem exchanged another look. "Amongst vampires, there is a tradition with regard to the human children born of a vampire father," Jean-Claude said slowly. I wondered if I wanted to hear this without an audience. But no, it affected Harry too. "If the vampire is a master, then he becomes responsible for the safety of the child and its descendants."

My eyebrows went up. "For how long?"

"Usually two generations," Jean-Claude said. There was something he left out, he couldn't have been this worried if it was just Damian being responsible for Harry.

But wait. That wasn't what he said. "Only if it's a master vampire?" I asked. "Damian's not a master."

"No, Anita. You are."

I swallowed hard. His use of my real name wasn't making me feel any better. "Just tell me what you mean, Jean-Claude."

Jean-Claude let out a small sigh. "If the vampire is not a master, then it is the responsibility of the vampire's master, for that child and its children. Tradition dictates that in this situation, ma petite, you are now responsible for the life of Harry Potter."

Well, wasn't that just peachy.

* * *

Panic surged through Harry's chest, and he didn't quite know why. He told himself that he didn't need anyone to protect him, that he was a grown man who'd faced off several of the worst wizards in England. So why was he sitting here, terrified of rejection?

 _Just proves my point,_ he thought bitterly. _Start to hope something might be good, and it goes down in flames._

He wasn't really surprised that Anita was just standing there, after that vampire's pronouncement that she was supposed to look after him. After all, she didn't know him. Letting him stay in her house for a while and buying him some new clothes was a far cry from... what had the vampire said? Being responsible for his life?

"Ma petite, if you are not certain, you do not have to fall in line with the tradition," the Master said. _Oh bloody hell,_ Harry thought. _What am I supposed to call him? Jean-Claude? Master? Hey you?_

Anita frowned up at Jean-Claude. "You just said that it was my responsibility."

"I know what I said, but in this situation, you cannot be held to the tradition. After all, you are not a master vampire, nor are you male."

"Male?" Anita's frown changed to a glower. It reminded Harry terribly of the way Hermione got when she was told there was something she couldn't do because she was muggle-born. "So this is some sexist tradition that I don't need to fall in line for because I haven't got the right equipment?"

"Ma petite, that is not what I meant," Jean-Claude tried to explain. It sounded like he had a lot of practice in dealing with Anita. "I only meant that where a male master vampire would be held to uphold the tradition, the same thing will not be required of you."

"Well, too bad!" Anita snapped. "Harry is Damian's grandson and I'm Damian's master, and I'll be damned if I don't uphold this stupid vampire responsibility tradition." She paused, and the annoyance left her face. "So what do I do?"

Jean-Claude shrugged, making it look graceful. "You protect him, ma petite, as you would..." Jean-Claude seemed to search for the proper word. "As you would for Stephen."

Anita thought about it. "I can do that."

"What, just like that?" Harry demanded. He could keep silent no longer. It was just like back at Hogwarts or with the Order of the Phoenix, when everyone was making decisions for him. "You take me on? Why? You don't know me, not what kind of dangers I get into!"

Anita looked directly at him. "I said I'd do this for a lot of reasons. You're pack, or something like it. Plus, Damian. And besides, sometimes people just need people," she finished awkwardly.

Jason let out a bark of laughter. "Them being the luckiest people of all?" 

"Now that this is settled, perhaps I could have a moment alone with Anita and Micah?" Jean-Claude interrupted. "Jason, why do you not take Harry and Nathaniel out to the back porch for a few minutes?"

Jason jumped to his feet. "Come on," he said to Harry. "This stuff is usually more boring than watching paint dry."

Harry slowly stood. "Will there be anything else concerning my future?" he asked Anita, keeping the sarcasm in his voice to a minimum.

Anita shook her head. "No. Well, if there is, I'll tell you about it later. I promise not to sign you up for the marine corps."

"The what?"

Jason took hold of Harry's arm. "Please don't risk getting asked to stay," he muttered as he pulled Harry toward the kitchen. Nathaniel trailed after them.

Jason paused by the fridge to get a large bottle of soda. "Got any clean glasses?" he asked Nathaniel.

Nathaniel reached into the cupboard and pulled out three coffee mugs. "What?" he said in response to Jason's raised eyebrow. "The whole pard was over and I haven't had a chance to do dishes."

"Housecat," Jason said under his breath as he headed for the glass doors.

"Lapdog," Nathaniel shot back.

They settled on the porch steps. It was a warm summer evening, the night sky still a faint dark blue at the horizon. "So, Harry, tell us all about yourself," Jason commanded as he poured himself some soda.

"What do you want to hear?" Harry asked. Privately, he wanted to know all about Nathaniel and Jason, and there were also a few burning questions about the vampires. But he supposed that could wait a few minutes.

"All of it," Jason said. "Where you from? Girlfriend? Family? Job?"

"Oh, I haven't got a job," Harry said. "I'm still in school. One more year."

"What kind of school? Is it one of those poncy British boarding schools?"

Harry made a face. "It's a boarding school, but it's not poncy. It's the best school of its kind in Europe."

Nathaniel rolled his head on his shoulders and leaned back against the deck railing. "Is that where they teach you all that magic stuff?"

"Magic?" Jason perked up. "Like pulling bunnies out of hats and stuff?"

Harry had a momentary mental image of Snape pulling a white rabbit from a hat and had to choke down the laughter. "Something like that." He looked at Jason. The young blonde had a lazy smile playing over his lips. "So what about you? What do you do?"

"Me?" Jason considered this for a moment. "You know. Werewolf. The master's pomme de sang." He said it with a faint bit of pride.

Harry cast his mind back to the French classes he'd had in primary school. "Is that sort of like the apple of his eye?"

Nathaniel, who had been taking a sip of soda, started to choke. He rolled onto his side and coughed for a minute, before the coughs became laughter. "Apple of his eye," he managed to get out before dissolving back into laughter.

Jason kicked Nathaniel's leg. "Shut up," he said, looking a bit embarrassed. "It's a vampire term for a vampire's main food source," he explained to Harry. "It translates to blood apple, but it's got more oomph in French."

Harry had to think about that one. "So, what, you let him suck your blood on a regular basis? Doesn't that hurt?"

"Nope." Jason poured himself more soda and winked at Harry. "And I get protection from him because of it. It's pretty swank."

"Doesn't that put you at risk of becoming a vampire?" Harry asked.

"Lycanthopy protects against becoming a vampire," Nathaniel said, sitting up. "Works in the opposite direction, too."

"Okay, your turn," Jason said. "So where are you from?"

That one was easy. "England," Harry explained. "In a suburb in Surrey, Little Whinging. But I go to school in Scotland."

"Cool. Got a girlfriend at school?"

Harry felt his burgeoning good mood vanish. "No."

"A boyfriend?"

"No."

"What happened?" Nathaniel asked. "You just got all anxious when Jason asked," he explained when Harry leveled a stare at him.

Harry thought about asking how Nathaniel knew that, but figured it was probably a wereleopard thing. "I had a girlfriend in fifth year. It didn't work out."

"Why not?" The teasing was gone from Jason's voice. Suddenly, Harry felt like telling someone who didn't know the whole story, didn't already have the whole case prejudged, or believe him based on his name.

"This guy she liked, the previous year..." Harry had to swallow past the sudden clenching of his stomach. "He died. Because of me."

The night was quiet, the wind softly blowing through the trees in the backyard. Harry stared down into his half-empty mug. He kept on talking.

"And I tried, you know, to get to know Cho the following year, but I didn't know what I was doing. I messed up our Valentine's Day date. Then, a friend of hers betrayed a group of mine, told the Ministry what we were doing, and messed things up, bad. Not just with us kids, but with the teachers too." He had thought, in the previous year, that if Marietta hadn't betrayed the DA, then Dumbledore would have been in school when Voldemort sent him the vision of Sirius, and then he could have told Dumbledore, and Sirius wouldn't have been dead.

_But it's too late to wonder about stuff like that. Because Sirius is dead._

"Maybe I'm just not the kind of guy girls want, you know?" Harry turned his mug around in his hands, anything to keep busy. "It's just at school, everyone knows who I am. No one wants to get too close."

"Seventeen's a bit young to give up on the female of the species, isn't it?" Jason asked. "I mean, I'm twenty-two, and I've made some pretty spectacularly bad choices in my life with girls. Don't see me giving up."

"Bad choices like what?"

Jason shuddered and looked down at his hands. "Raina, for example."

The loathing in his voice was difficult to listen to. "Who's Raina?" Harry asked.

It took Jason a couple of tries, but he finally managed to say, "The old Lupa."

"Lupa?" That word was familiar. "I thought Anita said she was the Lupa."

"She is," Nathaniel said quietly. "Because of Richard, Anita's Lupa now. Raina used to be Marcus's Lupa."

"Where is she now?" Harry asked.

Jason and Nathaniel exchanged a glance. "So, Harry, tell us more about you," Jason said with a great deal of false cheer.

Fine. Harry filed away the Lupa question for later. "There's not much to tell. I could tell you about some stuff at school?"

Jason nodded firmly. "Please, yes, anything."

Harry finished the last of his soda and held the mug out to be refilled. "Well, at school, I'm the Seeker on my house's Quidditch team..."


	7. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men...

* * *

Harry stared at the piece of paper in front of him. He had no idea what to write.

Ron knew Harry was in America on vacation, so letters weren't expected. But Harry needed to keep in touch with his best friend, needed to tell him some of what had happened. The problem was, Harry didn't know how to say what needed to be said.

Harry sat back in the chair and mentally composed the letter. _Ron,_ he'd start, _How are you? I'm in St. Louis. The Dursleys took me into the countryside one day and ditched me. So I got caught in the woods on the night of a full moon and a werewolf clawed me up, which means I may be a werewolf next full moon. Tell Snape to brew more Wolfsbane potion, will you?_

_I met the werewolf who did it. He's a nice guy, a secondary teacher. I'm staying at his ex-fiancee's house. She's a necromancer and the head of the local wereleopards. She's also master, somehow, to a thousand-year-old vampire who is -- get this -- my grandfather. So it looks like my mum was a vampire baby._

_Give my love to your mum._

Harry shook his head. If he actually sent that letter to Ron, Mrs. Weasley would be apparating across the Atlantic ocean before Ron finished reading the letter to her.

Pulling the paper toward him once again, Harry began to write.

_Ron,_

_I'm in St. Louis. Vacation hasn't been too bad. The Dursleys have stopped giving me grief. I'll be here for the rest of the summer, I think. I've met some nice people. Did you know they have wereleopards here and stuff? It's wild._

Harry paused. He desperately wanted to ask Ron about what Voldemort was up to, how the Order was, if there had been any Death Eater sightings. But there was nothing he could do about it from this far away. And asking Ron such information could potentially be dangerous, if the letter fell into the wrong hands.

_Say hi to everyone for me, and pet Hedwig. See you on the train._

Harry squelched down his misgivings about lying in such a way to his best friend and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. He wrote the same letter to Hermione, but added a small paragraph at the bottom.

_Hermione, can you do me a huge favour? I met someone out here, and his grandfather is a vampire. I didn't know such a thing could happen, but it's pretty cool. What's the Wizarding world's take on kids like that?_

"As subtle as a bludger through a window," Harry muttered as he folded the letters and slipped them into a larger envelope. On the front, he wrote Hermione's name and her parents' address. He'd included a short note that asked her to send Ron's letter via the next owl that showed up at her house. Harry had no idea where even to start looking for a Wizarding owl in St. Louis to fly a letter across the ocean.

Once he had sealed the envelope, Harry laid it on the desk where he was sure not to forget it, to have someone take it to the muggle post for him. He stood up and stretched, mindful of his shoulder. The wound didn't feel as painful as he thought it should. Was that a good or a bad sign? Harry wasn't sure. It probably depended on what he was hoping for.

He walked over to the window and sat down on the windowsill seat. It was bright and sunny outside, another cheerful summer day. The trees were heavy with green leaves, the grass thick on the lawn. Harry had never seen such thick greenery in the summer. The Dursleys' house, in the middle of Little Whinging, had only a small lawn and a few trees.

Anita's house was nice, Harry reflected. He wondered if it was because no one watched him to make sure he didn't break anything, or forget to call him on time for meals. He felt comfortable here, sort of like he did at the Weasleys' house.

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked around the room. There were a few boxes still pushed up against the wall, Nathaniel's stuff, Anita had said. Last night, after she had gotten back from her late-night walk in the woods with the vampire, Jean-Claude, she'd shown Harry the room he'd be staying in. The place looked as if it hadn't ever been used. There had even been a bit of dust on the bed's coverlet.

 _So if Nathaniel doesn't use this room, where does he sleep?_ Harry wondered. Although he'd spent over two hours talking with Jason and Nathaniel about almost everything the previous night, that had never come up.

 _Maybe I'll ask him when he gets back,_ Harry thought idly. Nathaniel had gone to the gym, and Micah had headed out for a meeting of... what was it called? That coalition thing. Anita had still been asleep when Harry gone upstairs to write his letters.

However, aside from Harry and Anita, the house wasn't empty. Damian was in the basement, dead for the day in his coffin.

Harry swallowed hard, and turned his gaze back to the swaying trees outside. He wondered if he should think of Damian in another term. Grandfather? It felt so weird. The man... okay, vampire, looked about Anita's age. Hell, he didn't look any older than Ron's brother Bill.

 _I wonder if he wants a grandson,_ Harry thought. The possibility of a new relative didn't make Harry feel like anything. When Harry had found out that Sirius was his godfather, and Sirius had asked if he wanted to live with him, Harry had felt exhilarated, amazing. But with Damian, he didn't feel anything.

After a minute, Harry shook his head. Getting up off the window seat, he went to his suitcase and pulled out a photo album from the tear in the lining. All of his wizarding stuff, books and cauldron and Hedwig, even his Firebolt, he'd left with Ron for the summer. At least that way, someone would get some use out of the broom, he'd thought bitterly at the time. The only things he'd taken from his real life on the trip to America had been his wand, a defence against the dark arts book Bill had given him to read, and the photo album Hagrid had made for him in first year of pictures of his parents.

Harry sat on the bed and laid the book out before him, almost reverently. He opened it to the first page. There were his mother and father, standing on a rocky beach, smiling and waving at him. Harry smiled back, even though he knew it was only a photograph.

He looked closely at his mother. Her eyes were so green, and her hair very red. Not quite the blood red colour of Damian's, but redder than the Weasleys. She smiled up at Harry, as if responding to some unheard music.

Harry touched the edge of the picture. He wondered if he was just imagining the similarities between his mother and Damian. Frowning, he flipped through the rest of the album, looking at his mother's smiling face, seeing the likeness to the solemn vampire he'd only met for a moment.

He was almost at the back of the album when he came upon it, the wedding picture of this parents, his father smiling, his mother looking as if she could burst with joy. Beside them was their best man, handsome and smiling and oblivious to his fate.

Harry stared at Sirius's happy face. As clear as if it was yesterday, Harry remembered how Sirius had been blasted backwards by his cousin Bellatrix, through the veil in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. Dead, because Harry had screwed up. Dead, because Harry had foolishly thought he could take on Voldemort. Dead, because of Harry.

All that rage and shame that Harry had tried so hard to shove down for the past year and a half bubbled up, and Harry tasted bile in his throat. "How could you?" he shouted to the picture. He slammed the book shut and threw it as hard as he could across the room.

The album hit the wall with a loud thump, then crashed to the floor. Harry was off the bed and crawling over to the album before he realized what he was doing.

Several pictures had been knocked loose of their pages, and the inhabitants looked rather disgruntled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Harry whispered uselessly while he put the pictures back onto their pages. He saved the wedding picture for last. Somehow, it was still stuck to its page.

As Harry stared, his parents and Sirius looked at each other with rueful grins, then resumed their smiling and waving.

Harry's eyes burned. Carefully, he closed the book and put it on a shelf, where he was certain it would not fall. Maybe later, he'd show the pictures of his mother to Damian. The vampire might like that.

* * *

Harry made his way quietly down the stairs, trying to not wake up Anita. He'd changed into his new shorts and a light grey t-shirt he'd borrowed from Nathaniel. Nice, cool, summer clothes. He was sure his aunt and uncle would be mortified at his casual clothes, but that didn't matter any more. They were far, far away, Harry thought with a great deal of satisfaction.

The house was still as Harry passed through the living room and went into the kitchen. Nathaniel had cleaned everything up after breakfast, in spite of Harry's offer to help. As he poured himself a glass of water, Harry wondered why Nathaniel did all the chores.

 _He seems to enjoy doing the work,_ Harry thought. _I guess when you're not ordered to do something, it's probably okay._

Harry finished his glass of water, rinsed the glass and put it upside down in the drying rack. The rhythmic ticking of the clock seemed to echo in the silent house.

 _Maybe I can read through some of those books on lycanthropy and zombies Anita has in the living room,_ Harry mused. _At least until Nathaniel and Micah get home, or Anita wakes up. Maybe they'd let me help make lunch?_

From deep in the house, there was a muffled thump, followed by silence.

Harry froze. Every nerve on alert, he carefully reached for his wand. It was probably nothing, he told himself. A book falling off a shelf somewhere. Still, he gripped his wand tightly.

Over the ticking of the clock, he thought he heard something. Hesitantly, he walked out of the kitchen into the hallway. There, he paused, listening for all he was worth.

There it was again. It sounded like a voice, coming from the bedroom on the main floor. _I thought Anita was alone._ Still unable to shake the uneasy feeling gathering in his gut, Harry moved silently on bare feet down the hall.

He stopped outside the door to Anita's bedroom. The noise was definitely coming from inside the room. It sounded like someone saying something, over and over again.

Licking his lips, Harry knocked on the closed door. "Anita?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

There was no response, and the noise didn't change. Hoping desperately he wasn't about to walk in on something embarrassing, Harry slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open.

The room was dim, the lights off, but the curtains were half drawn back. The bed was unmade, clothes strewn on the floor. Harry's eyes took in the messy room in half a second. Then, he saw Anita, and the rest suddenly didn't matter.

Anita was huddled against the wall by the closet, her legs pulled up to her chest, her head pressed against her knees. She was rocking back and forth slightly, repeating, "No, no, no," over and over.

"Anita?" Harry said. "Are you all right?"

She didn't respond at all, just kept up her rocking and her quiet plea. She didn't look hurt, but Harry couldn't see much of her, only the top of her head and her arms wrapped around her bare legs.

"Anita, are you hurt?" Harry asked. "Did something happen to you? Did someone hurt you?" He knelt on the carpet in front of her. Her disheveled black hair spilled down over her knees, hiding her face. Slowly, he reached toward her with his free hand. "Anita?"

His fingers were a hair's-breadth away from her wrist when someone grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back hard. Harry ended up sprawled on the carpet, flat on his back, staring up at Nathaniel.

"Don't touch her!" Nathaniel said sharply, crouching between Harry and Anita.

Harry scrambled back, moving away from Nathaniel. "I didn't do anything to her!" he exclaimed.

The fiercely protective look on Nathaniel's face softened a bit. "I know," he said. "But if you touch her-- It's just-- Look, go outside and wait on the lawn until Micah gets home."

As Nathaniel spoke, his hand brushed against Anita's arm.

Anita's head shot up, and she stared at Nathaniel. " 'thaniel?" she murmured. She slid her legs down to the side, and reached out a shaking hand for Nathaniel. She slowly slid her hand up Nathaniel's arm.

Nathaniel let out a ragged breath. His eyes unfocused for a moment. "Look, Harry, please just go!"

Oblivious to Harry's presence in the room, Anita went up on her knees and reached for Nathaniel. The wereleopard turned and caught her, pulling her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his back, her legs going on either side of his hips.

Nathaniel looked at Harry, frantic now. "Go!"

Harry scrambled to his feet and tore out the bedroom. He ran down the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind him. He came to a halt in the shade of the trees on the lawn, breathing hard.

 _What the hell was that?_ Harry thought. He started pacing back and forth in the shade. What was wrong with Anita? Nathaniel acted like he knew. Why hadn't he wanted Harry to touch Anita?

Gradually, the adrenaline rush began to fade. On its heels, coupled with the memory of what he had seen, came a rush of embarrassment.

 _She was naked._ Harry realized he was still gripping his wand in his right hand, and he quickly shoved it into his pocket. _Okay, not entirely naked. She had on--_ His mind stuttered and stopped, not even able to mentally form the word 'knickers'. _But she didn't seem to realize I was there. Otherwise, would she have moved like that?_

Harry had only seen a short glimpse of her naked chest, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. _Come on, it's not like you haven't seen that sort of thing before!_ Harry chided himself. Dean had brought a copy of a muggle magazine to school, one with, well, pictures like that.

 _But this was different,_ a treacherous corner of Harry's mind replied. _This was real_.

"She wouldn't have wanted me to see," Harry muttered. He stopped by a large oak tree and leaned against its trunk. The bark was rough and solid under his hand.

Something was going on. Something weird. Harry made up his mind that he would ask about it. Nathaniel, maybe, when Harry next saw him.

With that thought, Harry's adolescent mind flipped back to the bedroom, of Anita wrapped around Nathaniel's body. He wondered if they were...

 _Bad thought!_ Harry tried desperately to think of other things. Swimming in the icy lake at Hogwarts. Scrubbing cauldrons in potions detention. Things that were icky and cold and not at all involving nearly naked women in bedrooms.

A car turned in the driveway, and Harry's confusion fell away. _Nathaniel's in there with Anita, what is Micah going to say?_ he thought frantically.

Micah got out of his car. "Hey, Harry, why are you out here?" he asked genially.

Harry swallowed hard. "Just because."

Micah frowned slightly. "Okay," he said. "Hey, is Nathaniel making lunch? Do you to go get Nathaniel and Anita and we can maybe go out for lunch?" He started heading toward the house.

"No!" Harry exclaimed without thinking. "Don't go in there."

Micah cocked his head to one side, staring at Harry. "Why not?"

Harry felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He was sure he was as red as a fire engine. "I don't know?"

Micah looked back at the house, then at the Jeep, the driver's door partly open. When he looked back at Harry, there was a strange expression on his face, and Harry didn't understand. "Is Nathaniel in there with Anita?"

Harry couldn't answer, torn between loyalty and honesty. _It's at times like these that I wish I'd been put Slytherin._

Micah sighed. "Damn. Harry, we need to talk."

"No, we don't."

Micah walked over to the shade and sat down next to the oak. Hesitating a few moments, Harry finally joined him. He was careful not to look at Micah.

"Harry, I need you to tell me what happened in there," Micah began carefully.

Harry stared at an ant crawling over a tree root.

"Did Anita..." Micah's voice trailed off. "Did something happen to Anita?"

Harry nodded. "I was in the kitchen, and I heard something," he said slowly, not looking up. "I went to the bedroom, and I knocked and I went in."

"And?" Micah prompted.

"And Anita was all huddled up, by the wall. She... She wasn't wearing much."

Harry felt his face burn again as he said those last words. He half expected Micah to hit him, for admitting that he'd seen Anita like that. When that didn't happen, he looked up. He didn't understand the worry on Micah's face. "What happened then?" Micah asked.

Harry looked away again. "I asked her if she was okay, but she didn't seem to hear me. She didn't even look up. So I was going to touch her hand, to get her attention, but then Nathaniel was there and he told me to get out."

There. He'd left out exactly how much of Anita he'd seen, or how he'd left her and Nathaniel.

"So Anita didn't react to you at all?" Micah said. His voice sounded very careful.

"No, she didn't seem to know I was there." Harry didn't quite understand the look of relief on Micah's face.

"Harry, I need to tell you something, something about Anita," Micah said reluctantly.

"What about her?"

Micah put his elbows on his knees. "Do you know what a succubus is?"

* * *

By the time Micah was done explaining about Jean-Claude and Anita and the ardeur, Harry's head was spinning.

"So she needs to have sex, to gain energy, so she won't kill Damian and Nathaniel by taking their energy?" Harry asked carefully.

Micah thought for a moment, then nodded. "That does sum it up."

"So she and Nathaniel..."

"Are probably feeding the ardeur, yes."

Harry didn't understand how Micah was so calm about that. "I thought you and she were, you know, together." Harry tripped over the words as he said them in a rush.

Micah smiled ruefully. "We are, sort of. But Anita's also sort of with Nathaniel. And Jean-Claude." He looked as if he was about say something else, but he didn't.

Harry was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the casual way Micah said that. "How does that work?" he finally asked.

Instead of answering the question, Micah said, "There's nothing wrong with being in a relationship with more than one person, Harry. Everyone involved with Anita knows exactly what the deal is. And everyone's okay with it." He looked hard at Harry. "Are you going to be okay with that?"

Harry nodded. "I guess so. I mean, I'd read about succubae and incubi, for classes. I never thought I'd meet one. Or two."

"You'll find that things are seldom easy as they appear here in St. Louis."

As Micah spoke, the front door of the house opened and Nathaniel came out, making his way to where Harry and Micah were sitting.

"Where's Anita?" Micah asked.

"In the shower," Nathaniel replied. Harry noticed that his hair looked a bit wet, as if he'd just had a shower himself. "I think she's trying to see if it's possible to die of mortification."

Micah stood up with an inhuman grace. "I'll go see how she's doing, then." He went over to Nathaniel and whispered something in the younger man's ear before he headed into the house.

Nathaniel smiled down at Harry. "He said he told you about the ardeur."

Harry had been fine with it a few moments before, but now the embarrassment rushed back. He settled on nodding.

Nathaniel sat down beside Harry. "He also said I was supposed to answer any questions you might have."

Harry shook his head. He suddenly felt very tired. "Does it hurt?"

Nathaniel didn't pretend not to understand. "Not at all. It's tiring, afterward. But it certainly doesn't hurt."

"And you're okay with it all?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Yes, I am."

Harry fiddled his glasses, just as something to do. "Why did you pull me away?" he asked in a small voice.

All of the amusement left Nathaniel. "She was in the grips of the ardeur, Harry. If you'd touched her then, when she was like that..."

"She'd have fed on me?" Harry asked, trying to make his voice as neutral as possible.

"Maybe. She'd probably have fought it off." Nathaniel pulled his braid over his shoulder and wrapped it around his wrist. "But I wasn't going to take that risk. I wasn't going to let that happen."

"From what Micah told me it's like, I'm sure I'd have gotten over the trauma," Harry said.

Nathaniel looked at him with eyes that were so impossibly old. "You may have, but she'd never have forgiven herself for taking advantage of someone under her protection."

Harry frowned. He was tired of being confused and embarrassed. He told himself he'd look at this as an intellectual problem. Just another school project. Right. "But Micah said she needs to do that to survive."

"Anita doesn't take advantage," Nathaniel repeated. "I had months in her bed as proof of that," he said quietly, to himself.

Harry looked up at the leaves of the oak. Whatever was in Nathaniel's head, it looked painful. Harry didn't want to intrude.

* * *

I was rubbing a towel almost violently over my wet skin when I heard a knock at the bathroom door. "Go away!"

"Anita, it's Micah."

I stopped drying myself off. I didn't want to face Micah now. If he was here, so soon after Nathaniel left, then he'd probably talked with Harry.

"Honey, please open the door."

Reluctantly, I unlocked the door.

Micah turned the handle and let himself into the bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him, extra bonus points for him, and went to lean on the counter.

I turned my back on him and continued to dry off. I didn't want to look at him right then, not when I was so disgusted with myself.

God. Even thinking about it was horrible. I'd just woken up, and was going to get dressed when the ardeur had hit. I thought I'd fed it the night before, with Jean-Claude, and I should have been good until tonight. But no, it had bowled me over, tried to get me to take energy from Damian or Nathaniel. I'd tried everything I could to not.

Somewhere in that haze, I remembered that Harry had come into the bedroom. As lost as I was, I knew I didn't want to feed on him, that it would have been so very wrong.

Then Nathaniel had been there, his skin on mine, and everything else had vanished with that simple touch. I'm sure I flashed Harry something good as I went to Nathaniel. Then Harry was gone. Nathaniel hadn't asked any questions, just carried me to the bed and had let me take him.

"I had the talk with Harry," Micah said.

I threw the damp towel at the hamper. "Good for you," I snapped.

"I told you yesterday night that he needed to know, if he was going to be living here," Micah continued.

I pulled on my underwear with more force than was strictly necessary. "Yeah, you did. You were right and I was wrong. Happy?"

"No." I snuck a peek at Micah out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't moved from the counter. "I know how much you hate this, Anita, but this is the first time you've been around someone not pard or pack, for extended periods. You need to be able to deal with it."

I didn't answer him as I hooked up my bra and pulled on my shirt. He was right. I'd been wrong, and I hated it when I was wrong.

"I thought you fed the ardeur with Jean-Claude last night?" Micah said after a long pause.

"I did." I straightened the skirt of the jumper. I was dressed particularly conservative, probably because of the show I'd just put on. "It should have lasted until tonight."

"Did he feed as well?" Micah asked. "That might have changed things."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Usually, when I didn't want to talk, Micah left me alone, but today he was relentless. "I know you've been able to get back down to feeding the ardeur once a day, since last October, but you've still been feeding twice a day when you can. Maybe that had something to do with it?"

"I don't know." I contemplated brushing out my hair, but I was angry enough with myself that I was sure I'd do some damage. I settled for reaching up and dividing my hair into three parts to braid it. "At least Nathaniel was here," I muttered.

Micah was so silent that I thought for a second he'd left, and I had to turn so I could see him in the mirror. "Why do you keep doing that?" he asked.

"Do what?" I replied, distracted as I tried to braid my hair tightly.

"Minimize Nathaniel's role in your life."

I paused mid-twist and stared at Micah in the mirror. "What are you talking about?"

Micah met my gaze for a moment, then shook his head. "Never mind." He pushed himself off the counter. "Is there anything I can do?"

I started to say no, but stopped. "I think we sort of knocked some stuff off the bedside table in the bedroom," I said.

"I'll look after it," Micah said. He came over, putting his hands on my waist and kissing me on the cheek. "Then I'll get Harry and Nathaniel."

He left me alone, staring down at the end of my braid. With a sigh, I tied an elastic around my hair and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked pale, tired. The jumper was a dark maroon colour and the shirt a pale blue, and the colours did nothing for me.

"Why do they stay with you?" I asked my reflection.

As usual, I had no answers.

* * *

"Do you want to listen to the radio?" I asked.

In the passenger seat, Harry shook his head. "I'm fine."

We returned to the painful silence. Occasionally, the monotony was broken as I used the turn signal to change lanes on the freeway, but that was the only relief.

Micah had made me come out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where Nathaniel had dragged Harry. It looked as if our houseguest was almost as embarrassed as I was about the whole thing. Great. Just great. Anyway, Micah had to get back to town for another meeting, and Nathaniel was due at the club to practice a new set. I hadn't asked for details. I was due at work, and I hadn't want to leave Harry at the house alone. So that meant Harry was either going with Nathaniel to watch a male stripper dress rehearsal, or coming with me to work.

Trust me, it hadn't been an easy decision to make.

We were almost at the freeway exit when Harry said, "What exactly does Nathaniel do at that club he works at?"

My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "How do you mean?"

I could feel Harry glaring at me. "I mean, what does Nathaniel do at that club he works at?"

I opened my mouth to start to lie, but nothing came out. _Why am I thinking about lying?_ I asked myself. _Nathaniel has nothing to be ashamed of. Plus, he's damned good at his job._

"He's a stripper," I said, and waited.

Sure enough, Harry reacted just as I thought he would. "No, really, what does he do?"

I took my eyes off the road long enough to give the kid a glare of my own. "He takes off his most of his clothes on stage in front of a bunch of screaming women and makes lots of money. Whatever you call it, I call that stripping."

Harry didn't say anything as I turned down the street and pulled into a parking spot across from the office building that housed Animators Inc.

After I pulled the keys out of the ignition, I unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the door, but I didn't get out of the car. "Look, are we going to be okay?"

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. "I suppose so."

I wanted to be done with it, but I needed to do one more thing. "I'm sorry I flashed you."

Harry blushed again, but there was another expression in there, and it reminded me of Jason for a fleeting second. "Oh, it was okay."

I growled under my breath and got out of the car. That was it. No more quality Jason time for Harry.

Harry caught up with me halfway across the street. "What am I supposed to do again?" he asked, loping along beside me.

"Just hang out, read, listen. Micah said he'd come by and get you after his meeting was over." I opened the door to the building, sighing as we walked into the air-conditioned lobby. "Hey, maybe you'll find out you've got an affinity with raising zombies."

"Maybe." Harry sounded doubtful. "Do you have any books on lycanthropes up there?"

"A couple. Want to do that extra reading?"

"Well, I may have a final exam in a month," Harry shot back. It was the first time I'd heard him be snarky and witty at the same time. Good on him.

I opened the door to the AI office and ushered Harry inside. Mary, our daytime secretary, looked up from her typing and gave me a smile.

"Afternoon, Mary," I said.

"Hello, Anita." She looked pointedly at Harry.

Right. "Harry, this is Mary, the receptionist. Mary, this is Harry."

Harry reclined his head slightly, in an echo of a motion that Jean-Claude used. I was startled for a moment, then realized that Jean-Claude had done that last night when Harry was around. "It's very nice to meet you, ma'am."

Mary smiled at him. "And yourself." She gave me another piercing look. She was probably wondering why he was here.

"Harry's the grandson of a friend of mine," I explained. Hey, truth. A novel concept for me.

Mary looked way too satisfied by my answer. I nudged Harry down the hall, in the direction of my office at the end of the hall. As we passed one of the closed doors, I heard a strange sound. I stopped in my tracks and exchanged a look with Harry, then I knocked on the door.

"One second!" came the muffled voice. After a moment, the door opened a crack, and my good friend and co-worker Larry Kirkland peeked out. "Anita," he said, relieved. "How are you doing?"

"Oh, fine," I said. I knew I was smirking, but I couldn't help myself. "How are you?"

"Okay." He held the door close to his side, so I couldn't see into his office.

"Got a client?" I asked, unable to keep from smiling.

Larry groaned and let the door open. "You may as well come in," he grumbled. I grinned as I brushed past him. Harry came in after me.

I went straight to the source of the noise. Larry's four-month-old daughter Tannis was cooing, still strapped into her carry seat. "Isn't she a bit young for 'bring your daughter to work' day?" I asked as I wiggled my fingers in front of the baby's face.

"Don't get me started." Larry ran his hand through his carrot orange hair. "Tammy got called into work on some kind of emergency, even though she's got another two months of maternity leave, and the sitter's got the flu. Tammy's mother is coming in to get Tannis in an hour. If Bert finds out I've got the baby here..."

"Tell Bert to shove it," I suggested. Tannis grabbed one of my fingers with her tiny baby hand and gurgled. "Better yet, have Tannis here kick his ass."

"Right." Larry eyed Harry. "Hi, I'm Larry," he said, holding out his hand.

Harry shook the hand, and I was extremely happy that Larry didn't seem to pick up on Harry's magic as I had, two nights before. "Harry."

"You a friend of Anita's?" Larry asked. I glared at him.

"Harry is a friend's grandson, staying at the house," I explained, gently disentangling my finger from Tannis's iron grip. For a baby, she was wicked strong.

"Uh huh." Larry was distracted as Tannis managed to kick off a little pink bootie.

"Well, have fun," I said, making for the door. Larry made a face, but let us go. I knew the source of that angst. After ten months of married bliss with him and Tammy, Larry was still having troubles with the in-laws. Not Mrs. Reynolds, Tammy's mom. No, she was deliriously happy that Tammy was married and breeding. It was Mr. Reynolds. I hadn't ever liked him, and Larry was having a hell of a time dealing with the man.

Have I ever mentioned how glad I am that only one of my guys has family in town?

"This here is my office," I said as I opened the door. "Books are there, phone is there. Knock yourself out."

Harry made a beeline for the books. I went to my desk and settled down in the chair to read the client file. August was the slowest month of the year, and I had only one client appointment for the day. No zombies, either. Life was good.

* * *

I told the client and his lawyer that Harry was my apprentice. They didn't look like they bought it, but since in the outfit I was wearing I didn't look much older than the kid, they let it go.

I'd gotten all the information I needed for the raising, scheduled for the following week, and bid the clients goodbye with as much sincerity as they had used on me. So not much.

Harry hadn't moved from his chair in the corner before Bert stormed into my office. He glared at me, then at Harry, then back at me. "Apprentice?" he hissed.

When Bert got riled up, I got all calm and benevolent. It drove him nuts. "Actually, he's a friend's grandson, but I didn't feel like explaining that to the client."

Bert looked back over at Harry. "Grandson?" he said, his tone loaded with innuendo.

I stood up so fast that I knocked my chair over backwards. I was still smarting over the little ardeur-fueled incident earlier that day. To have Bert say what he did, like that, made me so angry that I felt my beast rumble up in my body.

Bert took a step back.

"Harry is a friend's grandson," I repeated, trying very hard to keep my voice low. "That's it. Unless you have anything work-related to say, get the fuck out of my office."

Bert actually held his ground for a whole thirty seconds before turning and fleeing.

I stayed where I was, still trembling with rage. Far away across the city, I felt Jean-Claude wake. He tasted my fury as he opened his eyes for the day. _Ma petite, what is the matter?_ he asked, alarmed.

I made myself breathe in and out. _Nothing. Just Bert._

 _Bert does not make you so angry,_ Jean-Claude responded. I could feel the satiny fabric under my hand as he pushed open the lid of his coffin and sat up.

_I know._

Jean-Claude pushed a bit at my shields, and I knew he saw what I had done that day. I don't know how, but I felt him sigh. _Ma petite, I apologize_.

 _We don't know it was you._ Shaking my head, I picked up my chair and set it back on its feet, aware that Harry was staring at me.

 _But it was most likely._ Jean-Claude paused beside Asher's coffin and placed his hands on the closed lid, contemplating. _Your control today is a credit to you._

_It doesn't feel that way._

I knew Jean-Claude was smiling, and it was very that male smile he got when I was doing something silly. _You held off in the presence of that young man, when the ardeur rushed over you. You grow stronger every day, ma petite._

 _He's just a boy,_ I replied weakly.

 _He is only a year younger than Nathaniel was, when you first met your cat,_ Jean-Claude reminded me. _My point is that your conscious mind was still in control when the ardeur threatened to overwhelm you. If you will not admire that accomplishment, I will do so for you. Now, I will find my pomme de sang and feed. Je t'aime, ma petite._

And with that, he was gone.

I sighed. Was he right? Was it some kind of royal accomplishment that I hadn't molested the kid?

Harry started to say something, but was interrupted as my cell phone rang. Talk about being saved by the bell. "Just a minute," I said to Harry. The little screen on the phone showed an unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"It's Dolph." It was Lieutenant Rudolph Storr, head of RPIT. He was Dolph to his friends and to those that couldn't call him after a red-nosed reindeer with a straight face. "Busy?"

"Aren't I always?"

I didn't think he really cared. "Murder scene. We need your eyes on this."

"Where?"

He gave me the address, using as few words as possible. "It's weird out here, Anita."

"How so?" I asked, tearing the piece of paper off its pad and sticking it in the little pocket on the front of my jumper. Why I let Cherry talk me into buying this thing, I'd never know. I looked about fourteen.

"Not gore, just... you'll see when you get here." And with that cheerful thought, Dolph hung up.

I turned to Harry. "Do you like that book?"

He frowned. "Why?" he asked warily.

"Pack it along," I said. "Ever been to a murder scene?" I said it flippantly, as sort of a joke.

"Only when Cedric died."

That brought me up short. I don't think he actually meant to say that, from the way his big green eyes got huge behind his glasses.

It's amazing how I can stick my foot in my mouth with such ease. I bit my lower lip. "I'm sorry." I slipped my cell phone back into my pocket. "I can leave you here, or you can come with me. You'll be staying in the car, though."

He seemed to think about it, then picked up the pile of books he'd accumulated. "Lead on."

* * *

The place was a half-hour drive out of town, in a swank wooded area where all the rich people built cabins back in the sixties. Most of the places were now used for summer retreats of the rich and famous, that sort of thing.

The road was narrow and curvy, and I had to concentrate on driving. Harry kept asking questions about werewolves from the books. I answered distractedly. It was all easy stuff, although I had no idea how he wasn't getting car sick. I was a bit queasy and I was the one driving.

I slowed the car. I knew we were nearing the crime scene as I neared the series of cop cars ranged along the road. After all, there couldn't have been a donut stop out this far, right?

Okay, that was lame.

I waved at the cop at the head of the driveway, who I recognized by sight. He waved back and moved to the side to allow me to drive my Jeep down the drive.

"You going to put that book down at all?" I asked, teasingly as I looked for a place to park my Jeep.

"Huh?" Harry didn't even look up.

Cute. Real cute. I wish I'd been as fascinated with preternatural biology in college, especially just before finals. The house, half hidden by trees, looked to be a beehive of officious activity. I just hoped that Harry didn't get into trouble. People I brought to crime scenes always ended up in trouble. Or getting me into trouble.

I found a place to put my car, and pulled the Jeep off the lane. I turned off the car and opened the door, then went around to the back and quickly changed the sandals I'd worn to the office to the runners I kept there in case of police emergency. I thought about taking the coveralls with me, but it was hot as hell out. I'd come back for the coveralls later if I needed them.

I slid the extra clip for the Browning into the side pocket on my jumper and made sure my gun was in place on the shoulder holster as I walked around the Jeep. Harry was still reading.

I leaned on the door and looked down at the book through the open window. "Silver allergy?" I said.

"Yeah, I figured that I may as well learn as much as I can, seeing as how some potions need--" While he was talking, Harry looked up from the book. He saw something over my shoulder that made him go a sickly pale colour. He jerked back in the seat, his wand suddenly in his hand. If he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt, he'd have fallen back across my seat.

I whirled around, my hand going for my gun. There was nothing attacking me from behind, but there, floating above the house, was a giant greet skull, made up entirely of what looked like little green stars. Out of the skull's mouth, like some vile tongue, protruded a giant green snake.


	8. Where There is Doubt

* * *

I yanked open the car door and had to dodge a kick to the face. "Harry, calm down!" I shouted as I grabbed his foot. "Stop it!"

"Let me go!" Harry exclaimed. "You don't understand what's out there!"

I grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him into an upright position. "Stop it!" I repeated. I resisted the urge to shake him. "Nothing's going to be solved by you freaking out on me!"

Harry pushed my hand away, but he wasn't so frantic. I could still feel his panic, but he was riding it now, rather than the other way around. Good. "That thing there, it's the Death Eaters' mark," he said rapidly as he undid his seatbelt with one hand. He scanned the house as he spoke, looking for something. Or maybe someone. "They only put it up when they've killed!"

"Death Eaters?" I asked as I turned around to stare at the house. Most of the cops were ignoring us, but a few were staring our way. One of those staring was headed over. Shit. I didn't want to deal with Dolph quite yet. "Those freaky followers of your buddy Voldemort?"

Harry nodded as he slid out of the Jeep. "They're the only ones that do it."

"Do you see any of them here?" I asked. I was tempted to go for my gun and tick off the cops. But my metaphysical shields were down, and I couldn't feel any weird magic; the air just felt a bit strange. I left the gun up.

Harry was quiet for a moment as he looked around again. "No, no one," he finally admitted.

"Anita?" Dolph said as he got closer. He's the tallest human I know, and built like a pro wrestler. In concession to the August heat, he'd undone his suit jacket and loosened his tie a fraction. He stared down at Harry and me, suspicion warring with anger in his eyes. "You need another driver?"

He was referring to the time I'd had to bring Jason with me to a crime scene, when I'd been really sick. Since Dolph had pretty much manhandled me up a flight of stairs and almost thrown me onto a mutilated corpse, the reminder pissed me off. "So why did you call me into a scene where Death Eaters have been?" I asked pointedly.

I don't think I'd ever quite surprised Dolph like that.

At my side, Harry let out a breath. "We're not supposed to talk to the muggle police about this," he hissed.

"What am I, the maid service?" I snapped back. "It's too late for second guesses." I looked at Dolph, who had regained most of his composure. "Who's dead?"

Dolph looked Harry up and down. His gaze lingered on the wand. "The owner. Lived in the area for fourteen years. A loner." Dolph looked back toward the house, at the big green skull floating over the house. "I'll let you see the scene in a minute, Anita, but he'd been dead for only a day and that thing won't go away. Who's this?"

I put on my best blank face. It was pretty easy; I had no idea who'd killed the victim, or why. "This is Harry."

When I didn't say anything else, Dolph said, "And he's here because why?"

I settled back on the strict truth I'd used at the office. "Harry's the grandson of a friend. I had to bring him along, he was with me at work."

Dolph went back to looking at Harry with cool cop eyes. "And why did he say this thing was a Death Eater's mark?" The way Dolph said the phrase, I suspected that I wasn't the first person to bring up the term today.

"Dolph, what's going on?" I asked. He wasn't usually this way at a crime scene. Sure, he was sometimes secretive, but he wasn't even giving me anything today.

Instead of replying, Dolph turned around and walked away. _God damn it_ , I thought. I turned to Harry. "Stay right here," I said in what I hoped was a threatening yet convincing way. He must have done something with his hand, because I looked at his wand for a second. "And put that thing back in your pants, will you?"

Only then did I head after Dolph. I didn't run, but I hustled. His legs were nearly twice as long as mine.

Halfway across the yard, he stopped and turned on me. "Do you want to explain to me why this kid you're with knows what put that sign up there?" Dolph demanded.

"So it is Death Eaters?" I asked. "How do you know that?"

Dolph glared harder. "Tammy recognized the signal." He came half a step closer, and from the set of his shoulders, the nervous tension in his jaw, I realized something.

Dolph was nervous.

"So you need to explain to me how Jean-Claude's grandson knows about the bad magic that did this, and now." Dolph loomed over me. I wasn't worried or anything. People had been looming over me for my entire life. But I was too astonished by what he'd just said to wonder why he was acting this way.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Jean-Claude's grandson?"

Dolph gave me the look he used when he thought I was hiding something. I saw that look a lot. "Come on, Anita, which other of your undead friends would have grandson with hair like that? He even looks like _him_."

"Does not." I looked back at Harry, still hovering uncertainly by my Jeep. He didn't look anything like Jean-Claude. Okay, except the hair. But just a bit.

Dolph opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, Zerbrowski popped up out of nowhere. "Hey, Blake, long time no see." He gave me a quick once-over and raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know Micah went in for the schoolgirl look."

I growled. I was so never going shopping with Cherry again. "Is there a body in there, or is this a giant prank?" I asked through clenched teeth.

Zerbrowski smiled lazily, stepping in so close that both Dolph and I moved back. _Which was probably his point,_ I realized. "Nope, we've got a stiff in the house. You want to take a look? We think he'd been dead maybe a day."

"In this heat?" I asked, already dreading the answer. I liked murder scenes in the winter a hell of a lot more. The bodies stank less.

"Yeah." Zerbrowski shuddered. "I already called home, asked Katie to take the chicken off the menu for tonight."

"Anita," Dolph rumbled, drawing my attention back to him. "Tell me why this kid knows about what happened here."

The suspicion was back. First, I wanted to deny that Harry had anything to do with this. But really, did I know that? I had to play by the rules on this one. "Why don't you ask him?" I said.

Dolph's eyebrows went up. I don't think he expected me to offer up the kid on a platter like that. Normally I wouldn't, but if the victim in that house had dead for a day, I could pretty much guarantee Harry hadn't had anything to do with it.

Dolph headed back over to my Jeep. Zerbrowski and I had time to exchange glances before we followed. As we walked, Zerbrowski waved to someone over by the house. I looked in that direction, and saw Detective Tammy Reynolds coming toward us. Tammy, Larry's wife, was still technically on maternity leave, but as she was RPIT's ranking witch, it made sense that she would be here.

As we neared Harry, the boy shrank back the tiniest bit before shaking it off and standing up straight. Dolph came to a halt about six feet from Harry. Zerbrowski stopped by his side, and when Tammy caught up with us, she went to Dolph's other side. They looked sort of like groupies.

I managed to stop myself from pointing that one out, and went and stood in the no-man's land between the cops and Harry.

"So Anita says you know what that is," Dolph said, jerking his head in the direction of the green skull.

Harry gave a hesitant nod, but didn't speak.

"Just tell them everything," I said. "The more information, the better."

"Everything?" Harry questioned.

"Sure." I smiled sweetly at Dolph. "The lieutenant here already thinks you're Jean-Claude's grandson."

"He thinks that I'm--" Harry broke off and shook his head. "We haven't got time for this. Death Eaters could be out there right now!"

"And how do you know that it was Death Eaters?" Tammy asked, her bright hazel eyes focused on Harry. She searched his face for a moment, then her gaze dipped a bit lower.

I didn't know what she was looking for, but Harry must have. His jaw set, he began to undo the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt. He pulled back his shirtsleeves above his elbows, on first his left arm, then his right arm. Holding out his arms so that the smooth inside of his forearms was visible for everyone to see, he said, "I'm not a Death Eater, if that's what you're implying."

Tammy didn't reply. Zerbrowski was looking at her and Harry like they were both nuts. Instead, with a twitch of the head from Dolph, Tammy pulled out her trusty little notebook. "What's your name?" she asked blandly as she position her pencil above the page, ready to make notes.

Harry let his arms drop back down to his side. He looked up at the green skull as he said, "Harry. Harry Potter."

Tammy's pencil snapped in half.

Zerbrowski jumped a bit at the noise. "Geeze, I thought motherhood was supposed to mellow people," he said. He dug a pen out of his pocket and handed it across to Tammy. "Don't break this, I borrowed it from the kids."

Tammy didn't even respond to him. She stared at Harry with the blankest expression I'd ever seen on her face. "You're Harry Potter?" she asked, a bit breathlessly. Harry nodded sullenly. "Really?"

"What, so you're like famous or something?" I asked. My question had the desired effect. Harry went from glowering at Tammy to glowering at me, while Tammy pulled herself back together. If it had been anyone else, I'd have thought she was about to ask for Harry's autograph.

"Not exactly," Harry mumbled. He was red again, but I guess I could blame that on the heat. "It's just the press had a bit of a field day after Voldemort went away the first time, then after I came back to school and such."

"I hear you on the media," I said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dolph starting to simmer. "Yeah. So, Harry, tell me all about Death Eaters and that green thing."

I could almost hear the gears grinding on Harry's head. "Do you know who Voldemort is?" he finally asked the cops. His voice was very careful.

"Reynolds said that was the name of a magical terrorist leader in the eighties," Dolph replied. "He went underground for over a decade, then resurfaced a year ago."

Harry nodded. "I guess that's a good way to describe him."

"What I've read is sketchy on the details as to where he was for that time," Tammy interjected. She rifled through her notebook. "Or anything on his organization, his followers, identity, anything. Would you be able to fill us in?"

As Harry opened his mouth to respond, Dolph put up his hand. "We can do this later at the station," he said. "I only want what's relevant for the scene now."

"Like what caused the green skull," I put in.

Harry shoved his shirt sleeves a bit higher, over his elbows. Not that I blamed him. It was hot out. "Magic."

"Really?" I asked with all the wide-eyed sarcasm I could muster. "You think?"

Harry frowned at me. "It's called the Dark Mark. The Death Eaters only sent it up over houses in which they'd killed someone."

"That would certainly narrow down the suspect list," Zerbrowski muttered.

"Who could put it up?" Dolph asked.

Harry shrugged. He didn't even wince. His shoulder must be almost healed. I wondered if he realized what that meant. "It would need to be a wizard, or witch, who knew the incantation."

"Do you know the incantation?" Dolph asked.

"Yes, sir." Harry looked steadily up at Dolph.

"And did you cast it here?"

Harry's green eyes flashed with anger, but other than that, he kept calm. "No, sir, I did not."

Zerbrowski and Dolph exchanged glances. "Where were you yesterday morning?" Zerbrowski asked.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "With Anita."

The three cops looked somewhat surprised. "I'm going to need more detail," Dolph said.

I wondered if he was attempting to bait Harry into revealing anything. It wasn't working, although I was getting mighty annoyed. "Fine. After I got up, we went to see my aunt and uncle. Then we went back to Anita's house. For lunch."

"You were with Anita straight through?" 

"Yes." 

"Just because the kid recognized the symbol doesn't mean that he cast it, Dolph," I added. "Tammy recognized it, and no one's accusing her of casting that green thing."

"It's called the Dark Mark," Harry said.

"I know what it's called, I heard you the first time." I pointed up at it. "Why's it called that? It's not really all that dark."

Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose with one finger. "I don't know, I never asked. Maybe because Voldemort calls himself the Dark Lord?"

"The Dark Lord?" I repeated. A smile was spreading across my face and I couldn't help it. "Good God, pretentious much? What does this guy and his followers do? Listen to death metal and dress all gothy?"

"Don't we have enough of those vamp-wannabes in St. Louis already?" Zerbrowski said. "No offence, Anita."

I looked down at my clothing, then back up at Zerbrowski. "Does this look like the traditional garb of the uber-goth?" I asked, exasperated.

"Knock it off!" Dolph exclaimed. Zerbrowski ducked his head a bit, and I looked down at my shoes, the very image of a recalcitrant child. "All right, if the kid didn't cast the thing, or kill that guy inside, then someone did. Do these Death Eaters have any bases of operations outside of... where are they located?"

"England," Tammy said.

"Do you know a lot about them?" Harry asked her curiously.

She shrugged, looking a bit flustered. "I read about their older activities," she said. "And I saw a copy of the Quibbler article about you."

Harry winced. "That's going to haunt me forever," he murmured. "You read it? I didn't know Luna's dad had any subscribers over in the Americas."

"My brother's wife's sister has a subscription." Tammy, perhaps sensing the daggers Dolph was glaring at her, suddenly became all business. "How many Death Eaters are currently operating in England?"

Harry thought for a moment. "I think maybe about fourteen, plus Voldemort. Oh, a couple are in Azkaban for their raid on the Ministry a year ago in May. I haven't heard anything about any of them traveling, however."

Zerbrowski jerked his tie a bit lower and undid the button at his collar. Even cops feel the August heat in St. Louis, I supposed. I wonder if any of them have ever asked the department if they could wear shorts on the job. Although I'm not sure I'd want to see the knees of half these guys. "So how did, what, fifteen guys constitute a terrorist organization?"

Harry didn't answer, so Tammy stepped in. "They use magic, Zerbrowski, but in a way no other witch I know would think of. Deeply dark magic. They killed, viciously and with no seeming pattern." She hunched in as if she was suddenly cold, even in the sun. "It's the embodiment of the exact opposite of everything that a lot of us stand for. That anyone would stand for."

"All right," Dolph said. "Zerbrowski, get Smith to check across the country to check for any other sightings of that sign up there. Then get someone on the horn to Interpol, get any information they have on this group. Reynolds, Anita, you're with me into the house, check out the scene. Yes, I know you've already seen it," Dolph said when Tammy opened her mouth. "But we've got new information."

"Actually, I was going suggest that we should take Harry with us," Tammy said.

That brought Dolph up short. "Why?"

Well, at least it wasn't an automatic no. Not that I wanted to take the kid in there any more than Dolph seemed to. "I don't know much about this type of magic," Tammy said nervously. "It might be a good idea to have a second set of eyes, someone who's used to this stuff."

Dolph glared at her for a moment, then looked at me. "What?" I said.

"What do you think?"

It was the perfect set-up for me to be snarky, but luckily, I've taken to thinking before I speak at crime scenes. I get in much less trouble this way. "I think that Harry might have something to offer, but I'm hesitant to bring a civilian onto the scene," I said cautiously.

"I already told you, I'm not a child," Harry said before the others responded.

"I know that, Harry." I was trying to be sensitive of his male ego, but as anyone who knows me will testify, I don't do sensitive well. "But it's a far cry from thinking you'll be able to handle something and seeing a real dead body."

"I've seen bodies before," Harry said. "Please. I can't just stand out here and do nothing after something like this has happened."

Dolph and I exchanged some serious eye contact. I could tell he was willing to let Harry in. "Fine." I flipped the end of my braid over my shoulder. "But there are conditions. You walk where we tell you. You do not touch a damn thing. You tell us everything you see, no matter how small a detail. If not, I will personally boot your ass back to England. Deal?"

Harry nodded. There was a shred of eagerness in his eyes, and it made him look very young. I wasn't looking forward to having that shininess stripped away by whatever was in the house.

* * *

Tammy led Harry off to get some latex gloves on, and to further explain to him what not to do at a crime scene. That left me and Zerbrowski standing with Dolph in the middle of the clearing.

"Why am I here?" I asked Dolph.

Bless his heart, he actually answered me. "There's magic going on, and Tammy wasn't sure about it. I thought maybe you'd be able to help us out."

"Plus, it's just weird in that house, Anita." Zerbrowski shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the hood of a nearby police cruiser. His shoulder holster rig stood out dark against his pale shirt. "I can't put my finger on it, you know, but the place just feels weird."

"Is the body badly messed up?" I asked.

Zerbrowski shook his head. "It's... well, it's not," he said as Tammy and Harry rejoined us.

"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?" Dolph said before I could demand Zerbrowski explain himself.

"What do you do first, sir?" Harry asked. His face was lit up with curiosity, and it mixed strangely with the apprehension I saw there.

"Usually at a crime scene, we take a look around," Dolph explained. "The smallest detail can lead us to the perpetrator, and that detail can be anywhere."

I hid a smile at Dolph's lecturing tone. Neither of them would have appreciated it. "Harry, take a look around," I suggested. "Does anything outside here seem out of the ordinary to you?"

Obediently, Harry turned. I watched him while he looked around the yard, then at the house.

"Well," he said after a minute. "It looks pretty mug-- I mean, non-wizardly, at first glance." He pointed at the flowerbed off the right-hand side of the house. "But there's a cauldron there in the flowerbed, holding up the mandrakes."

Tammy was furiously writing on her notebook. "Are you sure they're mandrakes? From this distance?"

Harry nodded. "We did them in herbology, second year. Don't ask me to pull them out, I left my earmuffs in England."

"So you're thinking this is a witch who lives here, then?" I asked. I had no idea what a mandrake was, or why you'd need earmuffs to deal with them. Add that to the pile of questions I'd make Harry answer in the car.

"Maybe..." Harry said. He stared up at the Dark Mark. "I can't understand why any Death Eater would come all the way to America to chase after a wizard, thought."

There was a commotion at the far end of the yard. A couple of uniforms started backing away from the side of the house, hands on their guns. "What is it?" Dolph yelled.

Something darted between the cops. It was about the size of a really big housecat, but it wasn't like any cat I'd ever seen. Its ears were way too big for its head, and the thing's tail looked like a lion's. It hissed at the cops, then bounded across the yard. Quick as a flash, it jumped up on a car and propelled itself into the woods.

"What the hell was that?" Zerbrowski demanded.

"Kneazle," Harry said wearily. "Wizarding pet. But what is a wizard doing living out here?"

"God knows," I said. "Whatever it was, it might have gotten him killed."

Somehow, we managed to get into the house. Harry saw a few more wizarding things, as he called them, but he appeared confused as to why there was normal stuff as well, like the car in car park, and the mailbox on the side of the house. Tammy took in everything a bit too seriously, and between her and Harry, Zerbrowski was shaking his head the entire way into the house.

The doors were wide open, and I could begin to pick up the smell in the entranceway. The stench of a ripening corpse is a smell that's impossible to describe in words, but you never forget the smell once you've encountered it.

The hallway was clear of mostly anything, walls bare and painted white. There was a low hum of voices at the end of the hall. Zerbrowski led us along, first Harry, then me, then Tammy and Dolph. I kept one eye on Harry, and the other on the surroundings.

Zerbrowski stopped at the end of the hall. "No throwing up on the body," he told Harry. "Anita would never let you live down breaking her record."

Harry's eyes got big. "You threw up on a dead body?" he asked, as if he thought Zerbrowski was pulling his leg.

I glared at Zerbrowski. "Just the once," I said sharply. "And let's not play 'guess what the other's done', Zerbrowski, because I'm sure I'll win."

Zerbrowski just grinned at me, the bastard, and opened the heavy oak door.

Harry took a few steps into the room before coming to a dead halt. I snuck around him so I could see the room.

It was a large study, with the usual rich-guy desk and some chairs. Books lined the walls, interspersed with unfamiliar gadgets. They looked like something you'd see in a wizard's lab in a movie.

However, the center of attention was right in the middle of the floor. There was the body of a middle-aged man lying face-up on the Persian rug. There was the strangest expression of terror on the dead face, that even the post-mortem bloating could not disguise. I couldn't see any marks on the body.

Next to me, Harry made a small sound in his throat. He was staring, eyes huge in his suddenly pale face. I didn't ask him how he was. He had decided he could take it, so I'd let him live with that choice.

"Do you recognize him?" I asked softly.

Not taking his eyes from the body, Harry slowly shook his head. "No," he said, then gulped. "I've never seen him before in my life."


	9. But I Did Not Shoot The Deputy

* * *

I watched Harry's face as the CSU guys crawled around the body on the floor. The boy had retreated to a corner of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. But he wouldn't stop looking at the body.

"There's no outward indication of what killed this guy," one of the techs said. "I can't see any bullet wounds or knife wounds, and there's no blood, except a bit around the mouth."

"Maybe poison?" Zerbrowski suggested. "Heart attack at the big creepy skull?"

The techie shrugged. "Toxicology will let you know. Can we get the morgue attendants in here to bag him yet?"

"No," Dolph said shortly. "Anita, your turn."

I frowned. The stench was enough from over here.

When I didn't move, Dolph glared harder.

"All right, all right." I stepped carefully around the armchair and crouched beside the body, making sure my skirt was tucked up under my legs. It simply wouldn't do to flash the room. I'd bought this underwear for home viewing only.

I looked closely at the body. The bloating was a bit gross to look at, but wasn't disfiguring yet. I make an experimental poke at his shoulder with my gloved finger. It felt like dead, gooey flesh.

"He's dead," I said. Before Dolph decided it might just be better to shoot me on the spot, I added, "I'm not getting any magic off him, but then if it's been a day, it may have dissipated. No circles or anything."

Dolph growled. He hated cases where there was no clear cause of death. "So where does this leave us?"

I stood up. "Unless Tammy's got a rabbit up her sleeve, we're back to old-fashioned police work."

Zerbrowski rubbed his hands together. "My favourite kind."

Dolph nodded. "Smith!" he yelled. We heard footsteps echo down the hall, then the cop in question popped in the door.

"Lieutenant?" Smith said. His cheerful disposition faltered slightly when he saw me. Funny, but ever since he'd watched me blow a vampire's head off, he hadn't been my biggest fan.

The vampire was a murderer. I wasn't really broken up about it.

"Get the meat wagon down here, move the body," Dolph told him. "And make sure no media gets inside the trees, to see that fucking skull."

"Sure," Smith said. He hesitated in the doorframe. "Did someone tell you that it's starting to fade?"

"What?" Dolph exclaimed.

"I guess that's a no," Smith said weakly. "It started about ten minutes ago, we think."

"Oh," Harry said softly. Then, louder, "Oh!"

Every head in the room turned to him.

"That was when the scientists started moving the body," Harry said, his eyes blazing. "Maybe that's it, that ends the spell. Maybe it's tied to the body?"

"Maybe," Zerbrowski said, slipping his notepad back into his pocket. "Smith, is it just fading?"

Smith nodded, staying in the doorway. "It looks like it's sublimating in the sun."

Zerbrowski looked at Smith like he had grown a second head. "Sublimating?"

"Like evaporating, but from solid," I said absently.

Smith took the opportunity to scurry back down the hall. Zerbrowski raised his eyebrows at me.

"Hello, science degree?" I said.

"And here I thought all they taught you was how to point and shoot."

I smiled sweetly. "No, Zerbrowski, that was your degree."

Dolph, who was obviously ignoring us, stood staring down at the body. "Does this guy have a wallet?" he asked one of the CSU guys. "Any identification?"

"Hold on." The guy on the left, with a nametag reading Baz, lifted the body a touch and slowly wiggled a wallet out of the corpse's back pocket, putting it on the ground. "Be careful touching it," he cautioned. "The body's decomposed enough to leak all over the leather."

"I can smell that." Dolph knelt beside the body and flipped open the wallet with the back of his pen. "I see a driver's licence here, for Nigel Spencer. This address."

"Nigel Spencer?" Zerbrowski repeated. "Why does that sound fake to me?"

"Because you're a suspicious son of a bitch?" I asked. "Dolph, do you have anything else in there?"

Dolph poked at the wallet again. "No credit cards, no gas cards, not even a coffee card. All it has is the driver's licence and a wad of cash."

"Strange," I said thoughtfully.

"What's strange?" Harry asked softly. Poor kid. He looked so confused.

"It's just a bit odd, that the wallet found in the guy's back pocket has only enough to identify him, and to point out that he wasn't robbed," I said. "Seems to me that it might have been staged."

"Or maybe not," Tammy said. She was standing in front of the huge bay window, her attention on the bookshelf. "I mean, the wallet wasn't staged, I don't think." She gestured vaguely around the room. "I think this guy's whole life was staged."

"Explain," Dolph demanded as he stood up.

"These books, they're all untouched. Some are years old, you can tell from the sun fading, but none of the spines have been cracked." She shook her head. "There's no dust on any of the gadgets, but they look like sculptures. No pictures. No notebooks, newspaper, magazines. The whole place looks like it's been plucked out of a fashion magazine, like the only reason it's like this is that this is what a house is supposed to look like."

"What about the rest of the house?" Dolph asked.

"I looked around before," Tammy said. "The whole place looks like this. The kitchen seems unused. The only indication that the bedroom is used was the closet door was slightly ajar."

"Maybe he's just really anal?" Baz the CSU tech suggested. He slipped another q-tip into a baggie and laid it on the growing pile. "I knew a guy in college like that. He even ironed his towels."

Tammy shook her head again. Her hair was longer than I was used to seeing on her. Motherhood probably made it hard to get out to the stylist. "No, there's something else. What am I missing?"

I had no answer for that, so I made my way over to Harry. "Anything that might give us clues as to if this guy was a witch or whatever?" I asked him.

Harry gave me a blank look. His eyes were a bit haunted, and I wondered if I'd asked too much of him, to come in here. "If he was my kind of w-- witch," he said carefully, stumbling over the word, "He'd have a wand."

"Like yours?" I asked.

"Yeah, it'd look like that." Harry stuck his hands in his pockets. He went back to watching Tammy, who was muttering to herself.

"I'm going to give the house another once-over," Zerbrowski told Dolph. "See if I can find any more clues as to what kind of trash might have a hand in offing this--"

"Garbage!" Tammy exclaimed. She whirled around. "There's no garbage in the house, none at all. Not in the bathroom, not in the kitchen, nowhere. Maybe check the trash cans outside, but it's not normal to have all the trash gone like that."

"Maybe he took it out?" Baz suggested.

"Or maybe whoever put up that symbol took it with them," I said.

"Or maybe he vanished it," Harry muttered.

"What do you mean, vanished?" Tammy demanded. She was going back into Crusading Witch Detective mode, all gung-ho crime fighter. I wondered how the hell she was managing not to go stir crazy, at home all day with Tannis.

Harry frowned slightly. "Vanished. Did the vanishing charm, evanesco?"

Tammy just stared. "They've got a charm to make things vanish?" Zerbrowski said. "God, my kids would love that one. Never need to clean their rooms again."

"Let's see what else we can find on Mr. Spencer," Dolph said. "Zerbrowski, you and me, checking out the rest of the house. Reynolds, you and Anita look in here." Dolph strode out of the room like a well dressed storm, Zerbrowski following in his wake.

I looked at Tammy. "I take the bookshelves, you take the desk?" I suggested. She nodded.

As she settled into the chair behind the desk, I turned and looked at the laden bookshelves. Great. I had no idea where to start. Give me a rampaging vampire and I'm set; regular police work wasn't my thing.

"Can I help?" Harry asked quietly.

"Do you have a spell in that head of yours that will find out that guy's story?" I asked.

I meant it as a joke, but Harry seemed to seriously consider my suggestion. "No, I don't," he finally said.

"Then just let me and Tammy do the work. Unless you need to go outside?" I said. He was looking faintly green around the edges.

"No, I'm fine," he said, a bit too quickly.

I shrugged. His call. I went back to staring at the bookshelf, wondering if I should look at them all, or start pulling on things randomly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Harry wander around the edge of the room, giving the corpse and the hovering CSU guys as much space as he could. He ended up a few feet from Tammy at the desk. "Pardon me, detective?" he said nervously.

Tammy glanced up. "Yes?"

"I know now's probably not the place," Harry stammered, "But how did you know about the Dark Mark and about Voldemort? I didn't know that it was common knowledge over here."

"It's not," Tammy said tightly.

"Then how do you know?" Harry asked after a long pause.

Tammy gave a drawer a tug, but it didn't open. "Research."

"But you're a witch, right?" Harry seemed to be after something. I thought about stopping him, but I figured that if Tammy didn't want to talk about it, the worst she could do was have Harry tossed out on his ass.

"Yes." Tammy tried yanking on the drawer harder, but no dice.

"Did you go to the Salem Witches' Institute?"

Tammy tugged so violently that her chair rolled back a bit, but still the drawer wouldn't open. "No, I didn't."

"Oh." Harry stared at the drawer, I think to avoid looking at Tammy. His cheek were red, like he was embarrassed about something, but what?

"I could have, though," Tammy said quietly. Her hands were in her lap, and she fiddled with the edge of her glove. "They invited me, but my parents thought it wouldn't be in my best interests to go."

I stopped pretending to read the titles on the books and stared at Tammy. She could have gone to a school like Harry's? But her magic wasn't anywhere as controlled as his, from what I'd seen. I'd have to ask Larry.

Of course, a couple of right-wing Christian witches like the Reynolds, Followers of the Way, probably wouldn't want to send their kid off to some magic school. I think I'd read somewhere that most Followers' kids were home schooled, anyway.

"Damn it," Tammy muttered, her attention back on the sticky drawer. "It seems to be locked, but I can't see a place for a key. Maybe it's got a latch hidden somewhere."

"I could open it," Harry said.

Tammy pushed back her hair from her face and gave Harry a once-over, analyzing. "How?"

Harry looked at me, then at Baz and Baz's partner, who were both ignoring us as they prodded the corpse and the surrounding carpet. "A charm." 

Tammy stood up. At five-ten, she was tall enough to have to look down at Harry. The expression on her face was contemplative. "Fine," she eventually said. "Open the drawer. Nothing more."

I headed over to the desk to watch. I've always been a sucker for a magic show.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. He hesitated, then pushed the chair back a bit farther. Facing the desk once more, he pointed the wand at the stubborn drawer. "Alohamora," he said as he twitched the end of his wand.

The drawer flew open.

A tiny shiver ran over my skin. He hadn't even had to think about that. I hadn't felt much metaphysical energy flowing off the kid, not like I should have for magic that unlocked a fucking drawer. What else could I have missed?

Tammy didn't seem at all put off by the magic. She knelt down by the now-open drawer. "Bingo," she muttered. Carefully, she lifted a pile of papers onto the top of the desk. "Looks like Nigel was hiding something, after all."

I went to stand beside Harry as Tammy rooted through the pile. I made eye contact with him. It was creepy to see Damian's eyes in that unfamiliar face. Not for the first time, I wondered what I'd gotten myself into by agreeing to protect Harry. I'd told Jean-Claude I'd do it in the heat of the moment. It had occurred to me this morning that Jean-Claude might have set me up for it, pushing my buttons in just the right way to provoke a reaction out of me. But I'd discounted that. Jean-Claude wouldn't have wanted me to put my neck on the line for an unknown element. I'd have to ask him about that.

 _So who is the real Harry?_ I wondered. _Shy, wide-eyed helpful kid? Or something else entirely?_

Tammy paused in her flipping, and pulled an unframed photograph from the pile. "What's this?"

Both Harry and I looked over at the same time. At first, I thought something was wrong with my vision, because the photograph seemed to be moving.

Harry poked his finger at the moving bits of the photograph. "I know that wall!" he said excitedly. "It's at Hog-- I mean, it's at my school."

I craned my neck around. In the large glossy photo, a gaggle of young teenagers, younger than Harry, jostled each other in front of a large stone wall. The wall looked like something out of a medieval castle. "Do you have to wear a dress at school?" I asked, pointing to the long black dresses the kids seemed to be wearing. Some of the little images shied away from my finger. "And how the hell are they moving?"

Harry seemed spellbound by the picture. "Jason said if I annoyed you too much, you'd probably shoot me," he said absently. "And I think if I say magic again, that will annoy you."

"Do you recognize anyone in the picture?" Tammy asked.

Harry tapped the photograph. "You there, stop moving and face camera," he said. To the photograph.

Obligingly, the little images stopped goofing around and stood up straight. The ones in the front held up a banner that read, "Hogwarts Duelling Club."

"Did you guys fight with swords or something?" I asked.

"No. Magic." Harry's voice was suddenly as cold as ice. Looking up, I saw that he had gone very pale.

"What do you see?" I asked.

Harry swallowed hard. "I... People that I know. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He had that look I'd seen often on Damian. Hopeless.

"That boy there, that's my dad." He indicated a boy standing off to the side of the group, with messy dark hair and glasses.

"I can see the resemblance," I said.

"And that's Remus, and S-Sirius." Next to Harry's father, the little images of two boys, one with sandy hair and the other with black hair, waved up at us.

"Sirius Black?" Tammy interrupted. "The Voldemort supporter who broke out of Azkaban a few years ago?"

A prickle of lycanthropic energy moved in the air. It wasn't strong, that feeling of werewolf, of pack, but I stepped back and got my hands free to be able to go for my gun, just in case Harry shifted. My mind told me that no, it was way too early for him to be shifting, but my beast knew the feel of her own kind.

Then Harry closed his eyes and bowed his head, and the energy just went away. "Yes," Harry said, his eyes still closed. "That Sirius Black."

"What just happened?" Tammy demanded, her voice a little too loud.

 _Damn it,_ I thought. _Of course Tammy would feel that metaphysical energy. Just my luck_. "It doesn't matter," I said firmly, making eye contact with Tammy. See? Not lying here. "What that was does not in any way impact this case."

Tammy shook her head. "Is that why he's met Jason?" she demanded. I was amazed by her deductive reasoning for a moment. "Anita, what's going on?"

I spared a glance at Harry, who seemed to be staring intently at the photograph. Right. "Tammy, it doesn't impact this case at all," I tried again. I thought about making puppy dog eyes at her, but with Tammy, I'd probably just piss her off.

She let out a slow breath. "If I find out that it does, Anita, I'm coming down on you like a ton of bricks, got it?" she finally said.

I nodded. I wondered if I should get all pissy about the ultimatum, but at least she let it go. And Harry being a potential werewolf had nothing to do with the dead guy, so I figured we were safe.

"Hold up," Harry said. He bent over the photograph. "Professor Snape, move over."

The young boy, with lanky black hair and a sullen glower, glared up at Harry for a moment, then shuffled aside. Behind him stood a boy that seemed vaguely familiar.

Harry looked up at the corpse, then back at the photograph. "That's him," he said. "That's Nigel. He went to Hogwarts with my parents." Harry got very close to the photograph. "And he was in Slytherin."

"Which means what?" I asked.

"A lot of Voldemort's supporters, they were in Slytherin. It's a house at Hogwarts." Harry straighten up and looked over at the body again. "Maybe Mr. Spencer was a supporter of Voldemort, or something, and he came here after the fall."

"Or maybe he was running for a different reason?" Tammy said. "Maybe he didn't support them, and he was killed because of that."

"But why come over an ocean to kill someone who didn't support Voldemort seventeen years ago?" Harry retorted. "It's more likely that he betrayed them and they're only now just finding him."

"Don't suppose they have information on Voldemort supporters over there in England?" I asked, interrupting Harry and Tammy.

Harry looked confused for a moment, then shook his head. "Not that I can think of, not for the muggle police, anyway," he said. "And I'm not sure if the Ministry would help you."

"What? Why not?"

Harry shrugged. "They don't think it's a muggle problem."

I pointed at the corpse on the floor. "It sure the hell is our problem," I said sharply. "We've got a body on the ground and it looks increasingly like the death was related to magic in some way. That makes it my problem." Tammy raised her eyebrows at me. "Our problem," I amended.

"I can try contacting Interpol, but I don't know if it will yield any results," Tammy said. "Harry's right, the authorities in his community probably won't tell us anything."

"So what do we do?" 

Harry looked down at the body again. "I have someone I can call," he said finally. "A school chum of mine. She's with her parents this summer, she may be able to give a hand with the research."

"She's a witch and she has access to a phone?" Tammy asked, in all seriousness.

"Yes. Her parents are dentists."

Dolph appeared in the doorway. "Find anything?"

Tammy perked up, always ready to show off to the boss. "There was a locked drawer full of documents," she said. Holding up the picture, she continued. "We think that the victim may have been an associate of Voldemort. Harry said he might be able to get more information from a friend."

Dolph looked as skeptical as I'd ever seen him. "Civilian research, detective?" he asked. "Underage civilian research?"

Tammy lifted her chin, just a bit. "Going through Interpol will take time, time that we may not have. Harry's friend may be able to find information in the public record that will help point us on the right track."

Dolph shifted his gaze to Harry, then to me. "Anita, hall." He stepped back and vanished from view.

He was standing against one of the blank white walls when I came out of the study. "What?" I asked.

Dolph glared down at me. "I don't like this," he said in a low tone. "I let the kid come onto the scene because Tammy said it was necessary. Now he's becoming an integral part of the investigation?"

I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall opposite from Dolph. "It was just an offer," I pointed out. "We can leave and let you all do the legwork. Tammy just thought that it might be faster if we used Harry's friend."

"Which leads me back to the giant coincidence of today," Dolph said. "I'm a cop, Anita. There's no such thing as a coincidence in my book."

I took a breath and let it out. "I told you, Harry didn't have the opportunity to do this," I said. I tried to sound reasonable, but I was so out of practice I'm not sure it worked. "But Dolph, think about this. From all appearances, it was the work of a magical terrorist group. I don't know about you, but those three words freak me out. If they popped up in St. Louis now, who knows what will happen next?"

Dolph sighed. The sound was loud in the quiet hall. "RPIT has never had to deal with something like this," he said. "I was thinking of calling in the FBI's magical investigation team."

"You what?" For Dolph to even consider such a move meant things were worse than they appeared. "How seriously are you taking this?"

"Very." 

I frowned. "What aren't you telling us?"

"You hear rumours, when you get a job like this," he said. "Magic not in the books, that sort of thing. Serious stuff." He glanced down the hall toward the open study door. "I'm pulling Tammy off maternity leave until this is solved. She's the most experienced witch I've got and I need her on this."

I wasn't sure what to say. For a cop like Dolph to be giving such weight to rumours, the implications had to be pretty serious. "What sort of things have you heard?"

"I'll tell you later," he said. "For now, I want you to take Harry and leave. I can't have a kid possibly interfering with the scene."

"What about his friend?" I asked.

Dolph had to think about that one for a bit. "Have him call her, get any information she can to us," he said finally. "But no more."

I nodded. "What about me?"

"You said you didn't recognize the magic," Dolph said. "RPIT will take it from here. I'll have Zerbrowski call you if we need your help."

I tried to think of a reason to be asked to stay, but I really didn't want to be involved when I didn't have to. Witches weren't my area of expertise. "What about Harry?"

Dolph gave me serious cop eyes. "You keep an eye on him, I may want to talk to him later. He stays in town."

Since that was sort of the plan anyway, I thought it was okay. "I'll call you when Harry hears from his friend."

Dolph shook his head. "No, you'll bring him into the station when he gets the information," he said. "No phones."

"Okay, okay." I glanced over when Zerbrowski joined us. He looked tired. "Why don't you trust Harry, Dolph?"

The huge cop let out a bark of bitter laughter. "I don't trust anyone, Anita. You should know that."

Gee, didn't he know how to make a girl feel loved.

* * *

Harry sucked in long, deep breaths of clean air through the open window of the Jeep. He wondered if the pervasive smell of the dead body would ever leave his head.

"All right, spill."

"Spill what?" Harry asked Anita. He was hedging and he knew it.

She gave him a short glare before turning her attention back to the road. "When you first saw the dead guy, you thought of something. What was it?"

"It was nothing," Harry lied.

The ensuing silence began to make Harry uncomfortable. His discomfort grew as Anita took a sudden right turn and pulled the car up to the curb.

She pulled the keys out of the ignition, undid her seatbelt and got out of the car. Harry watched through the windshield as she stalked around to the passenger side.

"Get out," she demanded, pulling Harry's door open. "Now."

The scalding heat in her voice got Harry moving. He slid out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. "What?"

Anita slammed the door so hard that Harry jumped. "Perhaps you don't understand the seriousness nature of the situation," she said, voice hard. "A man dies, with a signal over his house that you said you can cast. You identify him in a picture, saying in front of two cops that he might have been a follower of this Voldemort, who killed your parents." She held up her hand and counted off on her fingers. "We've got motive, opportunity, knowledge." She held her three fingers up. "People have been convicted on less circumstantial evidence, Harry, and murder by magical means in this state is a death sentence crime!"

Heart pounding, Harry took a step back. "I didn't do this!" he exclaimed. "I didn't do any of this! I never even knew who that was!"

Anita let her hand drop back to her side. "Damn it, Harry, I don't think you killed this guy," she said. "But that's what it looks like to the cops. We need to find out who really did this, so you'll be safe."

"I'm trying!" Harry said. Panic was still fluttering in his chest. "I'm trying to help, I am!"

"So stop lying to me, Harry," Anita said. Her voice dropped, soft now. "When I made that promise last night, to protect you, I meant that. Every word. You're Damian's blood, and that makes you mine to protect. Plus, I told Richard I'd keep an eye out for you. I want to do that, but I can't help you when you're lying to me."

Harry shook his head violently. "You don't understand," he pleaded. "We're not supposed to tell, any of it! Telling the muggles about our world, it can be enough to get you put in Azkaban!"

"Harry." Anita waited until Harry looked up at her. A few strands of hair had escaped the braid and were moving in the slight breeze. It reminded Harry of Hermione's hair, and it unreasonably felt like home for a moment. "Listen to me. I can't tell you what will happen when you go back to London, but I will tell you, you are in danger as long as we don't know who killed Nigel Spencer. You've got the most information on this."

Harry turned around and rested his hands against the Jeep. He hated having to make decisions like this. What if he decided wrong? 

"If it's any consolation, we can tell whoever gets mad at you that Tammy knew it all," Anita continued, trying to take the sting out of her words. "You just agreed with her."

Harry hung his head. He hated feeling helpless, even though it happened so often. "I think... I think I might know what killed the guy."

Anita waited.

"There is a curse, one of the Unforgivable curses." Harry licked his lips, not willing to look at Anita. "It's the Killing curse. The Death Eaters used it a lot."

"How does it work?" Anita asked.

"You just point your wand, say the words, and will the person to die." Harry remembered trying to cast Crucio on Bellatrix Lestrange after she killed Sirius, and failing. He wondered if the Killing curse would have worked any better. "And they die."

"Just like that?" Anita asked.

Harry heard something in her voice. Horror. "Just like that." He looked at his hands. "Not everyone can cast it. The witch or wizard needs a lot of power. And they have to like death."

He wondered if he could kill Voldemort with an avada kedavra. Did he have that much hate in him? Probably.

"God save us," Anita murmured. It sounded like a prayer. "Harry, if what you suspect is true..."

"I don't know about the curse, really," he said. "We never learned about the mechanics. The teachers think that if we don't know about it, we won't use it."

"Because that works so well with sex ed," Anita muttered. "Never mind," she added when Harry looked curiously at her. "Maybe Tammy will know about it. We should tell her."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Anita pointed a menacing finger at him.

"We tell her, let her do the work."

Something that had been gnawing at the back of Harry's mind suddenly took shape. "No, wait, she can't," Harry protested. "She's your co-worker's wife, right? Larry? Tannis is her baby?" He took a deep breath. "And the other cops, do they have families? The Death Eaters go for the families, they track them down and kill them in the night. And they don't have any magic, they can't protect themselves!"

Anita stepped forward and took hold of his upper arms. "Listen to me," she said urgently. "Of all people, Tammy will know the risks," Anita said. "She'll tell the others. They're cops, Harry, they know about risk and danger."

"But--"

"No 'buts', Harry. Let us take care of it."

"Why?" Harry asked, unable to understand. "Why won't you let me help?"

"I am," Anita said, giving his arms a squeeze before she let go of him. "But we're the adults here. It's our job to deal with this."

"But I've been dealing with this since I was eleven," Harry protested. "I faced Voldemort for the first time in my first year at school, I can help!"

Harry couldn't make out the expression on Anita's face. "They let you face the evil wizard when you were eleven," she said. Harry nodded, wondering if she would understand that he was capable of helping. She licked her lips. "Harry, the way things work here, you tell me information. I tell the cops. The cops deal. Get it?"

"But--"

"Did you listen to me at all when I told you about the danger you're in?" Anita demanded. "You're not in your world anymore, kid. You're in mine. I can help you as long as you play by my rules."

Harry looked away, glaring at the fire hydrant on the curb as if it was the source of his problems.

Anita brushed past him. "Just get in the car," she said. "We need to get you to a phone."

"You really want me to call my friend?" Harry said, unsure if he understood her correctly.

"Yes, I want to you call your friend," Anita said as she got back into the Jeep and started the engine. Harry scrambled to get back into the car. "Your idea was a good one, and the cops are going to get stuck in jurisdictional red tape. We haven't got time for that."

Harry put on his seatbelt as Anita pulled the car back into traffic. "I thought you didn't want me helping."

Anita made a sound that was suspiciously like a growl. "I want to use your brain," she explained impatiently. "I'm not using you like a soldier in this. You're just a kid."

"I'm not a kid," he protested.

"You are seventeen," Anita said. "I don't care how old you think you are, or how capable. You're not expendable."

Harry didn't know what to say.

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hermione? It's Harry."

Harry heard Hermione take a sharp breath. "Are you all right?" she squeaked, her voice going up in a panic. "Is anyone hurt?"

"Hurt? No, Hermione, no one's hurt." Harry paused. "Is there? I haven't been in touch with anyone--"

"No," Hermione said quickly. "I just wondered because it's almost ten at night here."

Harry closed his eyes. He'd forgotten about the time change. "Sorry about that."

"Aren't you still in America?" Hermione continued, her voice becoming more suspicious. "Why are you calling?"

Harry glanced up at Anita. He was in the visitor's chair in her office. She gave him a faintly bored look. All because he'd not wanted to use the speaker phone.

"Actually, Hermione, I need to ask a favour."

Hermione sighed a long-suffering sigh. "If it's about Quidditch, Mr. Potter, I'm not getting involved," she said. "It's bad enough getting in the middle of a Weasley Quidditch argument, I'm not taking trans-Atlantic phone calls about it."

If only it was that simple. "No, Hermione, it's not Quidditch. I wish it was."

"Harry?" Hemione's voice was suddenly alert. He had forgotten how easily she could read him sometimes. "What is it?"

Harry fiddled with the piece of paper in front of him. He'd written down what he'd wanted to ask her for, but that was all going out the window. "I need a bit of research."

"On?"

"A man named Nigel Spencer. He was in Hogwarts at the same time as my parents, in Slytherin. Maybe you can ask Remus about him, or Professor McGonagall."

"And why am I doing this, Harry?"

Harry tore an edge off the paper. He had known she would ask this. He knew he couldn't lie to her, but if he told her that there had been a Death Eater attack in St. Louis, the Order of the Phoenix would be there in an instant, pulling him away.

He couldn't leave. Not with the threat of lycanthropy hanging over his head. He wouldn't endanger anyone he loved.

"Just ask, Hermione, please."

There was silence on the other end of the line. "Harry..."

"Please, Hermione."

"All right," she finally said. "Will you tell me why at a later date?"

"Of course," he said. He was so relieved that he slumped down in the chair. "Thank you so much."

Hermione harrumphed. "And you owe me so big, mister."

"I know, I know." Harry smiled weakly at Anita. "Anything new?"

"Everything's quiet," Hermione said, referring to Voldemort. "Ginny's a prefect again this year, which is making Mrs. Weasley weep with joy, according to Ron."

"So the prefect letters are out?" Harry asked. "What about Head Boy and Girl?"

"Well, yes, sort of," Hermione stammered. "I'm sort of, I mean, they made me Head Girl."

Harry broke into a huge grin. "Was there ever any doubt?" he said. "I called it in first year, you know. Congratulations, Hermione. You'll be the Best Head Girl Ever."

"Thanks, Harry." Harry wondered how much effort it had taken her not to tell him right of the bat. "I'm not sure about Head Boy. My letter didn't say."

"So we know Ron's not following in Bill and Percy's footsteps," Harry said.

Hermione snorted. "The twins threatened to cut off his supply of wizarding treats if he made Head Boy," she said. Then her voice turned more serious. "Are the Dursleys treating you okay, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip. "They're not giving me any trouble," he said carefully. Before she could figure out what was wrong with that answer, he said quickly, "I should go. You'll call me when you get the information on Nigel Spencer?"

"Where should I call?"

Harry gave her Anita's home number. "Just ask for me. If I'm not there, I'll call you right back."

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked again.

"I'm fine, I promise," Harry said. For a moment, it didn't feel like a lie. "I miss you guys."

"And we miss you," Hermione said. "I'll call as soon as I can."

Harry suddenly had an overwhelming urge to tell her about the lycanthropy, the Dark Mark, the dead wizard. He swallowed it down just in time. "Congratulations again."

"Thanks."

After Harry hung up the phone, Anita stood up. "So she said yes."

"She said yes."

"And you didn't tell her why."

"If I told her, they'd come and take me away."

Anita came around to lean on the edge of the desk. "You could go home, if you'd like. Offer for a ride to the airport is still open."

"I know." He stood up and pushed his shirt sleeve back up over his elbows. "So it's almost sunset. What do we do now?"

Anita smiled suddenly. "Tell me, have you ever been to the circus?"


	10. Luck is a Lady

* * *

Harry stood by the Jeep, looking up at the front of the building. "Is this a joke?" he asked.

Anita shook her head. "All one hundred percent on the level."

"And those clowns on the roof have... fangs?"

"Yes." Anita pulled her braid over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go inside."

They walked past a line of gaudy, colourful posters, advertising impossible things. Werewolves. Lamia. Zombies.

"Do you ever raise zombies here?" Harry asked Anita. He was unprepared for the annoyed expression on her face.

"I don't raise zombies for entertainment," she snapped.

"Oh." Harry looked back at the posters. "Sorry."

Anita followed his gaze. "No, I'm just a bit touchy about raising zombies. They shouldn't be brought up from their resting places unless it's for a damned good reason, then returned to their graves afterward. I can't see how scaring the tourists constitutes a good reason."

"So it's like a higher purpose for you?" Harry asked, curious about her. He'd gleaned a bit of information from Jason and Nathaniel the previous night, what she was like around the lycanthropes, but he didn't understand her or her job in the least. If she saw the zombies as a mission in life, that might make a bit more sense. Why else would anyone raise zombies?

"No higher purpose, Harry. I raise zombies because I can't not." Anita shook her head as they passed a long line of people outside the building, waiting to buy tickets. "It's not something I can turn off. Power will out and all that."

"Oh." Harry tried to come up with a parallel in his own world. Maybe like bursts of uncontrolled magic? Like when he blew up Uncle Vernon's sister Marge? No, that didn't sound right. "Where are we going?"

"One of the benefits of dating the owner is not having to wait in line." Anita walked up to the big doors and the young blond man lounging there. "Clay."

"Anita," the man said with a smile. His stance might look lazy, but the tension in his hands told Harry he was very alert. "I talked to Jason. Is this the new guy?"

"Yes, this is him. Harry, this is Clay. Clay, meet Harry."

Harry nodded slightly, trying to remember his manners, and held out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

Clay looked at Harry's hand, and raised his eyebrows. His face growing hot, Harry just stood there with his hand out. _What the hell am I supposed to do?_ Harry thought. _Is there was a werewolf greeting ritual that no one told me about?_

"Clay, play nice," Anita warned.

The young man unfolded his arms and took Harry's hand. "Good to meet you," he said.

Clay's skin felt warm and tingly, not like a normal handshake at all. It felt good. "Don't worry," Clay said with a wink. "We'll be teaching you the secret handshake in no time."

"There's a secret handshake?" Harry asked, sure he was being teased.

"We're going in now," Anita said.

Still grinning, Clay stepped aside and let Harry and Anita pass through the big doors, into a smaller entrance room. Off to the side, in a little booth in the wall, sat a bored-looking girl beside a sign that read, "Holy item check." The girl looked up at Harry and Anita, and waved them on with a red-manicured set of nails.

"Holy item check?" Harry asked.

"Vampires, you know," Anita explained. "Bad for business if the tourists start glowing at the main attractions."

"But you--"

"I'm a special case." Anita touched the chain around her neck that disappeared under her shirt. Harry was sure there was a silver cross on the end of it. He'd seen it earlier that day, when she-- He shook his head. Now was not the time to think about when he'd seen her cross. "Besides, I scare them enough without the cross."

Harry nodded again. He didn't have any holy items on him, but it was good to know that the old superstition actually worked on vampires. He'd have to look into that when he got back to Hogwarts.

They paused by the steadily moving revolving doors at the other end of the entrance room. The doors were sort of creepy, moving slowly of their own accord. Disturbing. "That man, Clay. He was a werewolf, right?"

"Yes, he is. Why do you ask?"

Harry rubbed his hands together. "He felt tingly."

Anita gave him a sharp look. "He did?" She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Clay's a werewolf. Got a good nose on him, too."

It seemed like a bit of a non sequitur, and Harry had to ask. "What does his nose have to do with being a werewolf?" 

Anita, about to go through the revolving doors, paused. "Oh, that's why he's here on door duty. A few months ago, some stupid mundane got the brilliant idea that the Circus would make a good place for a drug drop. Jean-Claude's had a wolf on the door ever since. The last thing this place needs is trouble like that." She looked back at the outer door. "Clay's got some power, but he's still low in the pack. We'll see if he moves up the totem pole."

She turned around and entered the revolving doors. Harry watched as she was swallowed up and felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He hurried after her.

The doors disgorged him into bright, loud chaos. Flashing lights, loud carnival music, the excited call of carnies exhorting tourists to play their little games. Mixed in with the lights and noise were the smells, of cotton candy and popcorn and corndogs and, faintly, the lingering smell of old blood. It all crowded around him, too close, pressing in. Everything was too much, the colours too bright, the noise too loud, the smells too much.

He tried to get his bearings, to push it away, but it didn't help. It felt as if everything would crush him, drown him in sensation. He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes, trying to shut it all out. Distantly, he heard Anita calling his name. He tried to will it all away, casting out for anything to help him. He found himself slipping back into the Occlumency he'd finally gotten a grip on the year before at school, the year after Sirius's death. He cleared his mind, concentrated on nothing, and sensations pounding against him slowly bled away into quiet.

He opened his eyes, and he found that everything was better. Not all right, but better. The lights were still bright, the sounds everywhere, but it was manageable. _I wonder why I reacted that way,_ Harry thought. _Like all my senses went haywire?_

"Are you okay?" Anita asked. Her hand was on his arm and he hadn't even felt there put it there. _I know better than that,_ Harry thought.

"I'm fine," Harry said aloud. "Just a bit much, you know?"

Anita opened her mouth to say something, but from across the Circus floor, they heard someone call, "Anita!"

It was Jason, making his way toward them. When he finally got close enough, he put one arm over Anita's shoulders and then, much to Harry's discomfort, put his other arm across Harry's back. "How you guys been?" Jason asked with a huge grin. "You guys been playing with zombies or something?"

Anita twisted out from under Jason's arm. "What's up with you?" she asked. As Jason smiled placidly at her, she touched his chin, moved his head to the side. Harry could see two tiny puncture marks on Jason's neck. "Mmm hmm," she murmured with a slightly disapproving glare in her eyes.

"Hey, you know it could be you," Jason teased.

Anita glared harder.

"Did-- did Jean-Claude just feed on him?" Harry asked Anita, remembering what Jason had told him the day before about his role as pomme de sang.

"Yup," the blonde werewolf said cheerily. Harry couldn't get his head around it, that Jason was totally unconcerned that a vampire had just bit his neck and drank his blood. "Speaking of the devil, Anita, he wants to talk to you downstairs."

"Why?" Anita asked, frowning. "I was going to show Harry around the Circus."

"I can do it," Jason offered. He finally dropped his arm from around Harry's back. Not that it was weird or anything, Harry just wasn't a fan of physical contact in public. "What do you say, Harry? Show you the sights?"

"Sure," Harry said immediately. He would much rather go with Jason and explore this place than listen to Jean-Claude and Anita talk. Besides, the Master vampire gave him the creeps.

"Wait," Anita said. "No offense, Jason, but you're still high on Jean-Claude's bite. You shouldn't even be up here with the tourists yet."

"That's why I'm here," came a new voice, this one with a strangely familiar accent.

Harry turned his head. There stood a young man, who looked a bit younger than Harry, with curly brown hair and soft grey eyes. He was shorter than Anita, even. There was just something about him that made Harry smile in greeting.

"So is this the puppy?" the new guy asked, a slightly sarcastic smile quirking up the edges of his lips.

"Byron, behave," Anita warned, although her voice was light when she said it. "How are you? I haven't seen you in months."

"Life is divine, duckie," Byron said, going over to Anita and kissing the air by her cheek. "Magnificent would be too light a word."

Anita raised her eyebrows.

"He's headlining all week," Jason explained. "And it's going to his head."

"Down, boy," Byron said. Jason mock-growled at him. "I'm simply enjoying life." Byron cocked his head to the side. "Well, maybe not life as you know it."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Does everyone around here speak in clichés these days?" he asked. "Look, Anita, I'm feeling great. And Jean-Claude really wants to see you."

"We'll take right good care of the new pup," Byron added. "Go on."

Anita narrowed her eyes at the men. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

"Take your time," Byron replied. "We'll be fine."

Harry watched her as she turned and made her way purposefully across the Circus floor. Jason and Byron also watched her. "It's good that she's mellowed," Byron said. "And is it me, or is that a rather out-of-character outfit for the lady?"

"I think it's hot," Jason said. "She looks totally different with her hair up off her face like that." He caught the glare Byron shot his way. "What?"

"You weren't looking at her face," Byron scoffed. He turned to Harry. "What do you want to do first?"

Harry, who was a bit uncomfortable listening to Byron and Jason talk about Anita like that, was caught off guard. "What is there to do?" he asked.

Jason flung out his hands, narrowly missing a passing tourist. "Everything!"

Byron shook his head. "Anita's right, you're wasted," he said in disgust. "You've been doing this how long?"

"Hey, I'm not the one doing the rolling," Jason retorted. "Don't blame me for this."

Byron turned back to Harry. "Are you hungry? I hear the food's not bad here."

Something was off about that line, but exactly what, eluded Harry. "No, we ate already."

A flash of humour ran through Byron's eyes, like quicksilver, but his expression never changed. "Oh really?"

"Stop it," Jason said, his voice suddenly hard. "Come on, Harry."

Jason took Harry's elbow and pulled him along. With a shrug, Byron trailed along after them.

The crowd of tourists holding ice cream cones and cotton candy gradually gave way to lines of people waiting for rides. The tinkling music of the carousel was overwhelmed with the excited screams of children, going round and round, faster. There was something strange about the animals on the carousel, Harry noticed as Jason pulled him past. All predators.

Slightly uneasy now, Harry looked around. The man taking tickets at the glass house stared at the children passing into his domain, a feral gleam in his eyes. He caught Harry watching, and snarled.

They were beside the Ferris wheel when Harry jerked his arm out of Jason's grasp. "What is this place?" he demanded. "What's going on here?"

Jason looked a bit confused. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Byron sauntered around them, his hands in his pockets, perfectly poised. "Puppy's seen it, what most tourists in this little pocket of Hell will never see." He walked up to Harry, a bit too close. His grey eyes were so big in his boyish face, but those eyes were far too old, gave lie to the illusion of youth. "This is the Circus of the Damned, luv. It's not just a name to bring in the tourists." Byron smiled, and his lips drew back to reveal sharp vampire fangs. "There are things under the chaos and brightness that would darken your nightmares, Harry, would drive you screaming, begging for the sun."

Harry's right hand twitched, aching to go for his wand, to do something about this vampire. _How did I miss he was a vampire?_ Harry cursed himself. Byron hadn't done anything overtly hostile, but Harry knew he was being baited. _So what do I do? React? Isn't Hermione always telling me to use my head and not my wand?_

Knowing this was potentially a stupid idea, Harry took a step forward to close the distance between him and Byron, making the vampire have to tilt his head back to keep Harry in view. "You have no idea what is in my nightmares," Harry said, fighting to keep his voice level.

Byron was silent for a moment, then stepped back. "Knowing what I do about Voldemort, I doubt that." Byron's voice was lighter, and Harry knew that whatever just happened, was over for now.

"You know about Voldemort?" Harry asked. Now that he thought about it, that other vampire the previous night, Requiem, had known about Voldemort too.

Byron nodded. "Back before he vanished, those years ago, he indicated that he wanted the support of our kiss. Sent an emissary to us."

Jason crept over to the pair. "What did your master do? Kill the emissary?"

Byron's expression slowly bled way, until he looked just like a lovely corpse with bright eyes. "We are of Belle Morte's line," he said. "After the first night, the emissary had no desire to leave us." He held Harry's attention with the slow movement of his lips, his whispered words in the shadow of the Ferris wheel. "We do not interfere with the magical ones. They are not of our dark existence and that is how it is to remain."

The Ferris wheel ground to a halt next to them. Jason shook himself all over, a bit like a dog shaking off water. "You two are creeping me out," he said. "Let's go through the sideshow."

Byron rolled his eyes expressively, acting human once again. "You're the Master's pomme de sang, were here when Belle Morte's entourage was received, and you think this conversation is creepy?"

"Not the conversation," Jason said. "The two of you. Talking about nightmares like that."

"Really, Jason? And what terrifies you in the night?" Byron asked, brushing past the werewolf.

Jason's eyes unfocused for a moment. Harry wondered what horrors he was remembering. _I wonder if he sees the people he's failed when he closes his eyes?_ Harry thought.

Sirius, falling through the veil.

Harry turned and trailed after Byron. No matter how much the boy-- no, vampire scared him, he didn't want to stay behind, lost in the memories of his nightmares.

* * *

Harry watched as the so-called skinless man flexed his exposed muscles, drawing a scream from the watching crowd. It was gross, sure, but not worth the show the crowd was putting on.

Harry looked at Byron out of the corner of his eye. The vampire appeared bored, leaning back against a pillar. He caught Harry's eye and jerked his head in the direction of the next performer, further on down the hall. With a nod, Harry slowly made his way out from his place in the crowd.

Jason caught up with them halfway down the hall. "What is it with you two?" Jason demanded. "Shared disdain of the colonists makes for a bonding experience?"

"It's boring," Byron said flatly. "A skinless man with no blood?"

"What about you, Harry?"

Harry twitched his shoulder. "I don't know," he confessed. "It's a bit disturbing, but it doesn't feel real."

Jason looked back and forth between Harry and Byron for a moment before relenting. "Maybe you're right. But then what are we going to do?"

Harry pushed his hair back from his face with one hand. "I'm not sure. How long do you think Jean-Claude and Anita will be talking?"

Byron trailed his fingers along the thick fabric that made up the walls of the sideshow tent. "Oh, they won't be long talking, luv."

Jason shook his head. "You're incorrigible. Knock it off."

"Big word," Byron said with mock approval. "I suppose all that college learning is good for something after all."

"What do you mean, they won't be long talking?" Harry asked. Yet again, he was sure there was something going over his head. "So Anita will be ready to leave soon?"

Byron let out a sharp bark of laughter. "With the stamina that woman's got? Doubtful."

At Byron's words, Harry froze. He heard Jason say wearily, "Byron, please shut up."

"What?" Byron said. "All I'm saying is that Harry might want to make plans to bunk in for the night, if his ride depends on Anita getting--"

"Stop it," Harry said, his heart pounding in his chest. _Facing down a vampire and telling him to shut up is another stupid idea,_ Harry thought, _But I can't let him talk that way about Anita._

Byron looked faintly surprised. "Why?"

Harry open and closed his mouth twice before he could think of the words. "You shouldn't talk about her like that, it's not right."

Byron quirked an eyebrow at Harry. "Righteous and as bold as a lion, defending your Lupa's honour?"

"You ought to show more respect than that," Harry insisted.

Byron's expression changed again. Gone was the teasing leer. "I know she's a good woman, Harry," Byron said, no longer joking. "I know what she's done to and for the vampires in this city, how the Master is stronger because of her." Harry wondered which was the real Byron, the one who made off-colour insinuations about Anita, or the one looking up at him with somber eyes. "Watch where you're stepping, luv, I may let it slide while you're protected by the Master's wolf, but there are other vampires in this city that would attack you for it, under Anita's protection or not."

Harry let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself. "I'm not going to stand by while you insult her like that."

"Insult?" Byron repeated. "Trust me, Harry, that wasn't an insult."

"Guys," Jason interrupted, "Maybe we can just stop talking about--"

Harry stepped back, shaking his head. The Gryffindor in him couldn't let this go, but Harry had no idea what to do now. Stay and keep arguing with Byron? What if he didn't stop? Cutting insults at twenty yards?

He turned and headed off deeper into the sideshow tent, away from the crowd and Byron. He heard Jason's voice behind him, urgently talking to Byron, but that soon faded in the folds of the thick cloth.

A few more steps, and Harry stopped walking. He was so out of his depth here. He'd never have to deal with something like this, not at Hogwarts, not anywhere. He felt so homesick.

 _She offered to let you go home,_ he recalled. Letting his hip brush against the thick black curtain, Harry reached up and touched his shoulder where Richard had clawed him. A simple touch no longer hurt, and Harry had to press his fingers against the bandage to feel any pain. If he had still been entirely human, the wound would not have healed so fast.

"This is why I can't go home," he whispered into the darkness. The horror stories he'd heard Remus tell, the fear Harry had felt when Remus almost attacked him and Hermione and Ron in third year. _I can't do that to my friends._

Feeling miserable, Harry turned around to go find Jason and ask if maybe they could just go somewhere to watch people, but a soft hissing caught his attention.

All self-pity vanished as he strained to hear. There it was again, a soft sibilant hissing, too deliberate to be a mistake.

Carefully, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. His hand shook slightly as he moved as quietly as he could toward the sound. It was with trepidation that he reached a fold in the curtain and peeked through the break in the fabric.

There was a young woman padding around the open space on bare feet, her long straight black hair swinging around her face. She caught the movement of the curtain and whirled. When she saw Harry, she smiled.

"Are you lost?" she asked Harry in a light voice. She swayed over toward him, her smile growing. "Are you all alone?"

Then, her voice turned to a hiss, almost an afterthought, " _A delicious treat..._ "

 _She spoke in Parseltounge!_ Harry realized with a shock. He didn't know of anyone besides him or Voldemort who could speak the snakes' language. That surprise turned quickly to apprehension, as the woman came closer.

" _Am I supposed to be the snack?_ " he blurted out.

The woman jerked back at his words. " _You speak my tongue?_ " she exclaimed in a loud hiss. " _What are you?_ "

Harry had no idea what to say. Admitting to her that he was a wizard might take away his last defence. _And everyone knows not to trust someone who speaks Parseltounge_ , he thought, painfully aware of the irony.

The woman opened her mouth again, wide enough that Harry could see the tips of long, snake-like fangs. He gripped his wand tighter. " _I advise against attacking,_ " he said, not knowing any other way to warn her off.

She opened her mouth wider, showing Harry her fangs. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught movement, and the woman whirled and ran.

Harry turned so fast he almost fell over, wondering what other danger had crept up on him. When he saw that it was Jason, he let out a huge sigh of relief.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked. His voice trailed off when he registered the look of utter shock on Jason's face. "What?"

* * *

I still wasn't sure about leaving Harry with Byron and Jason, even as I walked across the Circus floor. I told myself I was being silly, that no one would attack him while he was with the vampire and the werewolf. He didn't need me to protect him like this.

I made it to the wall of the building and walked carefully along the shadows. Here in the dark, there were no tourists looking around, no one to see what I was doing. I'd asked Jean-Claude once if any couples took advantage of the dark. He'd given me a look that basically told me I was stating the obvious.

I wondered what he wanted to talk to me about tonight. Maybe more on Harry? Vampire business? Pack business? It might have been so many things.

I reached the plain steel door and let myself through it. The sound of the Circus were shut out when I pulled the door closed behind me. It was a relief, the sudden silence, and I think I sighed.

The breath hadn't even passed my lips when some subconscious part of my brain realized that there was something else in the small storage room with me. I whirled, my gun in my hand and pointed as I finished my turn.

Jean-Claude was standing in the middle of the room in the spotlight of the room's only light bulb, staring down the barrel of my gun. The son of a bitch hadn't been there a few seconds before. "A bit jumpy tonight, ma petite?"

I pointed the gun at the floor, my heart pounding in my chest, from the shock at his popping up and something deeper. The _what if I hadn't waited to see who it was before I fired?_ "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. "Sneaking up on someone like that? You could have gotten hurt!"

Jean-Claude came toward me, and I could tell he was worried. "Ma petite, what is wrong?" he asked, his voice flowing over me, warm and safe. I shook my head to push that away. I couldn't let him make me feel that way, not now.

I'd broken a rule tonight. Never pull your gun unless you're prepared to deal with the consequences of firing it. I had an image, of Jean-Claude lying bleeding on the floor, the back of his head blown off, and I didn't know what to do.

My hands were shaking as I went to put my gun back in its holster. It took two tries, but I managed it. Jean-Claude, wise vampire, stayed out of touching distance until the gun was up.

"What has set you on edge, Anita?" he asked quietly. He used my real name. This was never good.

"I'm not sure," I said. I couldn't look at him. "I don't know-- I mean, maybe I'm hungry, or something, even though we just ate dinner and stuff, maybe it's the ardeur, I fed the ardeur this morning, but then we thought it was okay after last night--"

"Shh, ma petite, it is all right," Jean-Claude said as he took me in his arms, holding me in a loose embrace. I could have gotten away if I wanted to, but I didn't really want to. "Nothing happened."

After a moment's hesitation, I wrapped my arms around his waist and held him tight. "But it could have." 

Jean-Claude touched my cheek, and it made me look up at him. His eyes were calm. I didn't understand how he could be so calm when I'd pointed a gun at him. If I had been on the other end of that gun, I'd have been screaming still. "You did not hurt me, ma petite," he said. "Your reactions are so fast, but still you stopped yourself when you saw that it was me."

I pressed my ear to his chest, heard his heart pumping Jason's blood through his veins.

"Your reactions, your speed, they become more those of the cat you hold within you," he continued quietly. "Ever since we re-bound our triumvirate almost a year ago, my powers and those of our Richard have strengthened predictably, but you are still the wild card."

He fell silent. Damn it. I needed him to tell me what he meant, but that was what he wanted me to do. I gave in. "How am I the wild card?" I asked, my voice muffled against his shirt.

Don't ask me how, but I could tell he smiled. "Let us take the ardeur, for starters." He turned me around and guided me toward the stairs down the underground lair.

"Take this ardeur, please?" I said, trying for a joke.

He dropped a kiss on the top of my head. "That wasn't funny."

"I know."

"What I meant was that after your triumvirate with Nathaniel and Damian, you needed to feed the ardeur every six hours. When we re-bound our triumvirate, that remained the same for a while. Do you remember?"

I was glad it was dark. "Do I remember having to have sex at least four times a day for months? Yes, I faintly recall that," I said, a bit uncomfortable.

"And then you will recall how in March, that suddenly changed?"

"Again, yes. But we never figured out why."

I heard Jean-Claude sigh. "But it happened, and I have told you I believe it has a lot to do with your growing strength, as your body adjusts to its new powers and needs."

I felt like grumbling, but what good would it do? Besides, I was focusing on the steps, which were not designed for human legs. "What does this have to do with me and my gun?"

"You move faster than you used to, Anita. Even Richard has remarked on it. In the early days of the infection, a new wolf can injure or even kill with his speed and strength. It takes skill to use that strength, but it takes more skill to stop yourself from using it."

I tightened my hand on Jean-Claude's hip, feeling the play of muscles and bone under his skin. "Are you saying this to make me feel better?" I asked in a tiny voice.

"No, ma petite, I am not saying this to make you feel better. I know how you hate that. I say it because it is true." We were at the giant door at the bottom of the steps. Jean-Claude stopped us and made me face him. It took me a moment to look up at him, but when I did, the look in his eyes took my breath away.

Pride. He was proud of me? 

"You grow stronger, with powers most vampires can only dream of, and yet you are still the woman I fell in love with," he said. Cradling my face in his hands, he bent over and kissed me delicately. "Your powers have changed and your life has changed, but you, ma petite, the essence of what you are has not changed," he whispered against my lips.

He drew back slowly, watching me for a reaction. I didn't know what to think. Micah had helped me through my last break-down, the one in December, when everything came to a head, Damian and Nathaniel needing me, the wereleopards needing me, the werewolves needing me, the cops needing me. I'd gone down into the basement and didn't come out. Micah needed to come down to try to coax me back upstairs. I'd railed at him for hours, but all my yelling amounted to one thing: how do you live your life when you don't recognize it any more?

Micah didn't give me any trite answers, only told me that he needed me too, but he also needed me to need him. That it was okay to need other people. That need, that give and take, made things work.

But he never talked about how I'd changed. I'd gone from little Catholic schoolgirl to hard-nosed vampire killer, to vampire's girlfriend and leopard queen. I wanted to believe Jean-Claude, that I was still me, but I wasn't sure I could.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Jean-Claude smiled again and kissed the tip of my nose. "Apology accepted."

He offered to take us to his bedroom to talk in privacy, but I knew how that would end. We stayed in big living room, with walls made up of folds of cloth against the cold stone. Jean-Claude actually deigned to sprawl on the couch while I cuddled up against him and told him all about my horrible day.

"It sounds as if Harry handled himself well," Jean-Claude said after I finished telling him about the murder scene.

"I'd say so too, if he wasn't lying to me."

Jean-Claude silently began to undo my braid as I gathered my thoughts, tried to figure out what was bugging me.

"He told us that there's this guy after him, Voldemort," I finally said. "But then today, he said that this guy has a bunch of followers. So is it just the main bad guy after Harry, or is it more of them?"

"I do not know," Jean-Claude said, running his fingers through my hair. "Perhaps you should ask him."

"Maybe." I lifted my head and gave Jean-Claude a small smile. No matter what else was on my mind, lying cuddled up against him usually turned my mind onto a one-track route.

He returned my smile and lifted me to him. As always, his kiss was amazing. I used to think it wasn't fair that he had four hundred years of kissing experience to use on me, but those reservations usually melted away quickly.

His hand was just starting to slide up my thigh under my skirt when I thought I heard the door open. Jean-Claude didn't make any move to stop what he was doing, so I figured it was Asher.

It was a most unwelcome surprise to hear Richard say, "Is there a reason the two of you can't keep your clothes on in public?"

I pulled away from Jean-Claude and almost fell off the couch. Jean-Claude had to grab me around the waist to stop my tumble to the floor, and I ended up straddling Jean-Claude's thighs. Damn it. Richard had the worst timing ever.

"And how are you?" Jean-Claude asked Richard, while I tried to crawl off his body while not flashing the room.

Richard's arms were crossed over his chest, and he in no way looked happy. "Do you really care?"

Jean-Claude swung his legs off the couch and let me sit down next to him. "Seeing how our common interests coincide these days, I would have to say, yes."

Richard switched his glare to me. "What?" I asked.

"Nothing," Richard replied.

 _He is jealous, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude thought at me.

It was so ridiculous I almost responded out loud. _What the hell is he jealous about?_ I mentally replied. _He and I had sex a week ago, before that stupid fight. He's got nothing to be jealous about._

 _I am beginning to think that you will never understand the male mind._ "Come, Richard, join us on the couch."

The stubborn expression on Richard's face didn't suit him.

"Fine, stay there," Jean-Claude allowed. "How are Suzanne and her pet?"

The annoyance left Richard's face, and I saw how tired he was. "She doesn't understand what she did wrong," he admitted, raking his hands through his hair. "Sylvie's with her now, trying to get her to see reason. I don't know if it will work."

As he spoke, he came over to the couch and sat on the other side of me, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. I wondered if he'd gotten any sleep since I'd last seen him.

"What does she not understand?" Jean-Claude asked quietly.

Richard sighed. "Why she should have brought Paul to the Lupanar after she knew he was infected. She won't see that I'm right."

I frowned. "How high up in the pack is she?" I asked.

"Too high for this crap." Richard leaned back onto the couch and focused on me. "I called a pack meeting for the day after tomorrow at the Lupanar, to deal with her. Can you come?"

"Sure," I said immediately.

Richard started to speak, then hesitated. "Do you think you can bring Harry?"

He was very carefully shielding whatever he was feeling from me. "He'd probably like that."

"Has your young charge made any indication that he might become one of the wolves next full moon?" Jean-Claude asked. I pressed myself back into the couch so that Richard could see Jean-Claude past me.

"He was okay for most of today," I said, thinking. "But at the murder scene he had this moment of a real furry vibe. Not big or anything, but I felt it. If it had been any later in the month, I'd have said he was about to change. Tammy felt it, too."

"Wait, murder scene?" Richard interrupted. "What are you talking about? Did something happen?"

I shook my head. "No, Harry was just with me at work when the cops called. I had to take him with me."

Richard glared at me. "You took a seventeen-year-old boy to a murder scene?" He stood up and took a few long steps across the room before facing me again, hands on his hips. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Hey!" I exclaimed, standing up and walking across the room to stand next to him. "You left him at my place and so I've been taking care of him, okay? He was fine, I had my eye on him all the time."

"That's no excuse! He's just a kid, Anita, I thought you knew better than that!"

Richard was the only person I knew who could make me so incredibly angry so quickly. "Don't start this high and mighty--"

"Richard, have you spoken with Stephen today?" Jean-Claude interrupted, suddenly at my side.

The question was jarring, and it stopped the argument. "No, I haven't," Richard said. "Why?"

I looked up at Jean-Claude. "What are you talking about?" I asked.

Jean-Claude sighed wearily. "Have you talked to any of the wolves about Harry since yesterday afternoon?" 

Richard shook his head.

"Why?" I asked. "What happened since yester-- Oh." The Damian thing. Richard didn't know Harry was Damian's grandson. Wasn't that just perfect?

Jean-Claude's expression at my lack of focus was eloquent. "Perhaps you should tell him, ma petite." He went and sat back on the couch, effectively withdrawing himself from the conversation.

I turned back to Richard. "Richard..."

"Is Harry okay?" he asked, the beginnings of a frown on his face.

"Yes, but--"

"There aren't any complications from his shoulder wound?"

"No, but--"

"Then what aren't you telling me?" he demanded.

I pushed my hair back from my face, trying to have patience. "We found something out about Harry last night."

"What?"

I looked at him, his brown eyes confused, and tried to imagine what he would think. "I can't do this," I said, turning back to Jean-Claude. "I just can't."

"Why not?" Jean-Claude asked.

I made random gestures with my hands, trying to carve out my frustration in the air. "He's not going to believe me."

"Would one of you just tell me what the hell is going on?" Richard demanded.

"Harry is Damian's grandson."

The silence following my comment was almost a tangible thing. I waited for Richard to explode, something. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched. The twitch spread to a smile, then he started laughing.

"Good one," he said around his laughter. "You almost had me for a moment."

Damn it. "I told you he wasn't going to believe me," I said to Jean-Claude as I went back to the couch and slumped beside him on the cushions.

Gradually, Richard stopped laughing. "You-- but-- there's no way!" he protested as the possibility that I wasn't lying to him began to sink in.

"That was what I said at first," I said. Jean-Claude slid his hand around my shoulders and drew me back down to rest against him.

Richard began to pace again, all the while shaking his head. "But Harry's from England," he tried.

"Damian's old master ruled on the north-eastern shores of Scotland," Jean-Claude said in a very blank tone. He ran his hand over my hair, almost absently.

Richard opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. "But Damian's almost a thousand years old," he said. "He can't have kids."

Jean-Claude's hand stilled, then dropped to my shoulder. "Do you recall that the Master of Beasts, the Council member Padma, had his son Fernando?"

A wave of hot animal anger rolled through the room. I wondered if Richard would ever forgive himself for leaving town then, for letting Sylvie be the one the Council took and tried to break.

Sylvie had her revenge on them. I know she kept the bones of her enemies, Fernando included, and looked at them occasionally. But revenge couldn't take away the hurt.

"I remember them," Richard said after a moment. "What's your point?"

"My point is that Padma was almost as old as Damian is now when Fernando was born. While rare in the extreme, it is not as impossible as you imagine."

Richard paced across the room a few more times. I wondered if he was getting used to the idea, or if he was still thinking about Sylvie. I also wondered if he and I were still 'fighting', because he looked like he needed a hug. Or maybe being in the same room with Richard just made me think that.

"Does he know?" Richard finally asked.

Which he? "We all sort of found out together," I said, sitting up. Jean-Claude let me go.

"Is he in danger because of it?" Richard stopped behind an armchair and rested his hands on the back. "Is there going to be a problem?"

"Ma petite has taken care of that," Jean-Claude said.

"How?"

I stood up, smoothing my skirt down over my thighs. Richard's eyes followed the movement of my hands. "As Damian's master, Harry's my responsibility," I said. "So I guess I need to take care of him."

Richard frowned. "But if he's going to be one of my wolves, then I should be the one taking care of him," he protested.

I made my way across the room, around the chair, to stand beside Richard. He turned to face me. His body temperature was still hot from the just-past moon, and even standing a foot away from him, I felt his heat. "If he's going to be a werewolf, then he's mine to take care of too," I said softly. "Lupa, remember?"

Richard touched my cheek with the tips of his finger. "I remember." His chocolate brown eyes were so serious as he stared at me. "Why were we fighting again?" 

I had to think about that for a moment. "You told me that I was blood-thirsty and cold-hearted, and I said that you didn't seem to have a problem with it until you--"

I stopped talking when Richard put his finger on my lips. "I know what we were fighting about," he said. "I was trying to make up with you."

Oh. Richard and I fought so often, and more recently, made up so often, I had a hard time keeping track of things. There was so much we needed to talk about, pack business and Harry and stuff, but with Richard this close to me, I had a hard time thinking, as usual.

I parted my lips and licked the tip of his finger, then drew it into my mouth to nip gently at it with my teeth. Richard's mouth opened slightly as he watched me. A moment later, he gently put his hands on my shoulders and bent down to kiss me.

I didn't have to be as careful when kissing him as I did with Jean-Claude. There were no fangs in Richard's mouth to avoid, no worries about hurting myself, at least physically. Richard's kisses only cut at my heart.

I made a soft, involuntary noise of protest when Richard pulled back. The dark desire in his eyes made me swallow hard.

"You taste like Jean-Claude's kisses," he growled under his breath.

I went up on tiptoes in the circle of his arms. "And you like it," I whispered.

Richard's arms tightened around me, holding me against him. "No, I don't."

I pressed myself against the front of his body. "Yes, you do."

Richard shoved me back, and I would have fallen if Jean-Claude hadn't caught me. I hadn't even realized that he had gotten off the couch. "Hurting Anita will not change what you do and do not want, Richard," Jean-Claude said, his hands cold on my arms.

"He didn't hurt me," I protested, at the same time as Richard said, "I didn't mean to hurt her."

"Good," Jean-Claude said, his voice distant. He let me go and moved back to the centre of the room. "Then perhaps we can get on with business?"

"What business?" Richard asked. He wouldn't look at either of us.

"Again, it concerns young Harry," Jean-Claude said. "It seems as if his explanation of the wizard after him might not have been completely accurate."

"There's no sorcerer after him?"

"No, I suspect that there might be more than one after him," I said.

Whatever Richard was going to say was interrupted as the door banged open and Jason came in, Harry right behind him.

"What's wrong?" I asked quickly. My mind raced with a million things, all bad.

Jason came to a halt. "Harry talked to Melanie."

Okay, not what I was expecting. "And? Did she try to kill him?"

Jason shook his head. "No, but he talked to her."

An ache began to form behind my left temple. Perfect. This day wouldn't be complete without a huge headache. "Jason, you have five seconds to explain in a way that I won't hurt you," I snapped.

There was nothing in Jason's behaviour to make me thing he was kidding. "It wasn't in English," he insisted. "It was some sort of weird..."

"It was Parseltounge," Harry said heavily. "I can talk to snakes."

"Snakes?" Maybe it was because I was tired, but I couldn't get too worked up over it. "Cool."

The weary, slightly apprehensive expression on Harry's face vanished into surprise. "You're not mad?"

"Harry, I raise zombies for a living. Think about that. I raise the dead. You think a little thing like talking to snakes is going to squick me?"

Harry stared at me for a moment, then took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "It's just everything is so different here!" he exclaimed. "Back home, no one wants to know I can talk to snakes. It's usually the mark of very dark wizards."

I smiled wryly. "Hey, folks said the same thing about raising the dead. But neither one of us is particularly evil, I'd say."

"Can you talk to real snakes, too?" Jason asked into the ensuing silence.

Harry shoved his glasses back on. "Yes, I can."

"What about weresnakes?" 

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his lips as the door opened again, and someone new came in. Or, rather, slithered in.

I moved behind Jean-Claude so his body would shield me as I drew my gun, just in case. Melanie was not my favourite person, in any way, and I didn't trust her as far as I could spit. Maybe it was some caveman part of me, but I liked her even less when she was in her full-blown lamia form.

"Melanie, what can I do for you?" Jean-Claude asked, stepping out in front of us all to meet her.

The lamia smiled creepily and flicked her forked tongue in the air. "I came to taste the little boy," she said, her voice more hissy than usual.

"That will not happen." Jean-Claude's voice blew around us, cold and powerful. Jason ducked his head, and even Harry began to shiver. "He is under Anita's protection, and she is mine."

Melanie made an expression that I think might have been a pout. It was hard to tell with the fangs. She hissed something, and Harry perked up, as if he understood her. He shook his head, and hissed right back.

Okay, now that I heard it, it sounded downright creepy. From the look on Richard's face, he thought the same thing.

Harry stopped talking and paled, so quickly that Jason had to put a hand on his elbow to stop him from falling over. "Harry, what's wrong?" Richard asked.

Harry pulled himself out of Jason's grasp. "She said that I'm not the only Parseltounge she's heard in the past week," he said shakily. He looked at me, his green eyes hollow and skirting on the edge of terror. "She's heard another."

"Would that have anything to do with Nigel Spencer, our dead guy?" I asked.

"Maybe." Harry licked his lips and swallowed. "The only other Parselmouth I know is Voldemort."


	11. Lies, Damned Lies and Ultimatums

* * *

Harry looked around the room, for what I didn't know. "I have to leave," he said abruptly.

"What?" I exclaimed as Richard stepped around me. "What are you talking about, leaving?"

Harry's green eyes flashed as he focused on me. "If Voldemort's in town, sooner or later he'll be coming after me, and anyone around me is going to be in danger!" 

"Yeah, and if you're by yourself, you'll be a sitting duck!" I shot back, putting my gun back into its holster.

Harry shook his head. "Haven't you been paying attention?" he demanded. "When Voldemort's after someone, he doesn't let innocent bystanders get in his way. If I stick around, people are going to get hurt!"

"Anita's right, Harry," Richard said, the faintest hint of a growl in his voice. "That's why we stick together. The pack can protect itself better as a whole than alone."

"That goes for any group," I interrupted. It was so rare that Richard and I agreed on anything that I would have liked to pause and savour the occasion, but, as usual, there was no time. "Vampires, lycanthropes, even humans do it."

Harry frowned and I think he was getting a bit frustrated. "You're not listening to me. If I stay, then you might get hurt."

I resisted the urge to put my hands on my hips. "And you're not listening to me." I took a slow breath to try and calm down. "If you are alone, you have a greater chance of getting hurt, or getting dead. If you stay with us, we can help you. I'm not talking about putting you in a box and letting us kill the big bad sorcerer for you. I'm talking about us all working together to try and figure this thing out."

"But--"

Richard interrupted whatever Harry was about to say. "Bad wizards aside, Harry, I can't just let you leave. Not in good conscience."

I started to say something, but suddenly Jean-Claude was in my head. _Quiet, ma petite,_ he told me. _You have appealed to the boy's sense of safety; perhaps Richard will be able to guilt him into staying._

"Is this because of the werewolf thing?" Harry asked.

"It's not a thing," Richard said quietly. "If you're a werewolf, it's not a once a month thing, not just one night where you can't go out. It's all the time. You don't turn into a werewolf. You are a werewolf. Always."

Coming from Richard, it was a surprising speech. He'd fought so long against exactly what he was talking about. And almost destroyed himself and the whole pack in the process.

"It's not going to hit you on the night of the full moon," Richard continued. "This next month, you'll go through so many changes that sometimes, you're going to wonder if you're even yourself any more. We can't stop the changes, but we can help you through it. Nothing can fuck a new werewolf up more than being alone for the first few months."

There was a loud hiss, and Melanie slithered backwards. "If you are finished with the platitudes, I will leave you," she said as she turned to go.

"Hold it!" I said. I turned back to Harry. "No running?"

Looking as if it was the worst idea he had ever had, he shook his head. "No running."

I looked at Melanie. "So you heard someone talking snake talk?"

Her forked tongue flicked out of her mouth. "I heard a Parselmouth, yes," she snapped at me.

"And you think it's Voldemort?" I asked Harry.

"I don't know!" Harry said. "No one ever tells us how many other Parseltongues there are, but the only one I know of is Voldemort."

"And with the Dark Mark over Nigel Spencer's house, you're drawing conclusions," I finished for him.

"What else am I supposed to think?"

Jean-Claude made a small motion with his hand, drawing our attention. "But you are not certain?"

Harry shook his head again, looking at Melanie. "I just-- I mean..."

Jean-Claude turned to Melanie, a blank smile on his face. "You said that you heard another who could speak this snake language," he said. "Are you sure it was not Harry?"

From where I was in the room, I could see Harry's face clearly. When he heard Jean-Claude's question, he opened his mouth as if to protest, but then he snapped his jaw shut. If that was all the reaction we got, I'd be happy.

After a long pause, in which Melanie looked Harry up and down, then up again, she shook her head. "It was not this talking boy," she said, overemphasizing the sibilants. "What I heard was not alive, not like this boy at all."

"Not alive? What, was it like a vampire or a zombie or something?" I asked.

Melanie looked at me as if I was extremely stupid. "No, like a radio recording," she said, withering scorn in her voice. "And it was not the voice of this boy."

"A recording?" Harry repeated, all annoyance fading from his face. "But why would Voldemort make a recording?" he asked.

Jean-Claude moved his head just enough so that he could see Harry.

"If one of this guy's little magical terrorist followers was in town trying to track down Nigel Spencer, making the green skull thing over his house, that would give an indication that he's somehow involved," I suggested.

"That is true, ma petite." In my head, Jean-Claude mentally whispered, _Now might be the time to ask certain questions of your young Harry that you wish answered, while he is off-balance._

Although it irked me, he was probably right.

"So it looks like you travelled halfway around the world and ended up with this guy on your back again?" I asked Harry.

He pushed the hair off his forehead with one hand. "Welcome to my life," he said bitterly. "But I don't know if Voldemort would ever use a recording device, he's too much into his own power for that. But one of his Death Eaters? Maybe they got a recording?"

"What did the recording say?" Richard asked suddenly, startling me.

Melanie tasted the air with her tongue. "I cannot say."

"Won't, you mean," Richard retorted. There was a cold anger in his voice I'd only started hearing in the last few months, as the barriers between Jean-Claude and Richard and myself had started to melt into each other.

"Can't." Melanie slid back and around, her movements jerky with aggravation.

"I don't think she can," Harry told Richard. "Parseltongue isn't like French, you can't translate directly to a human language. You can approximate but never get the same meaning."

"Why not give it a try?" Jason asked from where he had retreated to the couch. "You won't be any further behind than you are right now if you can't do it, right?"

I spared a brief glance at Jean-Claude. He still had the pleasantly blank expression on his face. He was shielding so hard that I had to look at his face to realize that he was worried. _What's wrong?_ I asked him mentally.

He let his power trickle over me the tiniest bit, like a caress. Who was he trying to reassure, him or me? _While I am not questioning your choices, ma petite, I wonder what we have done, inviting this boy into our lives. I wonder if we might have taken on more than is safe for us to handle._

I wasn't sure how to respond. Melanie drew my attention as she slithered sideways, getting a bit too close to Harry for my comfort. I started to move forward, to get between then, but Harry drew himself up, and I stopped. It was as if his confusion had vanished as a potential threat approached. "Will you tell me what the voice said?" Harry asked, no longer hesitating.

Melanie tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder, her head tilting to one side as she considered Harry. "Yes," she eventually said. "You, I will tell."

"Oh." Harry sounded faintly surprised. "Good." He paused again, looking around the room. "Wait, I should probably write this down." His eyes finally lit upon Richard and me. "Do either of you have a pen and paper?" he asked us.

Richard reached into his jeans and pulled out the stub of a pencil, which he flicked across the room to Harry. The kid caught it effortlessly. "No paper, sorry," Richard said.

Harry's gaze landed on me. I just looked at him. "Where would I be hiding paper in this outfit?" I asked.

Shaking his head briefly, Harry went to the coffee table and gestured at the bouquet of blood-red roses. "Do you still need these?" he asked.

"Non," Jean-Claude replied.

Curious, and trying to keep an eye on Melanie at the same time, I watched as Harry pulled the roses out of the vase, shook the water off the stems, and laid them on the table. He pulled his wand out of pocket and quickly waved it at the flowers while muttering something under his breath.

The roses shuddered and melted into a small stack of paper, shot through with the red and green colours of the flowers.

"Whoa," Jason breathed. "Did you see that?"

It was such an innocuous question that I pushed my own wonderment back a bit. "Yes, Jason, I saw that." 

"That was so cool," Jason continued.

Harry looked faintly embarrassed. "It wasn't really that good a transfiguration," he muttered, "The colour from the flowers isn't supposed to be there." He put his wand back in his pocket and knelt by the table, pencil poised. "What did the voice, the one you heard, say?"

Melanie began hissing at Harry. What I found really weird was that as she hissed, she moved her hands, like a normal person does sometimes while talking. The sounds weren't nearly as strange coming from Melanie as they had coming from Harry, but that might just have been my dislike of the lamia. She tried to kill me; I think I was justified in my feelings.

Of course, my dislike of Melanie was more than reciprocated. When Melanie first came to town, she's been with a Council member named the Earthmover, although he'd introduced himself to me as Mr. Oliver. He was the oldest vampire I'd ever met in person. The questions raised in preternatural biology classes, about how long vampires have roamed the earth? I had the answer for that. Before Mr. Oliver was a vampire, he wasn't human. No, think homo Erectus.

But after I killed Mr. Oliver, Jean-Claude offered Melanie a place to hang up her hat, working at the Circus. She took it, but that didn't mean she had to like either Jean-Claude or myself.

The conversation between Harry and Melanie, if you could call it that, went on. Richard watched them both with rapt fascination. He was a junior high science teacher, but his college degree had been in preternatural biology like mine. I think he'd told me that he had taken a few classes on snakes and reptiles while in university, but I bet they never had topics like this on the syllabus.

After a while, Harry stopped hissing and stood, holding some of the rose paper in his hands. "I think I have somewhat of an idea of what's going on," he said. "She said that the message was a sort of... I'm not sure if 'call' is the right word, but there's not really a way to say it in human language. A sort of demand, an order, for the listener to do what the voice told it to."

"Hold on, an order?" I demanded, going over to Harry. "What did the voice want the snakes to do?"

"Here's where it gets tricky," Harry said. He flipped over a page and pointed at some of his scrawled writing. "It wanted the snakes to seek someone out. The exact command was to smell someone out, but that's because snakes smell their way, their eyesight is usually very poor."

"Yes, I know that," I said. "But did the recording say who it wanted?"

Melanie slithered back a few feet and hissed something, her fangs flashing.

Harry looked at her and nodded. "You're right, but I'm not sure..."

"Harry," I interrupted. "Translate for the rest of us, will you?"

"Oh, sorry." He pointed at the page again. "The general meaning I got was that the voice was looking for a magical person, one who tasted of egg-smashing."

I blinked at him. "Someone who eats eggs?"

"Someone who betrayed the nest," Harry clarified. "Sorry. As I said, it's a bit difficult to translate." He folded the papers carefully and put them in his back pocket. "Which makes sense, if you think about it. If Nigel Spencer had betrayed Voldemort in some way, then Voldemort might have been trying to find him. But the way things are going back in England, I don't know if Voldemort could come to America to do it himself. He might have sent someone to find Mr. Spencer, but sent along this recording to try and get the snakes to help whoever it was."

Harry's eyes were flashing by the end of his little speech. I had to admit, he was good at thinking on his feet. "I suppose that's the good and the bad news right there, then."

"How so, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked quietly.

I looked at him. There was a hint of life returned to his face, but not much. He was still worried. "The good news is, we know Voldemort isn't in town. Bad news, we don't know who is."

Jean-Claude nodded slightly. "Unless Harry would have an idea as to whom his enemy would send on such a task."

Harry bit his lower lip. "I don't know that much about the Death Eaters, not really," he explained. "Other than who's killed who." There was something grim in his voice for a moment. "I don't know who would get sent to America without Voldemort to watch over them. Some of them aren't what you'd call intelligent."

"Thugs seldom are," I muttered.

Richard leaned against the back of an armchair and crossed his arms over his chest. "So is Melanie going to run and tell whoever about Harry?" he asked.

Melanie flicked her forked tongue in Richard's direction. "I have tasted power, real power, you dog," she spat. "The Earthmover was the only being with the power to control me. The rantings of this... this worm, they are nothing to me!"

"So you will not give Harry over to the wizard in question?" Jean-Claude asked. His humanity bled away, his power leaving him a beautiful corpse.

Melanie looked at him. "I will consider this part of our agreement," she said, then turned and rapidly slithered out of the room.

When the tip of her tail vanished around the edge of the curtains, I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward a bit. "Do I need to ask what arrangement she was talking about?" I asked Jean-Claude.

"No, ma petite, there is no need." I heard footsteps, and when I opened my eyes, Jean-Claude was standing by the table, holding one of the sheets of paper Harry had made from the roses. He lifted it to his face like you would a rose, all the while watching Harry. "Are they likely to come after you?" Jean-Claude asked.

There was a pause. Harry looked at me, then back to Jean-Claude. "How do you mean?"

"You know very well what I mean," Jean-Claude said. He walked over to Harry, slowly and deliberately, his movements smooth, as only a vampire could make them. "Enough games, enough elusion. Are these followers of Voldemort, the ones of which you speak, likely to come after you if they find out that you are within their reach?" He paused. "How likely a threat will they become to you and to those who have sworn to protect you?"

The room was silent. I didn't know what I should do. Jean-Claude was asking questions we needed answered, but I wasn't sure this was the best way to get Harry to talk.

But I'd seen what could happen to someone when these wizards were after them. Nigel Spencer, lying dead in his immaculate house, was proof of that.

"I didn't ask anyone to protect me," Harry finally said. "I tried to tell Anita that I would leave--"

I'd had enough. "This isn't a game, Harry!" I exclaimed. "As I explained, we're not going to kick you out if the danger is too much."

"I know it's not a game!" Harry shouted, his voice cracking just a little. "People are dead because of these Death Eaters, because of me! My parents are dead because of me, my godfather is dead because of me, my friends have been hurt because of me, because Voldemort isn't going to quit until I'm dead!"

"Harry, I understand that it's--" I began, but he cut me off.

"You can't understand! I've been doing this since I was a kid. The first time I faced Voldemort, I was eleven. And I beat him then. Then the next year, I faced him again and beat him then too." He took a deep breath and appeared to be trying to calm down. The only thing that gave him away was the shaking of his hands. "Then, when I was fourteen, Voldemort got me again. But this time it wasn't just me. Cedric died because he was with me, just because he got in the way."

The words kept spilling out, as if Harry had waited a long time to say these things to someone. "Then when I was fifteen, I thought he had my godfather, so like an idiot I did what he wanted, I went to where I thought they were, but my friends went with me, right? Because they thought they could help. They almost died, and Sirius did die, because Voldemort wanted me dead. Then last year--"

Harry stopped talking suddenly. He looked at the remnants of the rose paper on the table, breathing hard.

"I thought that if I came with the Dursleys to America, I could have a few weeks of not looking over my shoulder, wondering when Voldemort would be back, which of my friends he was going to go after next to get to me," Harry said, his voice softer now. "I guess that was asking too much." It took me a minute to recognize what I was seeing in Harry's eyes. He was tired of it. Tired of the fight, tired of the pain, just tired.

What kind of people did Harry grow up with, to let him face this psychopathic wizard alone at such a young age? Anger was beginning to churn in my stomach, and it was such a hot rage that I looked over at Richard. The anger I felt was also smoldering in his eyes, bordering on fury.

I walked slowly around the table until I was standing next to Harry. "It's not because you're going to be a werewolf, or because you're Damian's family, or any of that," I said. "You stay here and we will protect you."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." I heard Jean-Claude sigh. I ignored him. "Facing down a bad guy by yourself may play out well in the movies, Harry, but we're not living in a fictional world. This is real life. And in real life, when you face the bad guy on your own, you usually end up dead."

Richard came up beside me. "Anita doesn't offer her protection lightly," Richard said. "She does what she says she will, and if she says that she'll protect you, she will." 

Harry looked at me. He seemed to be having a hard time wrapping his mind around this. "I suppose I should say thank you or something," he muttered.

I raised my eyebrows. "No need to go overboard with the gratitude," I said.

"No, it's not..." He stopped. "I am grateful, I am. I just don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"You don't need to say anything," I said. Now I was getting uncomfortable.

"But I do," Jean-Claude said, pacing slowly toward us. "This measure of protection demands some reciprocity, Harry. You can not expect her to protect you, then turn and run while she deals with the danger."

Pure outrage crossed Harry's face. "I wouldn't do that!" he exclaimed. "I wouldn't run and I certainly wouldn't leave anyone else to deal with the Death Eaters alone!"

Jean-Claude spread his hand to his sides. "As long as we are clear," he said, his voice cold.

The gesture reminded me of something. "Where's Byron?" I asked. "I thought he was supposed to be hanging out with you and Jason."

Harry frowned. "I, um... we had a bit of a..."

"A what?" I pressed. "Was he acting all weird or something?"

"Harry and Byron had a small disagreement, is all," Jason said. He had propped his head up on his hand while he lounged on the couch.

Now I was frowning. "A disagreement about what?"

"Guy stuff," Jason said quickly. "Hey, are you coming to the pack meeting in a couple of nights?" he asked Harry, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Pack meeting?" Harry repeated.

Thought I was curious as to what Harry and Byron had disagreed on, I let it go for now. "There's a pack meeting in a couple of days, to deal with something," I said. "Want to go?"

"I'd like you to come," Richard said before Harry could respond. "It's best to get to know the other werewolves before your first change. The more support you have, the better it is for everyone."

Harry looked past us to where Jason was sitting. "Sure, I guess." His shoulders slumped slightly. "I'm sorry about the outburst," he said, sounding a bit embarrassed.

"Hey, that wasn't much of an outburst," I said. "Nothing's broken."

"Yeah." Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket again and waved it at the remaining paper on the table and said what sounded like, "Finite incantatem."

The paper shuddered and went back to being a few slightly despondent roses.

I felt Richard mentally nudging at my mind. _Are you busy tomorrow night?_ he asked.

_No. Why?_

_Maybe we should have Harry meet some of the wolves tomorrow, not shove him cold into a pack discipline thing,_ Richard suggested.

Now that I thought about it, that was a good idea. _Where?_

_Lupanar. And I think he should meet Sylvie and maybe Jamil._

_Is this all part of your vargamour plan?_ I wondered. Jean-Claude brushed against my mind, just enough that I could tell that he was listening to me and Richard, and that he approved of Richard's idea.

Richard looked at me. _I'm not nearly as organized as that, Anita. But it's a good idea, isn't it?_

 _You know it is._ Out loud, I said, "Harry, would you like to meet a few of the other wolves tomorrow night?"

"That sounds... yes." Harry rolled his wand between his fingers slowly. "You really think I'm going to be a werewolf, don't you?"

I exchange a look with Richard. "Yes, I do," I said.

Harry tapped his wand against his fingers, then slipped it into his pocket. "Great," he muttered. "Remus is going to kill me."

* * *

I hung up my cell phone just as I pulled the Jeep into the driveway. I turned off the engine and sat for a moment before I started to roll up the window.

"Who was that on the phone?" Harry asked as we got out of the car.

"The leader of the local werecobras," I said. "I asked if she or her people had heard any messages like Melanie heard, over the last week."

"And?" Harry urged. We walked from the driveway to the house in the soft summer night.

"And she'd been out of town for a few weeks," I said. "She said that she would ask around, but she's certain that if any of her cobras had heard anything strange, they would have called her." As I spoke, I unlocked the front door and let us into the house. "There's only a few of them, but I believe her."

The last time I had met the werecobras' leader, Nilisha MacNair, was while we were dealing with Chimera over a year ago. Chimera had kidnapped her husband and eventually tortured him into breaking, then he killed him. Her son had died while we were fighting to free the other lycanthropes Chimera was holding. Nilisha had come by after I killed Chimera to thank me for avenging her husband and her son's deaths. Even though I didn't think so, she seemed to feel she owed me one. I knew I could believe her on this.

There was a light in the kitchen. I kicked off my shoes and walked across the living room on the way to the kitchen. Harry followed me. He had been acting a bit spooked since we left the Circus.

Damian was standing by the open French doors, looking out into the night. He turned when I came into the room, so somber. I used to think that meant he was unhappy, but no, that was just the way Damian was.

"Hello," he said softly. His eyes moved from me to Harry, and I could feel a sudden wave of apprehension coming from my vampire.

For his part, Harry suddenly looked ill at ease. I looked between them, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, isn't this awkward?" I said.

Damian glared at me. I glared back. They needed to deal with this whole long-lost family thing eventually. And Grandmother Blake had always said there was no time like the present.

"I'm going to make a sandwich," I continued. "Want one, Harry?"

The boy nodded. "Yes, please." 

I gave Damian a look as I headed for the fridge. I would have talked mind to mind to him, but he was shielding pretty hard.

"Nathaniel got Harry some tea," Damian said suddenly. "He went shopping after he went to the gym this morning. He wanted me to tell you."

"Thanks," I said. "Where is he? Not working?"

Damian shook his head, long red hair sliding like silk over his shoulders. "Stephen called, something about getting Nathaniel to help him assemble a new bookcase."

I stopped, hand on the fridge door. "Stephen and Nathaniel? And a bookcase?" I tried to picture it, but failed. "Neither of them could assemble their way out of a wet paper bag, why did Stephen call Nathaniel?"

Damian gave me a blank look. Ah yes, that celebrated Viking humourlessness at work.

"Well, I hope Vivian takes pictures." I went back to taking food out of the fridge.

Harry cleared his throat nervously. "How was your day, sir?" he asked.

Damian came into the kitchen and stood by the island where I was arranging bread on the cutting board. "It has been... uneventful, so far," he said. He hesitated, then asked, "And your day?"

I'm sure Damian meant it as one of those innocuous things you say to pass the time. Harry just closed his eyes for a moment. "It's been a very long day," he said wearily.

Damian frowned at Harry, then at me. "What happened?"

I squirted mustard onto the bread a bit haphazardly. "Harry and I had to go through a murder scene this afternoon," I explained. "Looks like some old acquaintances of his are in town."

"Old friends or old enemies?" Damian asked slowly.

"Enemies," I clarified. "And we also learned that Harry talks to snakes."

"Anita!" Harry said.

"What?" I asked as I started slicing up the leftover roast. "Is it a secret or something?"

"No, but..." Harry said, looking flustered. "It's just not talked about, really."

"Not that magic thing again?" I asked. "I told you, I raise the dead. I don't get bugged by stuff like this."

I turned around and pulled a couple of plates off the drying rack. While I was fiddling with the food, Harry pulled out a chair at the table and gingerly sat down.

"Is everything going to be all right?" Damian asked. He started to let down his shields, and I felt that he was worried.

"I think so," I said.

"Anita said she would protect me," Harry said quietly. He looked up at me, his green eyes bright behind his glasses.

"She does that." Damian was also looking at me, so serious. It was strange, both of them with the same eyes and such different expressions.

I smiled briefly at Damian as I picked up the plates off the island countertop and carried them over to the table. "Are you doing anything tonight, Damian?" I asked.

"No, I am not." He watched as I sat down, then came over and took the chair beside me. He folded his hands on the table and sat there in an awkward silence.

I was hungry and kept eating. Harry, however, fidgeted with his sandwich. "There's some milk in the fridge," I offered.

He looked up. "What? Oh, no. It's fine." He put his sandwich down and seemed to steel himself. "Would you like to see some pictures of my mother?" he asked Damian.

Damian stilled, then carefully licked his lips. "You have a picture of my-- of your mother?"

Harry nodded. "Upstairs." 

It took Damian a moment to nod, and I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders as he did so.

"I'll be right back." Harry pushed his chair back and darted out of the kitchen.

I popped the last of my sandwich into my mouth. "How are you doing with this?" I asked Damian.

My vampire tried to keep his face blank as he answered. "I am fine."

I didn't think he was doing fine, but then I've never had an instant grandson. "I think Harry is okay with it," I said as I got out of my chair and went to put my plate in the sink.

"Did he speak about it today?" Damian asked. "About me?"

"No," I said. "But it was really a hectic day. He didn't seem upset about it at all, not really." I went back over to the table and stood beside Damian. He kept his eyes on me as I brushed his hair back from his face, my fingers sliding over his skin. Through our open marks, I could feel his tension slowly slide away as I touched him.

"Thank you for offering to protect him," Damian whispered.

I smiled. "It's what I do, isn't it?"

Damian caught my hand and kissed my palm. "This is not a small thing you have done, Anita. It means a lot," he said against my hand.

Shivers ran over my skin. Through Jean-Claude, my powers ran heavy to the sexual. When I formed the triumvirate with Damian and Nathaniel, Damian had gained the most in terms of that area. He used it occasionally to tease me, but most often, he didn't know what he was doing. Like now.

I went back to stroking his hair, so soft against my fingers. He wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me close to him. "We're all going to get through this together," I said quietly. Then, "What do you think about Harry's probably going to be a werewolf?"

Damian frowned slightly. "I do not have a problem with it, but I am not sure what I am supposed to do. I have not had much experience with werewolves in my many years."

"I don't think you need to do anything," I said. "Just don't freak out on him."

Damian's arm tightened around my waist, and the ardeur stirred deep within me, recognizing the touch of my servant. I squashed those feelings down. "I don't know him well enough to freak, as you say."

I heard footsteps down the hall. I started to pull away from Damian, but I felt another rush of apprehension coming from him as Harry came back into the kitchen with a leather-bound book in his hands.

"This is it," Harry said. He sat in the chair I had just vacated as he laid the book on the table and opened it to the first page. There was a photograph pasted on the page, of two people waving at the camera. One was a young man who looked startlingly like Harry, right down to the messy hair. The other was a young woman, with Damian's red hair and his brilliant green eyes. "That's my mum and dad."

Damian reached out and touched the edge of the photograph. "What makes them move like that?" he asked.

"Magic." Harry sat back in his chair, his eyes trained on Damian's face. "Something in how they're processed or something, I never quite understood."

Almost reverently, Damian turned the page, to find more photographs of Harry's parents. I slid my hand around his back to rest on his shoulder, where I could touch his bare skin. An almost imperceptible tremor ran down his skin, and was soothed away as I touched him.

After a few minutes, Damian drew breath to speak. "What was her name?" he asked quietly.

Harry looked startled. "Didn't I tell you yesterday? It's Lily. Lily Potter. And my dad was James." He tapped one of the photographs on the page, of Lily holding a roll of parchment. "That's from when she graduated Hogwarts, when she was just a year older than I am."

"What was she like?" I asked. The woman... no, the girl, had a friendly and open expression on her face.

Harry thought for a moment. "She was brave," he told me. "Very brave. And so smart. She was the Head Girl in her year, the best in her class at Charms. She always stood up for what she thought was right, no matter who she stood up to. Idealistic and stubborn." He swallowed. "At least, that's what they tell me. I didn't get a chance to know her."

"How old was she when she died?" I asked. Damian's hand stilled on the page as he waited for Harry's answer.

"Twenty-one." Harry didn't lift his gaze from the photographs. "They got married right out of school, you know. Then they had me when they were twenty. A few months after my first birthday, Voldemort came and killed them both. My mum died protecting me."

"She was honourable?" Damian said. The photograph open on the page was of Lily and James and a tiny swaddle of blue blanket, probably a newborn Harry. They both looked so happy.

"Yeah." Harry clenched his jaw for a moment. I wondered what was going on in his head. "She fought for what she believed in, protecting the weak and all that. And it got her killed."

"I thought you said that she died because of you," I said.

Harry looked up at me, the faintest edge of anger in his eyes, but I don't think he was angry at me. "She did."

We waited. Damian, I think, because he could wait for eternity for an answer, and me because I couldn't make Harry tell me if he didn't want to.

"The reason Voldemort came after them, that night?" Harry spoke very carefully, as if he was doing a balancing act with his words. "He wanted to kill me. Not them. They just got in the way."

"Why would an evil sorcerer want to kill a baby?" I asked. It didn't make a lot of sense.

Harry rested his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. "He must have had his reasons, didn't he?" He sighed. "But somehow, when he tried to kill me, it bounced off me and back to him and he was almost destroyed. Then he vanishes for years, and the entire Wizarding world thought it was me. I didn't do anything besides not die, did I?"

Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, of maybe his tone, but I knew that he wasn't telling me everything. But he was telling me so much, and I didn't think he was lying about what he did tell me.

"Sometimes, Harry, not dying is harder than it sounds," Damian said. He carefully closed the leather album. "Thank you for showing me these."

Harry reached out and pulled the book back toward him. "It's nothing," he said. "I mean, I'm sure she'd have liked you to see them." He stood up. "What should I do with this food?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Put it in the fridge, someone will eat it."

As Harry took the plate to the fridge, I looked down at Damian. The ardeur was back and pushing at my mind. I needed to feed, and soon. We didn't know when Nathaniel would be back, and God knew where Micah was. Would Damian be okay with feeding the ardeur with me? I never knew with him. Of all my men, he was the hardest to read. Maybe I'd ask. After Harry went upstairs.

Harry came back to the table and picked up the book. "I'm going to go to bed, if it's all right," he said.

"Sure. See you tomorrow?"

"Yes." He paused. "Look, I know I was a bit, I don't know, weird earlier. I meant it, about appreciating what you're doing for me."

I smiled softly. "Like I said, we're all in this together."

"Right." Harry looked at Damian. "It was good to speak with you, sir."

"And with you," Damian said formally.

"Good night, Anita."

"Night, Harry." I waited until I heard Harry heading up the stairs, then I turned to Damian and smiled.


	12. Animal Instincts

* * *

Harry was lying flat on his stomach in the shade under some of the tall trees in the front yard of Anita's house when her Jeep pulled into the driveway. He glanced up from his reading as the Jeep doors slammed shut.

Anita looked briefly in his direction as she stalked into the house and gave a slight nod. Harry wondered why she hadn't stopped, then Jason came around the side of the Jeep.

"How's it going?" Jason asked, flopping down into the grass beside Harry.

"It's okay." Harry turned his attention back to his book, the dark arts volume Bill had loaned him. "Just doing some extra reading before school starts again."

Jason propped himself up on his elbows. "Is that a magic book?" he asked.

"In a way," Harry said. He pointed at the top of the page. "It's about magical wards, the kind you can put around a house. There were some around my aunt and uncle's house in Surrey. I'm just curious about them, is all." He closed the book and sat up, brushing bits of grass off his bare knees. "What are you doing here?"

Jason smiled lazily, then stretched out on the grass, closing his eyes. "Richard thought it might be a good idea if you knew some of the wolves tonight, and so I'm to go along with you and Anita." He yawned. "But Anita wanted to leave downtown early and caught me just as I got back from the gym."

Harry spared a glance back at the house. "Is she in a bad mood?"

"No, she's just a bit annoyed." Jason opened his eyes and stared up at the leaves, waving in the slight breeze. "When Anita is upset, trust me, you'll know."

"Why is she annoyed?"

"With Anita, it could be anything." Jason slowly pulled himself to his feet. "You hungry?"

Harry wasn't, but he stood up anyway. "Why are you guys always eating?" he asked, following Jason into the house.

"Metabolism," Jason explained as he headed for the kitchen. "Plus, you try donating blood once a day or so, then going to the gym. You'd want to eat a horse, too."

"Sorry, Jason," Anita's voice floated out of the kitchen, along with the smell of freshly brewing coffee. "No horses today."

Jason went to the fridge. "How can you drink coffee on a day like this?" he demanded.

Anita crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the counter, and just looked at him. "There's always time for coffee."

Harry gently put his book on the table, careful not to bang any corners. He'd already done enough damage to Bill Weasley's book. "When are we going to the... the place?" Harry asked, not quite sure how to pronounce the word Anita had used the previous night.

"The Lupanar?" Jason asked as he unwrapped Harry's sandwich from the previous night and took a huge bite. "I think in a couple of hours," he continued, speaking through a full mouth.

Anita wrinkled her nose. "You're gross," she informed Jason.

Jason opened his blue eyes wide in an expression of complete innocence. "You're complaining about my messy eating habits over a sandwich?" he asked after he swallowed his mouthful. "Have you ever seen any of us eat deer?"

Deer? Harry's mind immediately went to his father's Animagus form, a large stag. Then he realized what Jason was talking about. "You eat deer?" Harry blurted. "Real live deer?"

Now Jason looked honestly surprised. "Yeah." He glanced at Anita, then back to Harry. "You're not a vegetarian, are you? Because we had a vegetarian once, a new guy. That was a hellish month, let me tell you..."

His voice trailed off, and all of a sudden Anita was at Harry's side, pulling him into a chair. "Just breathe, Harry, just breathe," she told him. "Are you okay?"

Harry sucked in a few deep mouthfuls of air, dropping his head between his knees. His insides felt like they were rolling around, one of the strangest things he had ever felt. "I'm fine," he said after a minute, when his guts began to settle down. "It's just... real deer?"

Jason crouched beside Anita at Harry's feet. "It's not weird, anymore," he said. "It's hunting, it's part of what we are."

"But you're not real wolves," Harry protested. "You're people, right?"

Jason slowly shook his head. "You heard Richard last night. It's what we are, werewolves. We're not human anymore."

"I know it's a lot to deal with," Anita added, "But you're meeting with the pack alphas tonight. You need to make a good impression, and flipping out over this isn't going to do that."

Her words touched a nerve, and Harry made himself sit up and try to push the problem, or whatever it was, into the background. He had read about lycanthrope alphas in those books Anita had lent him. A common thread had been that appearing weak in front of such dominant lycanthropes might just be the last thing he ever did.

"What do I need to do?" Harry asked Anita. If his hands were gripping the sides of the kitchen chair so hard that his knuckles were white, he hoped Anita would ignore it.

After a moment, in which Harry was afraid Anita was going to hug him or something, she settled onto the kitchen floor into a cross-legged position. Jason made a motion with his head, and Harry slipped off the chair onto the floor as well.

"First thing," Anita began, "You need to know that this staring someone down, the whole confidence thing in humans, it's a challenge with alpha lycanthropes."

Harry frowned. "But you didn't take it as a challenge," he pointed out.

"Don't ever take Anita as your benchmark for anything," Jason said, suddenly very serious. "She may be our Lupa and the leopards' Nimir-Ra, but she's still human." Jason went to his knees. "You're new, and Richard probably won't let anything happen to you, but this can be dangerous."

"I know that," Harry said.

"Do you?" Jason shot back. "You challenge the wrong werewolf, you get slapped down. You challenge the really wrong one, and you get dead."

Anger bubbled up in Harry's chest, and he was on his feet before he realized what he was doing. "I know about challenges!" he yelled. "I know about death! D'you think I'm making this up? I get it!"

Jason sprang up, bumping into the table as he did so and knocking over Anita's coffee cup. "You think dealing with a bunch of humans who wave sticks at each other is going to prepare you for a fight when there are claws and teeth aimed for your belly?" he demanded.

Suddenly Anita was between them, pushing them apart. "Enough!" she shouted, voice almost impossibly loud in the enclosed space of the kitchen. "Stop it!"

Jason let himself be pushed back, but Harry stood his ground. Anita's hand was hot against his chest, through the thin material of his t-shirt.

Out of nowhere, Harry remembered the previous day, watching Anita reach for Nathaniel, seeing the curve of her breast, the length of her thigh. And now she was standing so close to him, staring up at him with wide, dark eyes, her hand pressed firmly against his chest--

A thousand impulses rushed through his body, and some distant part of his brain screamed that this was not right, these weren't his impulses that demanded closeness and touch and the feel of skin moving on skin.

He jerked back, feeling the loss of Anita's hand on his chest like a wound. The pain helped him to focus, helped him to remember what he was doing. Who he was.

 _I am not an animal_ , he told himself. _I am Harry and I will not do those things, I won't!_

Repeating the words over and over again in his head, Harry made himself turn around and walk, not run but walk, out of the kitchen, out of the living room, out of the front door of the house.

He made it as far as the line of trees in the front yard before his knees collapsed. He tried to push his glasses up on his nose. It took three tries, his hand was shaking so badly. His skin was still crawling, _like there's something inside of me wanting to get out._

With a ragged movement, Harry tore his glasses off and threw them to the ground. He pressed his hands to his face as he willed his body to calm down. Taking a deep gulping breath, he fell back into the only thing that had worked, his Occlumency.

 _Nothing._ Harry carefully thought of nothing. No breeze on his face, no crawling skin.

It was harder this time, to push back the foreign emotions, but he finally managed it.

Harry took his hands away from his face and looked up at the green blur of leaves. _Why does that keep happening?"_ he wondered. _Is it that werewolf thing?_ But why would he start thinking those things about Anita? Wasn't the werewolf only for hunting and killing?

He had to grope around him on the grass for a few seconds to find his glasses. As he settled the frames on his face, he saw Jason sitting on the grass, several feet away.

Harry went cold with shame. How could he face Anita again, after what he'd been thinking about doing?

"You okay?" Jason asked. His voice was neutral, so unlike Jason, that Harry wasn't sure if he was angry.

"Yes." Harry crossed his legs into a sitting position and rested his elbows on his knees. "Is Anita all right?"

Jason crawled toward Harry, a slight frown on his face. "She's fine. A little confused, but fine."

Harry combed his fingers through the long blades of grass. "I can't believe... Never mind."

"It's natural," Jason said. Harry's head shot up at Jason's words. "What? Your beast wanted to mate. It's natural to want to fuck your own kind."

"No, it's not!" Harry's voice rose. "This isn't right, Jason, not any of it!"

Jason narrowed his eyes, watching Harry. "Are you a virgin?" he asked suddenly.

A rush of blood heated Harry's cheeks. "What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded. So what if he was a virgin? He was only seventeen.

Jason ignored his outburst. "The beast isn't only about what you eat. Remember what Richard said? It's everything. It affects how you see people, how you react, how you sleep, and especially who you sleep with." He came a bit closer to Harry and sat down in the grass beside the boy. "Your beast wanted to f--" Jason stopped when he saw the expression on Harry's face. "Wanted to be close to your Lupa," he amended.

"But it's different!" Harry said. It had to be different, what he was feeling. How could anyone else have felt like this, when it was so much? 

"You're a seventeen-year-old guy," Jason pointed out, rather unnecessarily in Harry's mind. "Hell, when I was seventeen, I was thinking about sex every ten seconds." The blond cocked his head to one side. "Is that it? That you were having the sexy Lupa thoughts? Or is it something else?"

Harry went back to tearing up grass stems. "Yesterday, Anita... well, she..."

"Ardeur emergency?" Jason asked. Harry nodded, not looking up. "Did she..."

"Nathaniel was there."

"Ah." 

"But I saw her, you know?" Harry lifted his hand to his face. He was suddenly very tired. "Not exactly naked, but close."

Harry snuck a glance up at Jason's face. A hint of humour flashed over his face, before Jason schooled his features to blankness. "You saw Anita naked? Lucky you." There was a brief pause. "She wasn't the first naked girl you'd seen, right?"

Harry hadn't thought he could blush any harder, but Jason's words proved him wrong.

"Shit," Jason said with feeling. "The first naked girl you see is a succubus _and_ your Lupa? Aren't there union rules against that?"

"Can you... can you not tell her?" Harry asked. It was one thing to talk about this with Jason, who apparently had gone through something similar. But Anita... Harry wasn't sure if he could deal with Anita knowing exactly what he had been thinking about, in the kitchen.

"Okay," Jason said. A bit too easily. "Hey, how did you calm down so well?"

"What do you mean?" Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Harry's attention. Anita had come out onto the porch. She sat down on the first step, watching him and Jason, too far away to hear their conversation.

"You managed to get the beast to calm down," Jason pointed out. "That's hard, especially for the newbies. How'd you do it? Magic?"

Harry tore his gaze away from Anita, and looked back over at Jason. "Not magic, not really." He wondered if he was supposed to talk about Occlumency . Dumbledore had been careful to impress upon Harry that no one in the Wizarding world was to know about his lessons, except for those people he deemed trustworthy. But what could it hurt, here in America where no one knew any Death Eaters? "It's a way of stopping people from reading your thoughts. I did it last night, at the Circus, when everything just rushed in at once."

Jason sat back. "That's interesting," he said. "You should talk to Richard about that."

"Why?" Harry moved a bit. His wand was digging into his leg.

"If it can calm your beast down, then your Ulfric needs to know." Jason looked up at the sky. "Dusk is a few hours away. We should probably get moving." He stood up. "You going to be okay around Anita?"

Harry got to his feet. He still had a feeling of artificial calm inside of him, and he hoped that it would stay that way. "Probably."

Jason slapped him on his good shoulder. "Come on, then." He started guiding Harry back toward the house and Anita. "Even if you feel the urge for a little Lupa jumping, Anita's strong enough to beat you off."

"Jason!"

"What?"

* * *

The air had the crisp, lazy feeling of evening when Harry, Jason and Anita got out of her Jeep. She had parked off to the far side of a meadow, on the edge of a forest that looked like it went on forever.

Once he was out of the car, Jason stretched, then shook himself. "I love it here," he said to himself.

Harry looked around. This was the first time he had been in the woods since Richard had attacked him on the night of the full moon. He had expected to feel apprehensive or nervous, but as he looked at the trees, tasted the air, calm spread in his head. This place felt good.

"Come on, we don't want to keep them waiting," Anita said. Back at the house, she had put her shoulder holster on over a grey t-shirt and covered the whole thing with an unbuttoned man's dress shirt. Now, the shirt lay crumpled on the driver's seat.

Butterflies were flying in formation in Harry's stomach. On the drive over, Jason had explained more about werewolf behaviour, even climbing over the seats to demonstrate a greeting. "Are they nice?" he asked.

"Are who nice?" Anita asked as she locked the Jeep.

"The werewolves I'm meeting tonight." There was no getting around it. Harry was curious, with just the tiniest hint of nervousness, about meeting the werewolves. He told himself that he was being silly. Remus was perfectly safe and reasonable to be around, most days of the month. A few days after the full moon, the werewolves should be safe.

Anita and Jason looked at each other. "You've met Richard, and he's nice," Jason said. The trio began walking across the meadow, headed for the trees. "And then there's Sylvie. She's the Geri, the second in command. She's nice, but real strict. She takes her position really seriously, so don't challenge her or snark about her being a woman and you'll be fine."

"Why would I say something about being a woman?" Harry asked. "Anita's in charge of the leopards, and she's a woman."

Jason made a small noise, as if he was about to say something, then yelped as Anita gently slapped his arm. "I didn't say anything!" he protested.

"But you were thinking it," Anita said. "In the pard, it's not unusual for a woman to be the alpha, but that's because in the wild, leopards are solitary. With wolves in the wild, the pack is controlled by the alpha male. It sort of carries into werewolves. Having a woman so high in the pack's hierarchy is really rare." She stopped talking for a moment to climb over a fallen tree. "Sylvie's powerful, very powerful."

Harry swallowed hard.

"And don't hit on her," Jason added, jumping over the tree. "She only likes girls."

"There are also going to be several others there tonight," Anita said, speaking loud enough to talk over Jason. "Shang-Da and Jamil are Richard's bodyguards. It's their job to protect Richard."

"Plus they're kind of alpha, too." Jason went around the other side of Harry, so the young wizard was between Jason and Anita. "But they don't answer regular challenges because their first job is protecting Richard."

"Will I meet anyone else tonight?" Harry was having a hard time keeping these names straight.

Anita shook her head, but Jason said, "Graham is going to be there."

"Why?" Anita asked, looking around Harry. She was frowning. "Why's he coming?"

Jason hunched his shoulders a little. "Didn't Richard tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Anita stopped walking.

Jason hesitated. "Graham's been making noises about this pack needing a Garmr."

"Which means what?" Anita demanded, hands on her hips.

"Crap," Jason muttered. "From what Graham said, Garmr is sort of a lower level enforcer. His old pack had one."

"But Shang-Da and Jamil are the enforcers," Anita argued. "And let's not forget me, okay?"

Jason started walking again, and after a moment, Anita followed. "But the Skoll and Hati have to deal with the big problems, and you're really busy," Jason said. "Our pack is huge, Anita. Maybe having someone checking on the peons isn't a bad idea."

Anita groaned. "Does this have anything to do with Suzanne and her boyfriend?" 

Jason didn't answer.

"Shit!" Anita kicked a branch out of her way. "Why didn't Richard mention this last night?"

"We were busy last night," Harry said. He clambered over a large rock, the sense of rightness he was getting from the woods still strong in his head. "He wouldn't keep anything like this from you intentionally, would he?"

Anita did not say anything, and did it very sullenly as they came out of the trees into a small clearing. Harry recognized Richard, but the others gathered there were strangers.

Richard, deep in conversation with a woman by what looked like a stone throne, looked up at their approach. He nodded at Anita, ignored Jason, then stared at Harry.

What was Harry supposed to do? Jason had shown him some of the submissive greetings, but Harry just couldn't let himself admit that he was lesser than some people he hadn't even met yet. Richard hadn't demanded any sort of submissive display, either of the times they had met, and Harry wasn't about to start now. Not even if it meant a potential fight.

Beside the stone chair, a tall black man stood up. His long black braids moved as he crossed his arms over his chest, staring at Harry. A tall Chinese man moved into view. He was dressed a bit fancy to be standing in the woods.

The last person in the clearing was another man, but he stayed sitting on the ground, his back up against the throne. He was the most relaxed person there, with the possible exception of Jason. But then, Harry was never sure was would make Jason serious.

 _Stop distracting yourself!_ Harry thought. Even though his palms were sweaty and his heart pounding, he carefully walked across the clearing to Richard. Dimly, he knew Anita was beside him, and it made him feel a bit better.

Harry stopped about ten feet from Richard, just about when the guy with the braids started scowling. "Mr. Zeeman," Harry said politely. "It's good to see you again."

Richard's mouth moved slightly, like he was trying to hide a smile. "Good to see you too, Harry." He gestured to the woman at his side. "Harry, this is Sylvie."

Up close, Harry could understand why Jason had warned him to take Sylvie seriously. She was short and almost delicate, with wavy brown hair that glinted in the dying sunlight. There were freckles dusted over her nose, and if it hadn't been for the very intense way she was looking at him, Harry might have made the very mistake Jason warned him over. Which was silly, considering that he knew Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley.

"It's very nice to meet you, ma'am," Harry said. He held out his hand, and wondered if she would smack him, or laugh at him, like Clay the night before.

Sylvie raised her eyebrows, but reached out and shook his hand. Just like Clay, the power from her handshake tingled up Harry's arm, but this felt stronger. "Richard has told us a lot about you." 

Harry gulped. What had he told them? About the lamia? Voldemort?

"So you're Damian's grandson?" Sylvie continued.

He hadn't even thought of that. "Yes, I am," Harry said. He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Is that all right?"

Sylvie narrowed her eyes slightly. "If I say it isn't?"

It took Harry a moment to understand what she was saying. _Was this a challenge?_ he wondered. Jason had made it sound as if all challenges would be physical. "It doesn't matter," Harry said cautiously. "Damian's relationship to me doesn't affect that I might be a werewolf."

"Doesn't it?" Sylvie shot back.

Harry let out a slow breath. "No, it doesn't." He met her eyes, his gaze steady. It was probably stupid, but Harry had done many stupid things in his life. Besides, he wasn't ever going to be ashamed of who his mother was, muggle born or vampire child or any of it.

After a very long moment, Sylvie's lips twisted up into a smile. "I like him," she told Richard, then moved back to sit in the steps by the throne.

Richard was also smiling faintly. "Harry, this is Shang-Da and Jamil."

Harry nodded at them. He didn't feel like shaking either man's hand. "Hello."

Shang-Da just stared, while Jamil raised his eyebrows. "Bit scrawny, isn't he?" Jamil said.

The way he said it, Harry suspected he was being baited, so he didn't say anything, even though the jibe hit an old sore spot. He'd been called scrawny for years in primary school.

Richard made a motion with his hand, and the man by the throne rolled to his feet. "Harry, this is Graham."

Graham nodded, his straight black hair swinging into his eyes. "I heard all about you last night," he said.

"What?"

"Graham lives at the Circus," Jason said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh." The wind moved through the trees with a whisper, drawing Harry's attention from the werewolves to the trees. It felt as if something was hiding in the woods, not a bad something, but a promise.

"Harry!" 

Harry whipped his head back around at Anita's call. "What?"

"Sylvie asked you a question," Anita said.

"I asked if you had been feeling your beast at all, but I think I just got my answer," Sylvie said. She stood up and walked over to Harry, getting almost too close to him. A wave of power crashed over Harry, and he gasped. She felt powerful, so powerful, and that power felt like life. It felt like home, and even though he didn't have the words for it, some part of Harry knew exactly what she was. She was just like him.

Hands caught him as he stumbled, many hands, and held him up. All those hands felt like home too, to some degree, and Harry found himself clinging to those hands, holding on for all he was worth.

The overwhelming feelings slowly subsided, and Harry opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by werewolves, Richard and Sylvie and Jamil and Jason. Taking deep breaths, Harry let go of his death grip on Sylvie's arm and Richard's hand.

"Wow," he whispered. His perception of everything felt a little off, as if he had missed a second of time.

Jamil cracked a grin. "You're going to do fine," he said.

Richard and Sylvie exchanged a look. "Harry, do you feel like sitting down?" Sylvie asked.

Sit down? Harry wanted to run, he was so full of an energy he had never felt before. It was better than flying, better than the high of catching the Snitch in Quidditch.

"He needs to run," Jason said. "He can't stay around here."

"Right," Richard muttered. "I'll take him."

"Richard," Sylvie admonished, "You can't. We have too much to do."

"I'll take him," Jamil said. "Shang-Da can stay here and protect your royal ass, Richard."

"I'll go too," Jason offered.

"No, I need you here for this," Richard said. "Pack opinion about Garmr."

"Are you going to send Harry and Jamil off alone?" Sylvie asked, slowly extricating herself from the circle. A tiny part of Harry's brain saw an escape, and wanted to run. _Not yet, not yet_.

Richard turned his head, and Harry followed his line of sight to see Anita standing by the throne. "What do you think?" Richard asked her.

"She can't run," Jamil said dismissively.

Anita's expression grew frosty. "I can outrun you any day of the week," she said.

"Want to bet?" Jamil challenged.

Anita's eyes flashed. "Come on, Harry," she said, holding out her hand. "Let's see if you and me can outrace Jamil."

Harry took one step, then another, toward Anita. He took her offered hand, feeling a now-familiar tingle in her touch. There was a beast under her skin, and Harry didn't care how, only that it was there and it was familiar.

She tugged him along, until they were at the edge of the woods. Jamil was at their side now, and Harry knew that the rest of the wolves were watching them. Faced with the woods, Harry no longer cared.

He let go of Anita's hand and began to run.

* * *

Trees, rocks, tiny streams all flashed past Harry as he ran. Even though the light was quickly fading as the sun set, he had no trouble seeing his way, although sometimes he didn't even have to think about the path he took to avoid obstacles.

Occasionally, Jamil pulled ahead of him, leading him off in a different direction, but often Harry was in front, going whichever way his feet fell.

Even as energized as he was, Harry could only keep up the pace for so long. His lungs soon began to burn, his muscles aching. Still, he pushed himself until he just couldn't run any longer, before stumbling to a halt near an ancient oak tree.

He put one hand on the tree to keep himself upright as he gasped for air. Jamil, just behind Harry, dropped to the ground and waited while Anita scrambled over the last rock and caught up to them.

"Thought you said you were going to keep up," Jamil teased Anita. He wasn't even breathing hard.

Anita tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Your legs are almost twice as long as mine," she said.

Jamil smirked, then turned his head around. "What did you think of it?" he asked Harry.

"What, running?" It hadn't felt like anything else Harry had ever experienced. The need to move fast, smoothly, almost flowing into the woods had been overwhelming. It was still there, in the back of his head, but not as intense, like the run had burned the edge away. "It was great."

Jamil nodded in understanding. "I never knew how caged I was until the first time I ran as a wolf," he said, almost under his breath.

Anita began to say something, but Jamil jerked his head up and around, his whole posture screaming danger.

"What is it?" Anita said, dropping her voice to a whisper.

Jamil held up his hand. "Someone's out there," he murmured

Anita quickly pulled her gun out of its holster. "Harry, stay behind me and Jamil," she said. She asked Jamil, "Not pack?"

Jamil shook his head. "Smells human."

Careful not to distract Anita or Jamil, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and crept over to his companions. "Couldn't it just be someone out in the woods?" Harry asked.

"No, we're miles from anywhere," Jamil told him.

The werewolf was staring at a grove of trees, almost hidden by the dusk and shadows. Squinting through his glasses, Harry couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, Anita called out, "Who's there?" over Jamil's outraged hiss.

A shadowy dark figure stepped slowly around a tree, and Harry's heart almost stopped for a moment. Whoever it was, wore a long dark cloak, with the hood covering the person's face. _Please let it be Requiem,_ Harry thought frantically, even though Jamil had said the person was human, not a vampire.

"Can I help you?" Anita asked bluntly, stepping in front of Harry.

Harry looked over Anita's shoulder as the cloaked person stopped moving just outside the protective cover of the trees. A high-pitched laughter sounded, freezing the blood in Harry's veins. He knew that laugh.

"Poor little Harry, still lying down with the dogs. My cousin would be so proud." Pale hands moved up and pushed the hood of the cloak, revealing the face of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Harry felt a familiar cold rage erupt inside his head when he saw the woman who had murdered his godfather. He hadn't seen Bellatrix since the battle at the Ministry, when Sirius died.

"Who are you?" Anita demanded, shifting her gun so she could hold it steadily with both hands.

Bellatrix clicked her tongue. "The muggles in this country have no idea how to treat their superiors, do they?" she asked Harry.

Harry clenched his wand so tightly in his hand that his nails bit into his palm. "What do you want?" he demanded. As he spoke, the events from the past few days all clicked into place in his head. "You killed that man!" Harry exclaimed, remembering the Dark Mark over the house in the woods. "Nigel Spencer. Why?"

Bellatrix waved her hand carelessly. "I'm not going to explain my actions to a child and his mongrels," she taunted.

"You killed Nigel Spencer?" Anita said. "Then this is my lucky day. You're under arrest for--"

Bellatrix started laughing hysterically. "An American werewolf dares to speak that way to me?" she said finally. "Funny."

"Anita, you don't know--" Harry began to explain, to try to get Anita out of harm's way. Then Bellatrix's hand moved, and Harry forgot all about Anita as he ducked to the side, to try to get a clear shot at the Death Eater.

In the gathering darkness, he couldn't see her wand, and he only heard her mutter "Expelliarmus!" a second too late. Harry's wand flew off into the darkening forest, leaving him completely defenceless.

Quick as thought, Anita aimed her gun at Bellatrix, but the witch turned her wand on Anita and the gun was pulled from her hands. Jamil snarled and leaped at Bellatrix, but she cut him down mid-air with a flash of red light. He fell in a heap, scrabbling at his throat, unable to breathe.

"Enough of this," Bellatrix snapped. "I was hoping to take you back to the Dark Lord, Harry, but unfortunately, even the American Ministry notices spells against the muggles." She was close enough now that Harry could see her face as it lit up in a horrid smile. "But I do want to leave something for you remember me by."

Her wand came up, pointed at Harry, and he tried to prepare himself for whatever she would throw at him. _I will not go down against her without a fight,_ Harry thought fiercely.

Then Bellatrix's wand whipped to the left, pointed directly at Anita. "Crucio eternum!" 

Anita fell to the ground, screaming in agony.

Bellatrix started laughing again. "Let's see what the werewolves do to you now, Harry!" she called over the screams.

Harry ran to Anita's side as she thrashed around in the dirt. There was a loud crack, and Harry looked up, terrified that another Death Eater would have Apparated into the woods. But Bellatrix had vanished.

Anita kept screaming.


	13. Pain Like Icicles On The Trees

* * *

_No, no, no!_ Harry tripped over a tree root and fell in the dirt beside Anita. He never would have imagined that anyone's screams could be so loud, and a strangely dispassionate part of his mind wondered how long Anita could keep screaming, until she wouldn't be able to scream anymore.

Harry pushed himself onto his knees. He couldn't think, with Anita screaming and Jamil still trying desperately to breathe and Anita screaming, still screaming--

Over Anita's cries, Harry heard a loud crunching rush, something getting closer and closer in the darkening woods. _What now?_ he thought frantically.

Jason burst out of the trees and skidded to a halt beside Jamil. "What's happening?" Jason shouted, and even then Harry almost didn't hear him over Anita.

"I need my wand!" Harry yelled.

Jason got his first good look at Anita and Jamil, and his eyes opened wide in horror. "What are you talking about?" He raced to Anita's side, so fast Harry almost couldn't track him. "Help them!" Jason tried to grab Anita's hands, but she fought him off, her screams changing pitch but never stopping.

"I can't help them without my wand!" Harry shouted back. He looked around, trying to remember which way his wand had flown when Bellatrix disarmed him. It was so dark, how was he going to find one stick in a thousand on the forest floor?

"What happened to it?" Jason demanded, his voice strained as he tried to hold Anita's hands.

"Bellatrix got to it, disarmed me." Harry took a deep breath, his mind screaming at him to calm down, otherwise he would never be able to help Anita and Jamil and they would die here, like this, in the forest in the dark all because of Harry--

"Get over here!" Jason demanded. "Take her hands," he pleaded when Harry didn't move. "She's trying to go for her face, for her eyes!"

Harry scrambled over to Anita, and Jason hardly waited until Harry's hands were on Anita's forearms before letting go and vanishing into the darkness. Harry heard strange sounds, like bones popping and skin tearing. He began to look up, to see if Bellatrix's spell was doing something else to Jamil, when Anita arched her back suddenly, almost throwing Harry off her.

He tightened his grip on her wrists, feeling the small bones grind under his fingers. _How long did it take Neville's parents to go crazy?_ he wondered. Anita's screams began to sound ragged, pleading, crying. If he listened hard enough, would he be able to make out words? Harry went to his knees and straddled her hips, holding her wrists and pulling back as hard as he could. Her hair covered her eyes, but Harry would see a dark smudge at the corner of her mouth and he wondered, if he licked her mouth, if it would taste like blood or dirt.

All of a sudden, instead of reaching for her face, Anita turned her wrists in Harry's grasp and reached for him. Harry hesitated for a second, horrified at his own thoughts. Her fingers were almost at his face before he managed to react. Using all of his strength, Harry forced her hands back over her head, until she was pinned fully under his body. Holding his head back far enough so that she couldn't bite him, Harry stared down at Anita as her body thrashed under his, slick with sweat in the heat of the summer night.

Raising himself up to better hold Anita down pushed Harry's hips against hers as she writhed on the ground. The buckle of her belt pressed hard against Harry's groin. A trickle of sweat ran down his face, tickling his lips, and he subconsciously licked it away.

A movement of Anita's head tossed her hair out of her face, and for an instant, Harry was looking down into her eyes, wide and dark and so full of torment.

Something moved in the darkness, and Harry looked up to see a huge grey wolfman crouched, as if ready to spring. Then the wolfman lifted up his long clawed hand and held out a familiar object. Harry's wand.

"Let go, I can hold her," the wolfman growled, his voice painfully low and almost inaudible over the noises Anita was making.

"Jason?" Harry asked. The distraction was enough for Anita to wretch her arms out of Harry's hands and he was knocked to the side. Jason lunged for Anita and grabbed her, picked her up off the ground and wrapped his arms around her even as she fought and kicked. Her screaming slowed to tortured sobs.

"Do something!" Jason barked.

Right. Harry picked up his wand from where Jason dropped it in the leaves. He turned, pointed the wand at Anita, and--

And nothing. He didn't know what to do. He'd never heard the curse Bellatrix used before, hadn't know that the Cruciatus curse could be made to cause pain even after the caster was gone. There was no counter-curse. That was one of the reasons the curse was an Unforgivable, because no one else could stop it. With Bellatrix gone, Harry wasn't sure it would ever stop, not until Anita died.

_How long will it take her to die like this?_

"Harry!" Jason yelled as Anita's struggles began to slow.

Harry didn't know how to help Anita, but he knew what to do for Jamil. He whirled around and pointed his wand at Jamil, whose twitching had almost stopped. Praying to any god that cared to listen, Harry muttered what he thought was the right counter-curse. In a flash of light, Jamil's back arched, then he collapsed on the ground. He rolled his eyes up at Harry as he gasped.

Hoping that Jamil would be okay, because he didn't know what else to do for him, Harry turned around to where Jason was still trying to hold Anita.

 _How is she able to fight like that?_ Harry wondered. When he had been hit with Cruciatus, all he'd been able to do was scream.

"Do something!" Jason yelled again, panic audible in his wolf voice.

"There's no way to stop it," Harry found himself saying, dully. Jamil was still trying breathe, Anita's sobs were getting ragged, as if the pain was too much, and all Harry could do was stare. "This shouldn't even be happening, the curse is supposed to end when Bellatrix left!"

Something grabbed Harry's leg, and he almost threw a hex down before he realized that it was Jamil. "You got to do something," Jamil gasped. "She's all that's holding this town together. She dies, even God's not going to be able stop the bloodbath that'd follow."

There was something about the desperation in Jamil's voice that made Harry's blood run cold. Even though he knew that he couldn't stop this, that she was going to die, Harry made himself walk toward Anita and Jason.

Aiming his wand, Harry said, "Finite Incantatem." Nothing. Gripping his wand tighter, Harry tried every counter-curse and counter-hex he knew, over and over with increasing rapidity. Nothing worked, and Anita seemed to be getting weaker with every passing second. Her sobs had descended into agonized whimpers.

As Jason carefully lowered her to the ground, Harry made himself kneel by her side. There was nothing that he could do, he knew that now. For an instant, Harry wondered if he shouldn't just give up, just walk away from this and try to find Bellatrix. Then, with a wave of revulsion, he realized what he was thinking.

 _She's dying because of me!_ Harry thought. _All of this, it's my fault! I can't just leave her here like this!_

Not looking at Jason, Harry readied his wand to try once more. "Finite Incantatem..."

* * *

A short time later, Richard burst out of the woods, flanked by Shang-Da and Sylvie. "What happened?" he shouted, stumbling and falling over next to Anita.

Almost through the third go at his litany of spells, Harry didn't answer.

"Some crazy bitch," Jamil gasped as Sylvie helped him get to his feet. "Comes out of nowhere, was going to get Harry or something." He paused to cough. "Then she gets me with something, so I couldn't breathe."

"What happened to Anita?" Richard demanded, power rushing off him. Idly, Harry noticed that Richard's hands dug into the leaf litter on the forest floor as he spoke.

Jamil ducked his head. "Anita was going to shoot her, then this happened."

Richard looked down at Anita, and the expression on his face changed. He carefully smoothed the hair off her face and said, "Anita?"

"She can't hear you," Jason said. "I don't know if she can hear anything anymore."

Richard's hand moved in a blur too fast to see to grab Harry's wand hand. "Fix this," he ordered. His power rode up Harry's arm and the boy gasped.

"I--"

"Help her," Richard continued. In the rising moonlight, Harry could just see Richard's face, but it was the raw emotion in the man's voice that struck the deepest. "I can't lose her."

Harry wanted to tell Richard that it was no use, that there was nothing that he could do, but the words stuck in his throat. Out of ideas and out of time, Harry grabbed Anita's upper arm with his free hand. Her skin was cool, clammy, and Harry knew she was withdrawing into death and it was all because of him.

 _Please,_ he begged silently. _Please, please don't die like this because of me._

The panic and desperation and terror rose up, overwhelming him, and Harry's hand clutched convulsively at Anita's arm as if she was the last solid thing in the world. Some invisible force seemed to burst out of Harry, moving through him to Anita like a painful electric shock.

Anita stopped moving.

For a horrible moment, Harry thought she was dead, then she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up tight her chest.

"Anita?" Richard asked in relief, reaching for her.

She whimpered as Richard picked her up, as one would a child, and cradled her against his chest. Her fingers clutched at his shirt as she burrowed her face into the crook of his neck.

"Anita, can you hear me?"

She made a tiny noise and wrapped her arms around Richard's neck. Richard looked up at Sylvie. "We need to find who did this," he growled. The rage in his voice trickled over everyone in the clearing.

Jamil staggered a bit, and Sylvie put her arm around his waist to help him stay upright. "I agree, but Anita needs a doctor," she said.

Graham ran into the clearing and dropped to a crouch by Sylvie's feet. "There's no trail," he said, panting slightly. "I can smell someone else here, but the trail goes dead a few feet away."

"She apparated out," Harry said, then wished he'd kept his mouth shut as everyone looked at him. "Vanished into thin air," he added weakly.

"Convenient," Shang-Da muttered.

Richard stood up, holding Anita tight. "Do you know where she went?" he demanded.

Harry shook his head. The after-effects of the adrenaline and the fear were settling into his stomach in a cold ball, and he wanted desperately to throw up. "She could have gone anywhere."

Richard looked down at Anita, then at Jamil. "We'll get Anita and Jamil to a doctor, then we'll deal with this."

"Where?" Sylvie asked, motioning Graham over.

As Graham put his arm around Jamil's shoulders to support him, Richard said, "We're going to Anita's house."

"Why?" Jason asked.

Richard brought his hand up to touch Anita's hair, a delicate touch that seemed out of place. "I wasn't the only one who felt that burst of pain," he said, looking at Harry as he spoke. "Micah called Jean-Claude. Nathaniel and Damian were hit worse than we were. Lillian's already on her way over there."

"What do you mean, hit?" Harry blurted.

Richard turned around and began walking quickly into the woods. "Jean-Claude and I felt what she was feeling, for a few seconds," he said. Jason darted ahead of him into the darkness. "Then she shut us out. I thought it was over, that she wasn't in pain anymore." 

"What about Nathaniel and Damian?" Jamil asked hoarsely.

"Micah told Jean-Claude they felt it for longer, almost a minute." 

"I hate to interrupt," Sylvie said as she and Graham helped Jamil over a fallen tree, "But what are we going to do if whoever did this comes back?"

"Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange--" Harry began to say, but Sylvie interrupted him.

"Right now, I don't care if she was the damned Easter Bunny." Sylvie let Graham take all of Jamil's weight and marched over to Harry. "What if she comes back?"

His mouth suddenly dry, Harry stammered, "She'd apparate in, most likely. There's be a loud noise."

"Are you sure?" Sylvie demanded.

"Yes. Well, unless she has a broomstick."

Sylvie looked so angry that for a moment, Harry thought she was going to hit him. Then she turned and stalked off after Richard. As she passed Jamil, Harry heard him ask, "Did he just say broomstick?"

* * *

They made it to the cars without incident. Harry was so nervous, jumping at every sound, seeing Bellatrix's cloak in every shadow, that he would almost have welcomed the Death Eater's return.

 _Maybe then they'd stop looking at me as if I did this,_ Harry thought. He knew the looks, the way the werewolves were looking at him. As if he was the one who did this. _If Jamil had died, they'd probably have eaten me by now._

On the evidence, that would have been the logical conclusion. A wizard, alone in the woods with two people, both of whom were cursed? If Jamil had died, hadn't been able to tell Sylvie and Richard that it wasn't Harry who attacked them...

 _Good to know I can be counted upon to make every situation involving Death Eaters all about me,_ Harry thought, completely disgusted with himself.

Richard stopped by Anita's Jeep. "Shang-Da, help me find her keys," he called.

Graham and Sylvie helped Jamil lean against the side of a black car, parked beside Anita's Jeep, then Sylvie came over to Richard. Harry stood uncertainly a few feet away.

"How are we going to do this?" Sylvie asked, her voice so low Harry almost missed her words.

"You take Jason and Jamil, having Shang-Da drive," Richard said distractedly as he tried to shift Anita's weight in his arms. "Graham will drive me and Anita and Harry."

"What?" Shang-Da demanded.

Just then, Anita raised her head from Richard's shoulder. "Cold," she murmured.

Richard looked down, something in his face softening. "Anita? Are you with me here?"

" 'M cold," she repeated. Her voice sounded horrible. "Wanna be warm."

Richard kissed the top of Anita's head. "We'll get you warm in just a second, I promise," he said. Graham opened the Jeep door and Richard slid into the backseat, Anita on his lap.

"Richard," Shang-Da interjected. "You're not going in the car with that kid without me or Jamil."

Richard stilled, then gently loosened Anita's grip around his neck. He wiggled out from under her and sat her on the seat, where she curled up into a tiny ball. "I'll be right back, I promise," he said, then stalked over to Shang-Da and Sylvie. "You two, come with me."

Harry watched as the werewolf alphas went to stand just far enough away so that he couldn't hear what they were saying. Carefully and slowly, he edged toward the open door of the Jeep.

Anita was shivering violently on the seat. Harry wondered if he could cast a heating charm on her, but pointing his wand at her right now might just end up getting him killed. Instead, he gingerly sat on the seat next to her and placed his hand on her back. Even through her shirt, Harry could feel how her skin was icy.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked, then wanted to kick himself for saying such a stupid thing.

"Pain's like icicles," Anita said unevenly. "Ice everywhere, on everything I touch."

Gently, Harry slid his arm around her shoulder. She didn't move for a second, just long enough for Harry to consider moving away, then she put her arms around his chest and cuddled so close to him.

"You're hot," Anita murmured.

"You're not," Harry replied inanely. Her shivering started to die down, but Harry was reminded of the way she twitched while under the curse, the way her body convulsed against his as he was holding her down.

His self-disgust again reared its head again as his hormones finally noticed that he had this tiny woman wrapped around him, separated only by tiny layers of cloth.

"Have you done it?" Anita asked.

Harry almost jumped out of his skin. He swallowed hard. She couldn't have know what he was thinking, right? "Done what?" he asked.

Anita raised her head and rested it on his shoulder. She looked at him, so close in the dim moonlight. "The pain thing?"

Oh. The Cruciatus curse. "Yes, I have."

Anita licked her lips and settled her head back on Harry's shoulder. "How long?"

Harry tried to think. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, no matter how long it felt to be on the receiving end. "Maybe half a minute at most."

Anita was quiet for a few minutes. Harry tentatively rubbed her back, feeling her gradually starting to get warmer. "How long... for me?" she finally asked.

"Ten minutes," came Graham's soft voice from the front seat. Harry hadn't even noticed when he'd gotten in the vehicle. "Sylvie checked her watch."

Harry's gut clenched. Ten minutes under Cruciatus. Ten minutes of the worst torture his world had ever invented.

"Felt like always," Anita murmured. Her voice caught on the last word. She tried to swallow, and Harry saw a flash of pain cross her face.

"Do you want some water?" Harry asked.

Anita nodded, her hair rubbing over his neck. Graham handed up a bottle of water from the front seat, and Harry somehow managed to get the lid off without letting Anita go. She tried to take it from him, but she couldn't close her fingers around the bottle.

"Let me help," Harry offered, but Anita kept trying for a few more moments before she let him lift the bottle to her lips to help her drink.

Graham moved in the front seat, the soft sound of cloth on the seats almost loud. "You've felt that thing before?" he asked Harry.

Harry put the lid back on the bottle and let Anita try to burrow closer to him before he replied. "It's like burning knives all over your skin, and your head wants to explode, and all you can do is scream," he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

He looked down, and there was a weight in Anita's eyes, something dark and not so civilized. She knew what he meant, she more than anyone.

The other passenger-side door opened, and Richard slid into the car. "Let's go," he told Graham.

"Everything sorted out?" Graham asked as he started the engine and put the car in gear.

"Yeah, they'll meet us at Anita's," Richard muttered. He tried to pull Anita onto his lap, but she tried to push him away. "Anita, what's wrong?"

"Seatbelt," Anita urged, trying to reach around for her belt. "Gotta wear seatbelt."

"You're going to be fine, I promise," Richard said. Anita looked at him, eyes wild.

"No, Mom died 'cause she didn't wear a seatbelt, I got to wear it or I'll die!" Anita exclaimed frantically, trying to push Richard away and ending up half in Harry's lap.

Richard pulled Anita over and onto his lap. "Here, I'll put the seatbelt on," he said, trying to soothe her.

"Promise?" she whispered.

Richard cradled her cheek in his hand and rested his forehead against Anita's head. "I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you, ever again," he whispered back.

Anita let Richard hold her, but her eyes were only for Harry. Dark eyes, so full of pain and knowledge that Harry wondered if maybe, just maybe, she had seen what he had been thinking, out there on the forest floor.


	14. That is not dashed with pain and weariness and fault; I crave the stain

* * *

Graham turned off the engine just as the other car pulled up next to the Jeep in the driveway. Harry watched as Richard stroked Anita's cheek with his fingers. "Come on, I'll take you into the house," he murmured.

"No." Anita tried to pull away from him, but her arms didn't seem to work properly. "I'll walk."

"Anita--" Richard began to protest.

"Have to." Anita's rough whisper was almost inaudible.

Richard pushed a strand of hair, damp with sweat, off Anita's cheek, then cradled her face in his hands. "I don't know if you're strong enough," he told her.

Anita brought trembling hands up and pulled Richard's hands off her face. "Maybe not." There was something in her voice that sounded a bit strange to Harry, as if he had missed what she meant.

Anita managed to open the Jeep door, then carefully slid off Richard's lap to the seat. She paused, then braced one hand on the door and the other on the seat.

Harry could see the tension in Richard's body, as if he was having to stop himself from reaching out to Anita. _What will he do if she falls?_ Harry wondered.

Anita pushed herself up into a standing position, and wobbled a little bit. She took one step, then another, toward the house.

Harry undid his seatbelt and went to open the door on his side of the Jeep. He almost jumped out of his skin when Richard grabbed his arm.

"What?" Harry asked. Richard's grip on his arm was almost painful, but Harry wouldn't let that show in his face.

Richard held on for a few seconds, an undecipherable look in his eyes, then let go of Harry and got out of the Jeep.

When Harry's heart had stopped pounding in his chest, he stumbled out of the car. Anita was still walking very slowly up the driveway, Richard hovering at her side like an overgrown nanny.

Jason padded up beside Harry. "Is she going to be okay?" he growled, his words muffled as he spoke around wolf fangs.

Harry nodded, making himself ignore the memory of Neville's mother, thin and silent, giving her only son a bubble gum wrapper at Christmas, and Neville's tormented whisper of, _Thanks, Mum._ "The curse doesn't cause any physical harm."

Jason made a strange sound. "Clawing her eyes out would have been awfully physical," he muttered. "Come on."

Anita had stopped at the bottom of the steps to the house, and was looking up at the stars. "What are you doing?" Richard asked softly. Anita turned wide, dark eyes to him. She stared at him like she didn't have any idea who he was.

"Where's my gun?" she asked in a fragile, faint voice.

"I couldn't find it," Graham's voice floated in the dark. "I'll go back and look for it tomorrow."

The front door opened, and Micah stood in the doorway, framed by the lights in the hall. "Anita?" Anita turned her head at the sound of Micah's voice. Micah walked down the steps and stopped by her side, not touching. "Can you hear me?"

Anita nodded. She looked down at her hands, and in the light from the doorway, Harry could see tiny tremors that shivered through her body. "What's on my hands?" Anita asked.

Micah took her hands in his and gently turned them over. "It looks like dirt," he told her.

"Not blood?"

"No, not blood," Micah said.

"I thought it'd be blood," Anita whispered. She clenched her hands into fists and withdrew them from Micah's grasp.

Micah looked at Richard, who shook his head. "Come on, let's get you inside, okay?"

When Micah put his hand on Anita's shoulders, she froze, her eyes huge in her face. Micah left his hand where it was, and after a few long moments, Anita let out her breath in a sigh.

"We can go inside, if you want," Micah said softly. "What do you want to do?"

Anita turned her head a fraction, her eyes focused on Micah's face. "Who's in--" She stopped talking suddenly and lifted a hand to her throat.

 _Her throat must be killing her,_ Harry thought. _Screaming until she couldn't scream any more, there on the forest floor..._ He shook his head. He was getting maudlin and there was no time for that. _Bellatrix is out there and she could be anywhere._

Micah slid his hand down Anita's back. "Nathaniel and Damian and Jean-Claude," he told Anita. "Lillian's on her way, and Rafael's sending along a few bodyguards just in case. I called Merle and he's bringing Noah on over."

Anita stared up at the lit doorway, as if indescribable horrors lay just beyond it. "Are they...?"

"They're okay, Anita, I promise."

With a jerked nod, Anita put her foot on the first step and tried to move forward, but her knees gave out and she collapsed on the stairs.

Both Richard and Micah moved toward her at the same time, but Micah was closer and got to her first. Anita blindly pushed him away, using her hands to crawl up the steps. "Let go of me!" she cried.

Micah stopped reaching for her, and yanked Richard back as Anita pulled herself to her feet. Silence hung in the night air.

Anita held tightly to the railing, breathing hard. After a moment, she let go, paused to catch her balance, then walked into the house.

Micah shoved Richard away. "What happened to her?" he demanded, scalding power radiating off him.

Richard glared at Micah. In the dim light, his eyes looked amber, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a trick of the light. "Get out of my way," he said.

Micah stood his ground. "I asked you a question. What happened to Anita? Why did Damian and Nathaniel start screaming like they were being flayed alive?"

A thin growl escaped from Richard's throat. "Ask Harry," he said, then pushed past Micah and headed up the steps.

As the werewolves filed into the house, Micah turned his attention to Harry. His yellow-green eyes looked silver in the moonlight. "You didn't do this," he said.

"No!" Harry exclaimed. "No, never!"

Micah's face was as blank as Harry had ever seen it, and he didn't know what the man was thinking. Then Micah surprised him by saying, "Go, get in the house."

Apprehensive, and a tiny bit grateful that he wasn't being kicked out into the unfriendly night, Harry quickly dashed up the stairs and through the front door.

Although everyone had crowded into the living room, the air was heavy with silence. All the werewolves except Jamil were standing along one wall. Jamil was slouched against Sylvie's legs. Nathaniel was curled up on the couch, Damian sitting next to him. Harry didn't know where Jean-Claude was. And everyone was looking at Anita.

She was standing in the middle of the room, head down. In the bright lights of the room, she looked horrible. There was dirt all over her clothes, and smeared over her legs, rubbed into several bloody scratches. A few of the scratches were still seeping tiny drops of blood, trailing through the dirt. Her hands were still trembling, although she had wrapped her arms around her sides to try and hide it. Harry couldn't really see her face, and wasn't sure he wanted to.

Micah slipped around Harry and put his hand on Anita's back, startling her so badly that she jerked away and almost tripped over her own feet. Micah helped steady her. "Do you want to sit down?" he asked.

Anita frowned and finally looked up at him. She seemed confused, but her eyes were wide, showing a bit too much white, sort of like a trapped animal.

Micah tried again. "Anita, come on, sit down." He tried to pull her toward the couch, where Nathaniel and Damian sat, but she finally showed some signs of life and slid out of Micah's grip. She took three shaky steps an armchair and sat down carefully.

Harry caught a momentary hurt expression on Nathaniel's face, but then it was gone and Harry wasn't sure if he had imagined it.

Micah turned to Richard. "Tell me what the fuck happened, now," he demanded, his voice hot again with power.

The Ulfric pushed off the wall, eyes flashing. "And I thought I told you to ask Harry," he retorted, almost taunting.

Micah took a step toward Richard, balling his hands into fists, when an icy wind swept through the room, stopping Micah in his tracks. "Enough!" Jean-Claude shouted from the far entrance to the room. His eyes were glowing solid blue, and his skin almost glowed white. "I will not tolerate this around Anita right now, am I clear?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

It looked like Richard had to struggle to meet Jean-Claude's eyes. The rest of the wolves were in worse shape. Every one of them had their head down, and Jason and Graham were even huddled on the carpet.

Richard tore his gaze of Jean-Claude and looked at the wall. "I can't tell you what happened because I don't fucking know what happened," he said through clenched teeth. "All I know is that I felt that pain, I knew it was from Anita, then it stopped. I thought it was over, but..." Richard's voice faltered for a moment. "But then I heard screaming in the woods and I knew it was Anita. I just couldn't feel her anymore."

Harry took a deep breath. "It's called the Cruciatus curse," he said slowly. He was probably going to get his ass kicked six ways from Sunday by someone in the Wizarding world for telling them this, but as Jason would say, fuck it. "It's an Unforgivable curse, the worst kind of pain magic can inflict."

Micah's eyes widened as he looked at Anita. "But... how did it happen to Anita?"

"You're not going to ask Harry if he cast such an evil thing upon Anita?" Jean-Claude asked, the slightest edge of mocking in his voice.

The worry in the pit of Harry's stomach blossomed into full-grown panic. If the Master of the City was against him, what kind of chance did he stand in getting out of this? 

"If Harry had done this to Anita, Richard would have killed and eaten him in the woods," Micah said flatly. "Harry, tell me what happened."

Swallowing around his panic, Harry haltingly told Micah what had occurred in the woods, after he, Jamil and Anita stopped running. He used exact detail, as much as he could remember. His memory under stress was getting better. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

When he got to the part where Jason had burst out of the woods, Harry interrupted himself and turned to Jason. "Why were you after us?" he asked. "I thought you had to stay with Richard."

Jason shrugged, which looked very strange with wolfman shoulders. "They wanted to talk about something without me there," he said in a gravely voice. "I figured I might was well track you guys down. You'd circled around, it was easy to find your trail."

"It's a good thing you did," Jamil added. "If there hadn't been someone holding Anita down, I don't know what she would have done."

"In what way?" Jean-Claude asked in that same cold, dead voice.

Jason ducked his head and abased himself lower on the carpet. "She was trying to reach her face with her hands, I didn't know what she was trying to do, maybe go for her eyes or something."

"Go on, Harry," Micah said.

Harry continued with his story, growing more uneasy by the minute as Anita didn't react to anything he said. He was careful just to say what had happened, not what he had been thinking.

When he began to tell how Richard and everyone had come running out of the woods, Richard took up the story. Grateful for the break, Harry snuck a glance at Anita. She might have been acting as if she couldn't hear them, but Harry saw her clench her hands just a fraction when Richard described how she had curled up into a ball when the curse was broken.

"Wait, how did the curse end?" Micah interrupted. "I thought Harry said there was no way to stop it."

"There isn't," Harry said. "I mean, there's no counter-curse--"

"Then how did you stop it?" Sylvie asked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, just that Richard was holding my arm and I was holding Anita's arm, and I just wanted it to stop."

"You willed a curse that you yourself described as Unforgivable, to end," Jean-Claude said coldly.

When he said it like that, it sounded pathetic. Harry paled in anger. "What the hell else is magic, but will?" he demanded hotly. "I don't know how it worked, just that it did!"

"Maybe because we all wanted it to end," Anita whispered into the resulting silence. She was still staring at the carpet.

Micah crossed the floor and knelt beside her. "Hey, you," he said tenderly. Anita only flinched a little when he touched an unbruised part of her knee. "Can I get you anything?"

Anita ran her tongue over dry lips. "Water?" she asked.

"I'll get it," Graham said suddenly, and vanished into the kitchen.

Micah pushed Anita's hair back off her cheek, and Harry could see a huge bruise developing on the edge of her jaw. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

Anita twisted her fingers together, and it almost stopped the tremors in her hands. "It hurt." She stopped for a moment, and it looked like she was fighting to swallow. Then she continued. "I just knew it hurt, and I wanted it to stop."

Nathaniel stirred in his place in the couch. "It hurt worse than anything I'd ever felt," he muttered.

Anita clenched her hands a little bit tighter, but it was such a small movement that Harry wasn't sure if anyone else had seen it. "And then it stopped and Richard was carrying me back to the cars."

Micah looked like he wanted to say something, but then Graham came back into the room carrying a glass of water. He gave it to Micah and returned to his spot on the rug next to Jason. Micah tried to lift the glass to Anita's lips, but she finally looked up. "Don't," she protested. "I can do it."

Privately, Harry doubted that, but Micah let Anita take the glass. The shaking in her hands had slowed enough that Anita managed to lift bring the glass to her mouth, but she had only taken a tiny sip when she flinched and almost dropped the glass.

"Too cold," she said. Harry thought he could hear tears in her voice, and that, plus the guilt he was feeling at causing all this, and the niggling bits of shame, was why he started toward Anita, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

He was only going to warm the water a bit with magic, but he was suddenly falling backwards, and he hit the ground hard. He didn't have time to wonder why he had fallen when Jean-Claude was standing over him. The Master vampire grabbed him by the arms and yanked him up off the ground so their faces were inches apart.

"If you ever approach her again, I will kill you," Jean-Claude hissed, his eyes once again solid with power, his lips drawn back just enough for Harry to see sharp vampire fangs. "You are the reason this happened, and I will not--"

All of a sudden, Anita was beside them. "Stop it!" she shouted, trying to pry Jean-Claude's hands off Harry's arms. "Don't do this, let him go!"

Jean-Claude released Harry as quickly as he had grabbed him, and Harry barely managed to stay on his feet.

Anita pushed at Jean-Claude until he moved back far enough for her to stand between him and Harry. "You can't blame him for this!" Anita's voice sounded raw, and it must have hurt her to speak so loudly, but Harry was too stunned to try and calm her down. "He told us there was sorcerers after him, and I told him I'd protect him, I can't chuck him out now!"

Jean-Claude's eyes faded back to normal as his attention focused on the frantic woman standing before him. "Ma petite, you cannot think to tell me that you will still protect Harry, in light of what--"

"I gave him my word!" Anita insisted. "If I didn't believe him, that's not his fault!"

"Anita--"

She took a step away from Jean-Claude, hands balled into fists at her sides. "Don't touch me," she said, ice in every syllable. "And don't ever threaten Harry again."

From outside came the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Shang-Da crept over to the window and peered out from a crack in the curtain. "It's Lillian," he said flatly.

Anita pushed her hair back from her face. "Good. She can look at Jamil first."

"Whoa, what?" Richard demanded, as Micah crossed the room and tried to touch Anita's arm, only this time she wasn't having any of it.

"He stopped breathing!" she insisted, not letting Micah get close enough to her to touch. "He needs to see a doctor!"

For his part, Jamil looked confused. "I'm fine, Anita."

Anita frowned at him, then looked around the room. "Nathaniel!" she exclaimed. "Lillian should look at Nathaniel!"

Nathaniel pulled himself up on the couch. "I'll be okay, Anita." He got to his feet, a little unsteadily. "Really."

Anita took a few steps to the side, and Harry's previous impression of a trapped animal intensified as she backed into a wall.

"Ma petite, why won't you let us attend to you?" Jean-Claude asked, his voice soft.

Anita's gaze flicked to Harry, but only for a moment. "I don't need anyone to protect me, I can't be the one needing protection!"

As Harry listened to Anita, something clicked in his brain, something he'd been worrying about. How could he protect himself and everyone else in the house against Bellatrix when she could apparate in at any time? When Anita started talking about protection, Harry remembered something he had read in Bill Weasley's defence against dark magic book, the passage on wards he'd been reading that very afternoon.

Harry whirled around and headed for the kitchen, mind racing as he tried to remember what the book had said about wards. _Difficult magic, hard to set up, easy to screw up,_ Harry recited in his head. _Bloody hell, I just broke the Cruciatus curse, I can figure this out._

The book wasn't on the kitchen table where he had left it, or anywhere he could see. _Damnation, who could have moved it?_

After checking in a few cupboards and the refrigerator, just in case, Harry dashed back into the living room, interrupting the argument Anita was still having with Jean-Claude.

"Nathaniel," Harry blurted, "Did you move my book from the kitchen?"

Nathaniel's face was blank, as if he was unable to understand why Harry was asking such a superficially stupid question. "I put it up in your room..."

Harry was off and running before Nathaniel finished the sentence. Taking the steps two at a time, he reached his room in a few seconds. The book was lying neatly on the bed.

"Come on, come on!" Harry muttered to himself as he flipped open the cover and hastily turned the pages. There is was, the page he was looking for. He carefully read the list of directions, then made himself go back and read it again. If one wasn't careful when casting such powerful magic, one risked injury or death.

Harry wished that he had access to his potions supplies, but those were all locked up tight under the stairs at the Dursleys' house in England. He'd have to make due with what he could find here.

He picked up the book again and dashed back downstairs. There were four new-comers crowded into the living room; an older-looking woman who was probably the doctor, Lillian, and three large and burly muscular types. They all looked up when Harry skidded to a halt in the doorway.

"D'you have any dried sage?" Harry asked Anita. "And, um..." he consulted the pages. "Malachite?"

"What?" Anita asked wearily.

"Malachite," Harry repeated. "I can use it to set up the wards against apparation, just in case Bellatrix gets any ideas."

Anita buried her face in her hands for just a moment. "I've got some dried sage in my zombie kit," she said, voice muffled. "But no malachite."

Harry looked back down at the book. "How about amethyst? Preferably with diamonds?"

"I've got a dagger set with amethysts," Damian said suddenly. "And Anita has a diamond necklace."

"What are you going to do?" Micah asked.

Harry held out the book in front of him. "I can set up temporary wards in around the house," he said. "It can stop anyone from apparating in."

"So it can stop this witch from getting close to the house?" Sylvie asked.

Harry nodded vigorously. "But I need something physical to tie the wards to, and outside tearing down the house to the foundations and rebuilding it, the gemstones are the best bet."

Anita looked up at Harry. Exhaustion and a lurking fear vied for prominence in her eyes. "Damian," she said, "Get what Harry needs, then help him."

Damian stood up so quickly Harry almost didn't see it, and without a word strode across the room to the kitchen.

The woman who could only be Lillian stood up and walked smartly over to Harry, stopping far enough away that Harry didn't automatically think she was a threat. "You're Damian's grandson, then?" she asked.

Harry nodded. Was this going to turn into a challenge, or some kind of attack? 

"Were you hurt tonight?"

"No, ma'am." Harry began to ask why she wasn't helping Anita, but there was a warning look on Lillian's face and Harry swallowed the words.

"And how is your shoulder coming along?" When she saw Harry's frown, she explained, "Anita told me all about the attack in the woods the other night."

"Um, it's fine," Harry said. Why wasn't Anita letting the doctor look at her?

"Good, then." Lillian turned back to Anita. "Shall we go into the bedroom now so I can examine you?" 

Anita shook her head, and Harry noticed she was rocking back and forth just the slightest bit. "Jamil's next."

Damian appeared at Harry's side, hands full. "Come on," he said quietly.

Harry let the vampire guide him outside. The night air was moving slightly, but it cleared Harry's head. He sucked in deep breaths, trying to centre himself before he began his stupid first foray into warding magic.

"Why isn't the doctor helping Anita?" Harry finally asked.

Damian looked up from where he was arranging his items on the grass. "She refuses to allow herself to be tended until everyone else's wounds have been doctored."

"But that's insane!" Harry burst out. "She's hurt the most!" 

Damian pushed his long hair, almost black in the moonlight, over his shoulder. "I know this, and you know this." He stood up. "But Lillian is a wise woman. Where anyone else would have argued with Anita, wasting more time and only agitating her more, Lillian is perfunctorily going through everyone to get to Anita as soon as she can."

"Oh." Harry knelt to put the book on the ground, and was almost overcome with a wave of dizziness. It was stupid to try new magic when he felt this bad, he knew, but the alternative, of Bellatrix being able to sneak in and kill them all in their sleep, was so much worse that he was willing to risk it.

"What can I do?" Damian asked quietly.

"Just a minute," Harry muttered. He pulled his wand from his pocket and held it over the book. "Lumos." The tip of his wand lit up, and Harry moved it over the book so he could see the words. "The diamond needs be next to, but not touching, the amethyst," Harry said as he read down the page. "And what's the dagger made of?"

Damian's hands moved surely over the knife. "Silver, as is the chain of the necklace." He wrapped tiny chain around the hilt of the dagger. "Is it difficult?"

Harry squinted at the page. "Yes, but hopefully it won't blow us up or anything."

"I meant making that tiny light."

Harry looked at the end of his wand, almost blinding himself in the process. "No, it's a first year spell." He shook his head, trying to get rid of the spots dancing in his vision. _Stop acting so stupid!_ Harry chided himself. "I can use my wand to light the sage, but I'm absolute pants at making controlled fire. Have you got a lighter?"

Damian rooted in his back pocket and dug out an old-fashioned lighter. "All the magic I have seen has been big and flashy, and not used on everyday occasions as you use it." He flicked back the lid of the lighter and flicked the flint wheel to spark a bright flame.

Harry whispered "Nox," over his wand and the light went out. "Where I'm from, magic's used all the time, for everything." He picked up the bundle of dried sage and held it over the flame. "A spell for everything, until sometimes I wonder if anyone's going to remember how to fight without their wand."

 _Like me tonight._ Harry stared at the burning sage, then gently blew out the flames. Sage smoke curled up into the night air. _Bellatrix took my wand, and I was useless in the fight._

"Did you do everything you could to help Anita?" Damian asked.

Harry clenched his jaw, and when he answered he found he was telling Damian the absolute truth. "I tried everything, but I was disarmed." It sounded like an excuse, and it made Harry mad at how weak he sounded. "I tried, but it wasn't enough."

"But you stopped the curse," Damian said as he picked up the dagger and stood.

"But I'm not sure how!" Harry protected. He was brought up short when Damian laid a cool hand on his shoulder.

"What matters is that tonight, you save Anita's life," Damian said. "And for that, you have my gratitude."

Harry almost couldn't breathe around the lump in his throat. Didn't Damian know that Anita could have died because of Harry? That Harry didn't know if he could fix her? That there was a chance that Anita wasn't ever going to be quite right, ever again? 

But these were things he couldn't say. Instead, he pointed at a spot near the large oak tree in the yard. "We'll need to walk the circle around the house three times, then bury the dagger beside the tree..."


	15. Like a Rugged Island Without a Shore

* * *

Lillian put her stethoscope back in her bag and stood up. "Physically, other than a few scratches, there's nothing wrong with you," she told me.

I crossed my arms and hunched over. I was sitting on my bed but it didn't feel safe anymore. "Then leave me alone."

"But," Lillian said sternly, "You are reacting as if your body has been severely traumatized. Just look at your hands."

I didn't want to look at my hands and the ground-in dirt under my nails. Instead, I shoved my hands under my legs. "But nothing's wrong with me, so you can go away," I pressed. It took work, but I managed to keep my voice as level as I could. Didn't want Lillian poking and prodding at me anymore.

Lillian shook her head. "I know you don't want to talk to me," she said. "But I want you to come in to the hospital tomorrow and meet with Gwen."

I didn't answer. Sure as the sun rose in the morning, I wasn't going to see Gwen. She'd want to talk about it. But words were meaningless and empty.

With a sigh, Lillian picked up her bag and left the room. I stared at the door after she left. I desperately wanted to get rid of this tension that still rode my body, to let it fall off of me like rain in the spring, but if I let go, then it might start all over again and I wouldn't be able to stop it.

Now that Lillian was gone, I pulled my hands out from under my knees. There was dirt caked in under my nails and I stared at it, fascinated. I didn't remember clawing at the ground. I didn't remember a lot.

Just pain.

I clenched my hands slowly, pressing the tips of my fingers into my palms. Was this real? It didn't hurt. Wasn't it supposed to hurt? I'd thought it was always going to hurt, going to be just me and pain and screaming blackness.

The bedroom door opened a crack and I froze, staring at my hands, wondering who it was and what they were going to do to me.

"Ma petite?"

I knew that voice. I'd felt those soft whispered words over my skin in the dark too many times to not know him. Still, my fear was like a ball of ice in my stomach. _What was he going to do?_

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw movement, then Jean-Claude knelt in front of me. I sat as still as I could be, like a rabbit frozen as the snake approaches.

"Lillian said she had finished examining you," Jean-Claude said. He cocked his head to the side, and I looked down. I couldn't look at him. He said he'd felt the pain, only for a few seconds but still it was there, he'd hurt and it was my fault that I hadn't been able to stop him feeling that any sooner.

When it started, out there in the woods, all I'd been able to do at first was to scream, I remembered that much. There was pain and there was screaming and somewhere in that, I knew that Richard and Jean-Claude were in pain too, and I'd been able to close my link with them. But when I did that, the pain got even worse and I couldn't wall up the marks with Damian and Nathaniel. I knew they were in pain like me, but if I let them go, I'd be all alone with how much it hurt. I didn't want to die alone like that.

But it kept getting worse. Somehow, feeling them screaming in my head, I couldn't take it anymore. I had managed to pinch off the marks, but then it had just been me with all that pain, no longer spread around five people, and I was alone.

It had gone on forever.

Someone else moved in the room, and my head shot up. Richard was standing next to me, close enough for him to hit me back across the room.

I scrambled off the bed and made it across the room to the dresser before my knees became too wobbly for me to stand. "What do you want?" I asked. I could still taste blood in the back of my throat. I'd tried to swallow it away, but it hurt to swallow. Or talk. Or breathe.

Jean-Claude stood up, and I looked at a spot on the carpet. I didn't want to see him, knowing what I'd done. "We came to see if there is anything we can do for you," he said.

Bitter laughter bubbled up in my chest around the block of ice that was my heart, but I pushed it back down. Laughter would hurt. Laughter would mean they won. "You can go away," I said pointedly.

"Anita." Richard's voice, quiet like he got when he was going to apologize for something. I frantically wondered what he could be going to say. "Anita, I'm sorry."

I meant to ask him what he was talking about, but all I got out was, "What?" before my throat seized up and I had to fight my own body's reaction to swallow.

"I'm sorry that I let you get hurt, in the woods around the lupanar no less," Richard said, his voice all somber and self-flagellating.

Hearing the way he spoke, more than the words he said, made me so angry that I wanted to hit him. He'd only felt it for a few moments, what fucking right did he have to apologize for anything? 

"Since when do you apologize for hurting me, Richard?" I exclaimed. "You've been doing it for years, and just because you weren't the one twisting the screws this time makes it okay?"

Richard stood there staring at me, his tan skin growing sickly pale, and I wondered if that's what he'd look like after he was dead and left for worms and decay.

"Spare me the Zeeman angst-fest, Richard," I continued, trying to make him so mad he'd just go away. He could do whatever he wanted, scream at me, slap me, beat me bloody if he wanted, as long as he just went far away where I couldn't hurt him. "Save it for someone who gives a fuck."

After a moment that stretched on in an echo of forever, Richard turned around and walked out of the room. I stared after him, because doing anything else would mean having to look at Jean-Claude. I could stand it if Richard hated me, but I think it might break tiny bits of me, like spun glass under a hammer, if Jean-Claude hated me.

"Anita..."

My throat seized up again and I felt raw tears in my eyes. He only called me Anita when he was angry with me, and he had to be angry because I'd put him through so much pain, because I hadn't been quick enough or strong enough to protect him right away. "Go away," I whispered, the words rough over my tongue.

I heard him sigh. I heard that sound a lot from him. Then he slowly moved toward me, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow I knew was coming.

It didn't come. Jean-Claude laid a soft kiss on the top of my head, then just as softly left the room.

I stood, trembling and cold, hurting and anticipating. I'd rather have had him hit me than have him pretend to have forgiven me.

When moments passed, and the room stayed quiet, I took a few steps to the window and pushed back the heavy drape. The light in the room reflected off the glass, so all I could see was my own reflection.

It was too quiet, and I was stuck alone with my thoughts. I didn't want to think. My throat hurt, and all my muscles hurt. My hands still trembled and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop them. Could I even hold a gun, with hands like these? Would it ever stop? 

I ran my tongue over my lips. They felt cracked and dry, and I tasted blood in the corner of my mouth. I was thirsty, but I'd squandered my only chance at water in the living room, so I couldn't complain.

I wanted my gun. Even if I couldn't aim the damn thing to shoot, I wanted to hold it in my hands, a killer's security blanket, to make me feel not so useless.

 _I am useless_ , I thought. I placed my hand on the windowpane. The dirt on my hand smudged off on the clear coolness of the glass.

I remembered that I'd been aiming my gun at the witch. I'd had her in my sights. I could have pulled the trigger, could have put a bullet in her head. Hadn't Jean-Claude said just last night that my reflexes were amazingly fast? But I didn't. I just let her take my gun, and let her choke Jamil, and let myself be hurt.

The floor creaked and I gasped, so afraid of who it might be coming after me. Focusing my eyes, I saw Micah reflected in the glass, and I watched him come nearer to me. He wasn't a big guy; my height. But what was he going to do? Was he mad that I hurt Nathaniel? He was Nimir-Raj, he was supposed to protect his wereleopards. What would he do to me for hurting Nathaniel?

Micah stopped about five feet from me and rested his hip against the dresser. His arms were crossed over his chest, and all I could think was how that might give me a half-second advantage, some sort of defence.

Micah didn't speak, he just stood there and looked at me. Usually, Micah's silence was peaceful, but today it pressed on my skin like a hand.

"What do you want?" I finally asked. My voice was raspy and I hated it, but I didn't dare swallow. It would hurt and everything hurt too much anyway.

"I wanted to come and see how you were doing." His words were soft and smooth and safe, but that felt wrong.

"Why?" I whispered.

I heard Micah sigh. "Because you were hurt."

"A lot of people got hurt tonight." _Because of me. Because I wasn't fast enough._

"When someone gets hurt, someone should be around," Micah continued. I wondered if I'd even spoken out loud. "Not for any reason, but just because."

I waited for him to say more, but he fell silent.

Gradually, as he didn't come any closer and didn't say anything, I began to relax. It was okay if my hands were still shaking, and if my breathing was little ragged, it didn't matter because Micah wasn't going to say anything.

I was just about to ask Micah if maybe, if it wasn't too much trouble, if he could go get me a glass of water, when I heard movement in the hall. I turned around just as Nathaniel walked into the room.

The muscles in my back tensed up so fast it hurt. My heart pounding, I pressed my hands against my legs to hide the tremors. What did he want?

Nathaniel shuffled over to the bed, displaying none of the cat-like grace I knew he possessed. He slumped onto the neatly made bed and stared at me with those pain-filled violet eyes.

I'd always thought the word violet was funny. Such a pretty colour, like violets and a deep night sky and butterfly wings and sunrises over the mountains. But all you needed to do was add an N, and everything was violent and hard and pain and screaming in the woods.

Someone was giggling, all high and girly, and since neither Micah nor Nathaniel's mouths were moving, it had to be me, right?

"Anita?" Nathaniel said.

The sound of his voice felt like claws on my skin, and I stopped laughing. There had been laughing in the woods, high sadistic laugher, so different from Raina but still licking my pain out of the air.

"Is there anything I can do?" Nathaniel asked. His auburn vanilla hair was escaping his braid and drifting around his face, the soft planes of his face, so beautiful and tragic and open. Mine.

Mine to mark, mine to hurt.

"No," I said. I think I meant I didn't want to hurt Nathaniel any more, but I don't know what he heard.

"Anita, please, let me help," Nathaniel urged, leaning forward. It was only a tiny movement, but I stepped back until my back hit the curtains and I hissed as the fabric rubbed against a scratch on my lower back.

I looked at the rug. Not at Nathaniel, a tragedy on my light-blue bedspread, or Micah, with whatever he wanted. "I'm going to take a shower," I mumbled. "I'm dirty."

"Anita..." Nathaniel began.

"I'm dirty!" I said, more vehemently.

Not looking at anything or anyone, I walked carefully to the bedroom door and slipped out into the hall.

When I was free of the weight of Nathaniel's gaze, I let myself waver, catching myself against the wall. My hands, covered in dirt, looked out of place on the stark white walls. Too raw, too real, to belong in this place.

There was an anticipation lurking under my skin, and I could almost see it in my dirty, tiny, killing hands. I'd killed before with these hands. I'd been coated in blood to my elbows from a vampire as I cut out his heart, blood spray on my jeans from decapitating a vampire, bile in my throat from cutting off a man's fingers with a cleaver while he screamed. So why couldn't I shoot the witch? Didn't the Bible even say 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'? 

But the Bible said to kill necromancers, so what right did I have to stone anyone to death? _Doresh el hametim_ , forbidden contact with the dead, my parcel and trade, as much abomination as reducing little girls to screaming puppets on the forest floor.

Voices were approaching me, male voices, familiar and yet not. I looked down the hall as Harry and Damian came around the corner. Harry stopped dead when he saw me. His hair was messy and there was dirt on his bare knees. He looked young and yet so old, worn away.

"We built the wards," he said suddenly. "Bellatrix shouldn't be able to apparate in." He licked his lips, and my eyes were drawn to his mouth.

He kept talking, but all I could pay attention to was the shape of his lower lip, slightly chapped and pink and moist. What would that lip feel like under my mine, if I were to lick it, then bite down hard, hold that flesh between my teeth? Would he cry out? Would his blood taste like candy in my mouth? Would he struggle under my body, as he'd made me struggle under his in the woods?

Harry was still speaking. "Is that okay?" I heard him say. I didn't know what he was talking about, but it didn't matter. All I wanted to do was drink some water and pray that I wouldn't hurt anyone else.

I gave him a quick nod, then walked past him to the bathroom. I didn't let myself look up at him, not at his tempting lower lip. I could almost smell the blood in his veins as I walked past him, but I stopped myself from pushing him to the ground and tasting him. These urges weren't mine, couldn't be mine. I was supposed to protect them, these boys, Harry and Nathaniel, not hurt and use them.

I didn't look at Damian, a cool red ghost at Harry's back. He'd know the perverted things I wanted to do to his flesh and blood.

 _Even if Damian's blood is mine?_ my treacherous mind whispered. _Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh._ As I closed the bathroom door behind me, I knew no one would blame me if I rode Harry to the ground, making him scream.

_No one but me._

The door clicked shut, and I was alone.

The pale white tiles on the bathroom floor gleamed in the overhead light, every surface stark and clean. I was out of place in this room, all dirty and shaking and bloody. I didn't want to be any of those things, but I wasn't sure where to start.

I took slow steps to the centre of the room, thinking vaguely about a bath, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and I whirled around in the direction of the movement. _Was the pain going to start again?_

I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I'd been scared of my own reflection. It would have been almost funny if I hadn't been so terrified.

I looked horrible. I was covered in dirt and little bits of leaves, mixed in with the occasional smear of blood. My hair was a complete mess. That didn't even go into the visible bruises and the hollow circles under my eyes.

_I even look useless._

The trembling was getting worse, and my eyes were beginning to burn. I closed my eyes and slowly sank to the ground. The tile was cold under my knees, and I started to wonder if this shaking was because I was cold. Maybe I was so cold that I couldn't think straight. It had to be the cold. It couldn't be anything else.

I hunched over until my forehead touched the cool tiles. It was kind of nice like this, with the stillness and the quiet. I didn't have to do anything. Me just lying here wasn't hurting anyone.

Except that my joints ached, and the cuts on my legs stung, and breathing still hurt.

"Anita?" came a muffled call from the other side of the bathroom door. It sounded like Micah.

I took another breath of air, made moist and cool by the tiles on the floor, then slowly pushed myself up. It took me two tries to sit up.

The door slowly opened, and Micah stuck his head into the room. Worry made his eyes almost yellow.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Did I want him here? Didn't I want to be alone? Or was I too cold? What was I supposed to want?

I must have waited too long, because Micah came into the room and shut the door behind him. He knelt on the floor in front of me.

"Can I stay?" he whispered.

I looked at him, his soft skin and his cat's eyes and his curly hair and his slightly pouting lower lip. He wasn't the one I hurt, so maybe he could stay. Not that I needed help, I told myself.

He took my silence for acquiescence. "Do you want to have a shower or a bath?"

I frowned. It was almost too much to think about. I turned my head and looked first at the bathtub in its shiny white glory, then at the shower stall, then back.

"How about a shower?" Micah said after a minute. "We can wash the dirt off, and it'll go down the drain."

I ran my fingers over the tiles. "What if it doesn't?" I asked in a tiny voice.

Micah sighed. "It will, Anita. It's just dirt."

That wasn't what I meant, but I didn't know how to explain it to him in a way that didn't sound crazy.

Micah kept staring at me, and so I nodded. I didn't remember what I was agreeing to.

"How about we get you out of those clothes?" Micah said.

I grabbed at my t-shirt and shook my head, hard. "No, I'm cold," I insisted.

Micah frowned at me. "It has to be over eighty degrees outside," he said. "You're cold?"

I nodded vigorously. It would explain the shaking in my hands, right? Not that I was messed up, broken in tiny ways that wouldn't let me hold a gun.

"Okay," he said. "Then do you want me to comb your hair?"

"Why?"

"Because there's stuff in your hair," Micah said, and he made it sound reasonable. "I thought you might like to comb your hair out before you wash it."

Oh. I looked down at my hands again, and became fascinated with the way the tremors in my hand had all of my fingers moving at the same time. My left hand was moving differently than my right, and I wondered if it was because of the cold.

I looked up at Micah, and he was still in the same place. How much time had passed? "What?" I said.

"I didn't say anything, Anita." Micah's voice was blank. "Do you want me to brush your hair?"

"Okay."

I watched as Micah stood up to get a brush, then came back to sit beside me. "Let me know if you want me to stop, okay?"

He was gentle as he combed out my hair. It's hard with hair as long and as curly as mine, but it didn't hurt as he untangled the twigs and leaves from my hair. I don't know how long we sat there with Micah combing my hair, but finally he was done and there was a tiny pile of dirty twigs and leaves on the white floor.

"Now, how about that shower?" Micah asked, putting the brush on the ground.

Talking was too much effort, so I concentrated on standing up. My knees protested and my balance almost threw me to the ground, but I managed to stand all on my own.

Micah didn't comment. He only stood and began to strip off his clothing.

Right. I undid my belt and pulled it out of the loops on my shorts, then let my empty shoulder holster fall to the ground. I tried to pull my shirt over my head, but the muscles in my back screamed in protest. I whimpered and let my arms fall back to my sides. It was a little pain, compared to what I'd felt earlier that night, but I just couldn't pull my shirt over my head.

Micah had to rip the shirt open and slide the pieces off my body. The sound of the cloth tearing was just another reminder that I'd failed tonight.

The tears started as Micah undid my shorts and led me, finally naked, to the shower. I wasn't sobbing; stubborn tears just slid down my cheeks as Micah turned on the water for the shower. I didn't want to cry, but I couldn't make myself stop. The only consolation I had was that there was no one but Micah around to see me.

I didn't make any sound as Micah washed the dirt out of the cuts on my legs or back, or as the hot water, so hot I almost felt sick, hit my many bruises. I let him wash my hair for me, because I couldn't make my arms move in the way I wanted them.

Finally, the shower and my useless tears, were done. I still didn't feel clean. Micah toweled me dry, then helped me slip into the t-shirt and shorts he'd been wearing. When he was done, he touched my cheek, making me look up at him.

"Is there anything you want me to do?" he asked, soft and intimate in the warm and damp air of the bathroom.

His question didn't make any sense. I stepped away from his touch. "I'm tired," I said. I had to be, right? If I wasn't cold, maybe the shaking was from sleep deprivation?

The dry air in the hallway felt wrong, after the shower. I shrugged the feeling off and walked down the hall to my bedroom, the carpet rough under my feet.

The door was open, and I went into the room, but stopped dead just a few feet in the room.

Nathaniel lay in the bed, covered in blankets. He stared up at me, like he had been waiting.

Looking at him looking at me like I was his salvation felt wrong. Something painful writhed in my stomach.

Micah came into the room behind me and shut the door. "I talked to Merle and Claudia," he told me as he headed for the bed. "I told them what to look for, and I think Harry talked to them as well."

_I'd been aiming my gun at the witch. I could have put a bullet in her head._

"They can't stay," I heard myself saying. "They may get hurt." I looked at Micah, my terror growing with every moment. "What if they get hurt?"

"Shh, Anita, it's okay," Micah told me. He put his hands on my shoulders and I fought not to wince. "They know what to look for. There's a whole bunch of them. They know what to do."

"But--"

"Shh." Micah's soft entreaty changed into a purr, and I felt like along the length of my body, calming. "Let us take care of you, Anita. Just for tonight."

I didn't know how to give voice to the horrors in my head. I let Micah lead me over to the bed, then let his hands push me down onto the soft mattress.

The moment I was lying down, Nathaniel wriggled over and pressed his body against mine. I stopped breathing as he wrapped his arm around my waist and buried his face in my shoulder. He was so hot, his skin against mine, but I still felt cold. _Wasn't he mad at me for making him hurt so much?_

Micah turned off the light and climbed into bed behind me. This was how we usually slept, Nathaniel on one side and Micah on the other, my little sleep-time sandwich. So why did it feel so wrong?

I stared out into the dark as Nathaniel's breathing slowed and he drifted into sleep. I wasn't sure if Micah was asleep or not, but I didn't care.

Here, in the soft dark, I was left alone to review my inaction and the consequences. Over and over, I wondered if I could have moved faster, held onto my gun tighter, listened to Harry when he tried to warn me.

I'm not sure how long it took me to fall asleep. Hours, maybe. But by then, I knew one solid, undeniable fact.

This was all my fault.


	16. That Truth Lies Somewhere, If We Knew But Where

* * *

Harry woke with a gasp, sitting straight up in bed. For a moment, he was still caught up in his dream, and he was feeling for his wand and his glasses before he remembered that he wasn't fighting Voldemort over Cedric Diggory's body, but that he was in St. Louis.

He felt better for a handful of heartbeats. Then all those good feelings came crashing back down. Bellatrix Lestrange was in town, and she'd almost killed Anita and Jamil the night before.

And Harry hadn't been able to do anything about it.

He flopped back in the bed, kicking off the tangled sheets. What little sleep he'd had had been haunted by horrible dreams. The Cedric dream hadn't been the worst, although it had been the most vivid. In one of his dream, Harry hadn't been able to save Anita, and Richard had shifted to wolf form and began to eat Harry live. It was only when Richard began to chew on Harry's lungs did the dream fragment and shift into something else.

 _At least my scar isn't hurting,_ Harry thought bitterly. That would just be the absolute topper to this vacation, to have Voldemort as well as Bellatrix after his skin.

Enough of this. Harry fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, and peered at the clock. Almost six. The clock had read two when he'd collapsed into bed. There had been setting up the wards, then talking with Richard, then talking with Damian, then back to Richard again.

When Richard had finally told him to go get some sleep, Harry had protested at first, but he finally relented when he saw how distracted the Ulfric was. Harry had climbed the stairs and was about to go into his room when Jean-Claude had appeared in the hall at his side.

The vampire wasn't overtly threatening, although Harry hadn't been made so conscious of his own mortality since his last encounter with Voldemort. All of the very careful phrases and comments left no doubt in Harry's mind that if anything else were to happen to Anita, Harry would find himself on the receiving end of Jean-Claude's wrath. And that wrath would last a very, very long time.

But what had stayed most in Harry's mind was a simple comment by Jean-Claude. If Anita were to die, Damian wouldn't survive it, and Nathaniel might not either.

 _How close did I come last night to losing my grandfather?_ Harry wondered as he pulled on some clothes. All these repercussions he couldn't have known about, crowding around and coming to rest on his shoulders.

After double-checking that his wand was in his pocket and easily accessible, Harry slipped out of his bedroom and tip-toed down the stairs. His steps faltered as he reached the landing and saw Noah leaning against the wall by the entrance to the living room.

The wereleopard bodyguard's eyes were cool. Harry nodded at the man, then carefully opened the front door.

The early morning air was cooler than in the house, and a slight breeze held a promise of a fresh day. Harry was hardly ever outside at this time of day, back in England, and he wondered how different an American morning was from mornings in Little Whinging, and if he'd ever experience a Surrey morning again.

Harry turned, with some vague ideas of sitting on the porch swing until someone else woke up, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Already sitting on the porch, legs pulled up tight to her chest, was Anita.

She stared at him, eyes wide and steady. Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to smile. "Good morning, Anita," he said.

His words sounded loud in the quiet morning air. After a few seconds, Anita laid her cheek on her knee.

"Are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

"What?" Harry shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving."

"Oh." Anita frowned slightly.

"Do you want me to leave?" Harry asked, chest tight as he asked. He wouldn't blame her if she wanted him gone, after what had happened. But he didn't want to leave, not now.

Anita looked out at the trees in the yard, illuminated by the rising sun. "No," she finally said. "You should stay here. Where Richard and Micah and Damian can protect you."

There was something odd about her comment, and it took Harry a heartbeat to catch the omission. "Aren't you going to protect me?" he asked.

Anita closed her eyes and let out her breath in a shudder. "I can't protect anyone, Harry," she said, hugging her arms tighter around her legs.

Harry crept closer and, when she didn't protest, he sat down next to her. "That's not true," he protested. "You saved my life from the werewolves, that first night."

"Coincidence," Anita said flatly. She opened her eyes and stared out at the trees again. "I was in the right place at the right time."

She sounded so despondent that Harry tried to think of something else to convince her, anything at all. "Damian said that you saved his life, in Tennessee."

Anita brushed a strand of hair back from her face, and Harry wondered if he imagined the shaking in her fingers. "Did he tell you that?"

"Yes, last night, while we were setting up the wards."

"And did he tell you that the only reason he was in danger was because I was too chicken-shit to try and save Nathaniel myself?"

Harry frowned. "Damian said that only a vampire could have saved Nathaniel's life."

"But I could have used the munin," Anita insisted, a hint of desperation creeping into her tone. "I could have done something so Damian wasn't in danger, but I didn't and he almost died because of me."

"Anita..."

"The point is," Anita said, talking over Harry, "that I can't protect you. But they can, so you should stay."

Anita looked at Harry, and he was startled to see the pain in her dark eyes. Then it was gone, and she just looked tired.

"Anita," Harry said, trying to pick his words carefully, "Bellatrix Lestrange isn't like a normal opponent. Half of the Aurors in England couldn't best her."

He wasn't sure Anita had even heard him. But he plowed on, needing to say these things so she would understand Bellatrix.

"She's crazy, really crazy. The Cruciatus curse, to cast it you need to enjoy other people's pain." Harry shifted around so he could look more directly at Anita. "You can't cast it if you don't like other people being in pain."

Anita finally looked away from the trees. "You sound as if you're speaking from personal experience."

"I..." Harry closed his mouth, not sure what to say.

"Did it work?" Anita asked. She unfolded herself and went to her knees, bracing herself with her hands. She tilted her head to one side. "Do you like causing people pain, Harry?"

Her voice was quiet, soft, but cold as death. He had faced down wizards and warlocks, but was a different kind of battle, Harry knew. She was waiting to pass judgment on him.

"No, I don't," Harry said carefully. Would she understand that he was telling the truth? "I tried just after Bellatrix killed Sirius, but it didn't work." His guilt at the whole Ministry Battle stirred up again, and now it mixed in with his guilt from the woods and hearing Anita's screams echoing in his head. "She'd just killed my godfather and tortured my friends and even after all of that, I still couldn't do it."

Harry's voice sounded bitter, even to him. He watched as Anita raised one hand and laid trembling fingers on his jaw. She turned his head to one side, then the other, then drew back her hand.

"You're telling the truth," she said distantly. "You don't like it when other people are hurting."

As she spoke, she sat back on her heels. The early morning sun shone down on the porch, and for the first time, Harry could clearly see the bruises and cuts on her body. Yellowing bruises ran up her legs, down her arms. The marks on her wrists were still dark purple. _Did I do that?_ Harry wondered, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach.

"Not wanting to hurt people isn't a bad thing, Harry. It's the line between being a monster and not."

"I thought that was killing people," Harry snapped back before he thought.

Anita licked her bottom lip, her eyes never leaving his face. "Sometimes killing people is necessary," she told him.

At her words, Harry felt a shock tingle through his body. "How can you say that?" he demanded. "Murder can never be right!"

Even as he spoke, he remembered a late-night conversation with Ron, the previous winter. When he'd wondered out loud how much easier it all would be if he just found Voldemort and killed him. The look of horror, and understanding, on Ron's face.

Anita sighed and moved back over to the side of the house. "All animals kill to protect themselves, Harry," she explained as she crossed her legs. "Only humans will torture their prey, and only a few of them. Only the monsters." 

"But..." Harry tried to find something to dispute what Anita was saying, but he couldn't put his objections into words.

"What's the one way to ensure that someone never hurts you again?" 

Harry couldn't understand how calmly Anita was talking about this. 'There are other ways--"

"What happens when there's no other choice?" Anita clasped her hands together and placed them in her lap. "When it's you, or them?"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head firmly. "It's not that simple."

"Isn't it?"

"No!" Harry stood up and paced to the end of the porch, then back. "What you're talking about, that's evil."

"What is evil?" 

Harry opened his mouth, but then realized that Anita wasn't really asking him.

"What's more evil, to stop someone from killing you, or to let them kill you?" Anita rested her head on the wall, and the movement stretched her neck out in a long line. In the sunlight, Harry could see two faint, days-old puncture marks on her throat. "We're given life, isn't it evil to let that be destroyed when we can protect it?"

Harry kept his mouth shut. She wasn't talking to him anymore.

"Isn't it evil to just lie back and die? To not fight back? If this is what God gave us, life without pain, it has to be evil, right?" Anita's voice dropped to a whisper as she opened her eyes. "It had to be evil."

Finally, Harry understood what she was talking about. "What Bellatrix did was evil," he said, kneeling and crawling closer to her. "That curse, it's evil."

Anita looked at him them, and Harry saw deep, bottomless fear in her eyes. She was quiet for a few minutes. "Sometimes...."

She stuttered to a halt. Harry almost didn't dare to breathe, in case he interrupted her.

"If I stop thinking about how it's not hurting, will it start again?" Anita let out a long sigh, and reached up to trail her fingers along the scar tissue on her collarbone. "They say life's supposed to be pain, but did they mean this?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He thought frantically for anything to reassure her, anything at all, when Anita's face suddenly went blank and she turned her head, looking at a point over Harry's head.

"Nathaniel."

The wereleopard stood by the door, holding a steaming mug in his hands. "Hi, Anita," he said. "I didn't hear you get up."

Anita looked back at the trees.

"I brought you some coffee," Nathaniel continued, almost earnestly. "I used the French press to make it, just the way you like it." He walked across the porch and knelt beside Anita. "Here."

He held the cup out to Anita. As Harry watched, Anita slowly reached out her hand and took the mug by the handle. No sooner had Nathaniel let go than a spasm rode up Anita's arm and she dropped the mug.

The cup tumbled the short distance to the porch and smash into a dozen sharp pieces, coffee everywhere.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said immediately, jumping up. "I must have let go too soon, I'll go get something to clean it up--"

"Stop, Nathaniel," Anita said, cutting him off. "Just... stop." She got to her feet and edged around the broken cup. Nathaniel made a move, as if he was going to touch her, but she kept just out of his reach. She kept going until she got to the front door and went in. The door closed with a pointed click.

Nathaniel stood, frozen, his hand still outstretched. Harry wasn't sure what to say. There was something on Nathaniel's face, something painful and raw, and Harry didn't know if he was supposed to acknowledge what he had just seen, or to pretend it hadn't happened.

After a long moment, Nathaniel lowered his hand and let out a slow breath. "I should clean this up," he muttered.

"Oh, wait," Harry said, finally seeing something he could actually do. "I can do it." He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the broken porcelain of the cup. "Reparo."

The little pieces of the mug flew back together, sealing together as they went, until the mug was once again whole on the deck. Harry gave his wand another flick, and the spilled coffee lifted into the air and poured itself back into the mug.

Nathaniel just looked at the mug for a few seconds, then walked across the deck. He gripped the wooden railing and stared out at the front yard. "It's nice to know that I'm not even needed around here to clean up the mess anymore," he said under his breath.

Harry stood up, feeling vaguely like he needed to apologize, but he wasn't sure for what. "I didn't-- I mean, I just wanted to help." He joined Nathaniel at the railing. There were deep circles under the wereleopard's eyes, as well as tight lines by his mouth.

"No, it's not you," Nathaniel muttered. "It's just..."

Harry waited, a little awkwardly, for Nathaniel to continue.

"This was all supposed to work a certain way." Nathaniel ran his fingers over the railing, still looking up at the trees. "Anita protects me, and I take care of her. But she just keeps pushing me away."

"How do you mean, take care of her?" Harry asked.

Nathaniel shrugged and pulled his long braid over his shoulder. "You know, take care of her. Make sure the bills are paid and the house is clean and the laundry's done and there's enough food in the fridge and feed the ardeur and stuff. So she doesn't have to worry about any of that." He pulled his braid taught between his hands, then dropped it. "And I do it all, and she doesn't seem to notice anymore. That I'd do anything for her."

Harry didn't know what to say. His experience in dealing with matters between couples was limited to Ron and Hermione, who still claimed they weren't dating, and of listening to Ginny's exploits. He didn't know what to say to Nathaniel. Should he tell him what Anita had said, about how she was feeling? Or had she told Harry those things in confidence? 

Nathaniel sighed. "Doesn't matter, I suppose." He looked over at Harry. "You want some orange juice? I made it while the coffee was brewing. It was for Anita, but--" He stopped himself. "There's enough for two, if you want some."

Harry bent over and picked up the coffee mug. He could have lifted it with magic, but he kept remembering how useless his magic had been the night before. _Anita, screaming on the ground._ "Yes, some orange juice sounds nice."

* * *

Harry stared morosely at his half-empty glass of juice. The early morning adrenaline rush has worn off, and coupled with the previous night's lack of sleep, he felt dreadful.

 _Not nearly as bad as Anita feels,_ he reminded himself. That was really what was bothering him. How useless he had proved to be in a one-on-one fight with Bellatrix. She'd waltzed all over him. He still had no idea why she had left. Maybe she expected the werewolves to kill Harry for what had happened to Anita?

It didn't matter that she had surprised him, or that he had been the only wizard. What mattered was that he had not been fast enough. What mattered was that Bellatrix was still out there, and would no doubt come back after him again.

Again, Harry toyed idly with the idea of running away, leaving Anita and Damian and everyone behind, so Bellatrix wouldn't attack them because of Harry. But Jean-Claude's words from two nights ago echoed in his head. Harry couldn't run, not now, not leaving Anita to clean up his mess.

A plate, heaped with food, slid into view. "You'll feel better after you eat," Nathaniel said, sitting down with a similarly laden plate.

Harry's stomach grumbled, while his mind protested at the thought of food. "How can you eat after last night?" he asked Nathaniel.

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows at Harry. "If I couldn't eat when my life wasn't going to hell in a hand basket, I'd have starved to death as a kid," he said seriously.

"But I thought that you felt what Anita felt."

Nathaniel moved the eggs on his plate around with his fork. "I can deal with pain, Harry." He upended his fork and ruthlessly sliced through a yolk. "Just part of the job."

What job? Harry pushed his chair back from the table. "I thought Anita said you were a st-stripper," he said, heat rushing up to his cheeks as she stuttered over the word. _Brilliant move to make yourself look like a total prat, Potter._ "What does that have to do with pain?"

Nathaniel frowned. "Didn't they... What did Anita tell you about me?"

Harry swallowed. "That you're a stripper, you work downtown. That's all."

The sudden intensity in Nathaniel's gaze was unnerving. "That's not all," he stated. He leaned back in his chair, never breaking eye contact with Harry. "That's not what I did before."

Harry wasn't sure what sort of background one needed to become a stripper. Until that day with Anita in the car, he had never even consciously thought that there were male strippers in the world. It was all part of the general ether of things that had for so long been adult things, like dating and sex and having babies and all those things that were never discussed in the polite company of the Dursleys house. Aunt Petunia would not stand for the mere mention of anything even vaguely naughty, like female strippers or dirty magazines. If Harry had talked about male strippers, he was sure he'd have been slapped about the mouth and sent to his room without meals.

At school, he and his dormmates had talked about some things, but ever since Dean Thomas had dated Ginny for a few months, Ron's temper around Dean had been a bit short. But all the boys had ever talked about was girls, normal girls. Male strippers had never been an item for discussion.

"I used to be a hooker," Nathaniel continued, his voice blank. "A lot of my clients liked to cause pain. They liked it a lot."

A hooker? Harry tried to come up with something to say, something that wouldn't brand him a total child, but instead, he blurted, "I didn't think women did that sort of thing. Pick up hookers, I mean."

The expression on Nathaniel's face didn't change, but an extreme weariness passed through his eyes. "They don't, Harry."

What? Harry didn't know what Nathaniel meant at first. Who would pay for a male hooker, if not a woman?

It took an embarrassingly long time for his mind to figure out the answer. When he did, he felt the blood rush out of his face, and he dropped his eyes to the table. Unfortunately, this left him looking at his plate, and the two wobbly eggs seemed to stare back at him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in and out.

Sex wasn't supposed to be like that. It was supposed to be nice and warm and safe, not full of pain and whatever had put that ancient look in Nathaniel's eyes.

Unbidden, Nathaniel's comment about his clients liking pain circled in Harry's head. It was so similar to what Bellatrix had said about the Cruciatus curse, about liking pain, that Harry almost didn't realize what that meant. Then it hit him, and he stood up a bit too quickly.

 _Was that what she meant?_ Harry wondered, horrified. Hurting someone that you were that close to? The thought of doing anything to intentionally hurt someone he cared about turned Harry's stomach. He walked to the French door, just as something to do, and looked out at the back yard.

He hadn't wanted to know that. Not the thing about Nathaniel; that was horrifying in its own right, but it was something that he could feel sorry for, feel angry about. But knowing that people existed out there that like to hurt others, and knowing that he might know some of them, had maybe fought one of them the previous night...

 _Is that what I will have to become, to cast the Cruciatus curse?_ Harry asked himself. _I won't ever do that. I can't._

There were small clinking sounds behind Harry. Nathaniel had gone back to eating.

 _How am I supposed to feel about this?_ Harry turned and looked at Nathaniel. _He can't be more than twenty-two. How long ago was he doing that?_ Part of him knew with crystal certainty that Anita would never let anyone hurt Nathaniel, so it had to happen before then. But when?

"If you want to say something, just say it." Nathaniel said blankly, concentrating on his plate.

Harry wasn't sure how to phrase his question with anything resembling tact. "Why did you do that?"

Nathaniel lifted a forkful of hashbrowns to his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he answered. "I needed the money. It was better than starving to death."

"But what about your parents?"

Nathaniel put his fork on his plate. "Dead."

"Wasn't there anyone to take you in?"

Nathaniel stood up and carried his plate to the sink. "There was." Harry could hear anger in his voice, a distant, useless anger. "There was someone to take us in after Mom died."

"Who's us?" Harry had to ask. In the days since he'd met Nathaniel, the wereleopard had never mentioned any brothers or sisters.

Nathaniel turned around to face Harry. "I had a brother."

_Had._

"He's dead. I ran." Nathaniel glared at Harry, almost daring him to do something, say something.

Harry looked down at his hands. "Did Anita save you?" he asked before he thought.

Nathaniel let out a ragged breath. "Eventually. Anita always saves me." He shook his head and went over to the stove. "But no matter what I do, I can never save her."

* * *

Nathaniel and Harry stayed in the kitchen, talking about stuff, sometimes magic, sometimes lycanthropy. All mention of hookers and strippers was left alone, for the time being. The bodyguards all drifted in to get food in shifts, and Harry ended up helping Nathaniel cook breakfast for everyone.

At one point, Micah had appeared, taken one look around, then vanished again. He came back half an hour later and headed straight for the coffee maker.

Harry, who was drying dishes, noticed that Nathaniel hunched in on himself when Micah walked past him. It was almost as if the younger man was trying to make himself invisible.

After Micah settled himself at the table and had drunk half his coffee, he finally spoke. "What happened this morning?"

Nathaniel didn't answer. Harry frowned, and put the last clean plate in the cupboard. "Did Anita tell you about the broken mug?" he asked.

"Anita didn't tell me anything," Micah said, the faintest hint of a growl in his voice.

Harry put down his dishtowel and leaned against the island counter. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs." Micah finished off his coffee. "Did she eat anything?"

If possible, Nathaniel seemed to get even smaller. "No," he said in a tiny voice.

"I thought I told you to make her some breakfast," Micah said, the growl in his voice growing more pronounced.

"No, wait," Harry said. He probably shouldn't get in the middle of this, but Micah didn't know all that was going on. "He made her coffee, but she just took off."

"If she wants to eat, I can make her something now," Nathaniel added quietly. "All she needs to do is say something."

Micah glared at Nathaniel for another second, then put his head in his hands. "She doesn't want to eat. She doesn't want to do anything, except wait for Richard to get here about that fucking pack meeting."

"What?" Nathaniel said sharply. "She can't go to that. She's still hurt!"

Micah made a gesture with his hands. "Feel free to let her know. I spent half an hour trying to tell her just that."

"But--"

"Drop it, Nathaniel," Micah ordered. "We're going to wait for Richard to get here in a few hours. End of story."

Harry couldn't figure out if the bitterness in Micah's voice was directed at him or at Richard. And he also wasn't sure a pack meeting was still a good idea. Bellatrix was still out there. She'd attacked the werewolves once before, what would stop her from doing it again? 


	17. If Thine Enemy is Hungry, Give Him Bread to Eat

* * *

Richard arrived at noon. Noah answered the door, then came back into the living room and stood, hovering and bodyguard-like, by the wall behind Micah. Harry looked up from a chapter about repelling curses as Richard stalked into the room, prickly power swirling around him like an invisible cloak.

"Where's Anita?" the werewolf demanded, coming to a dead halt.

From the corner of the couch where he was slouched, Micah looked at Richard. "Upstairs," he said. His voice was mild, but there was something behind it, a sensation of hot animal power that made Harry want to duck his head. Harry made himself keep his head up. Nathaniel, who had curled up on the rug by Harry's end of the sofa, didn't fare so well. At Micah's words, he hunched over a little and crossed his arms.

Richard took another step toward Micah, and it was enough to make Merle, Micah's other bodyguard, push off the wall where he was standing and come closer to his Nimir-Raj. That in turn made Shang-Da and Jamil, who Harry hadn't seen at first, flank Richard.

"So go get her," Richard said shortly.

Micah didn't move. "Go tell Anita that Richard's here, Noah."

Nathaniel, who had started to get up when Micah began to speak, stopped when Micah said the bodyguard's name. Slowly, he sank back onto the carpet, his shoulders stiff.

Richard ignored him. "Why isn't she down here already?" he asked sharply. "How's she doing?"

Micah stood up, his arms loose at his sides. Even though he was almost a foot shorter than the Ulfric, he didn't seem weaker, Harry realized. Carefully, Harry closed his book and laid it to the side, just in case he needed to go for his wand. _But what am I going to do if I need my wand?_ he wondered.

"She's great," Micah said. "Went for a stroll down by the lake this morning before tennis." The sarcasm in his voice was almost thick enough to bite.

Richard opened his mouth, closed it, then narrowed his eyes. "Do you think this is funny?" he demanded, taking another step toward Micah. "How the fuck can you joke about this?"

"Nothing about this is funny," Micah shot back. "And if you hadn't taken off last night, you'd know exactly how Anita was."

Harry saw Richard flinch, just a little. "She told me to leave."

Micah shook his head and stepped back. "Anita bitching at you isn't something that happened because of last night," he scoffed. "It's a given! You didn't see me or Nathaniel bailing, did you?"

Richard made a move like he was going to follow Micah, but Jamil caught his arm and held on. After a moment, Richard shook Jamil's hand off and stalked over to the other side of the room, away from Micah. "Jean-Claude also left," Richard pointed out.

"Jean-Claude sent Requiem and Wicked Truth to watch the house until sun-up." Micah ran his hand over his head to his ponytail. "The wererats left three people here. She's your goddamn Lupa and you didn't even leave anyone!"

"You didn't need anyone!" Richard's voice was rising, and with it a feeling of rage, so hot and thick it almost hurt.

"That is not the fucking point--" Micah stopped abruptly. Richard whirled around, and Harry caught sight of Anita, standing in the entranceway to the living room. Beside her was Noah, tall and muscular, and Harry was startled at how small and fragile Anita looked next to him.

The room was silent for a moment. Then Anita rubbed her hands on her shorts and looked at Micah. "I thought you were going to tell me when Richard got here," she said. Her voice sounded better than it had that morning, but still a bit raw.

Micah suddenly looked tired. "He just got here. I sent Noah as soon as he got here."

Anita eyes never left Micah's face. "Oh." She licked her lips. "We should start, then."

"Anita, are you sure you're up to this?" Richard asked as Anita made her way to an unoccupied end of the couch.

"I'm fine, Richard," Anita said as she shakily lowered herself to the couch. She was so obviously not fine, but Harry wasn't going to be the one to point it out to her. What good would it do? "The world's not going to stop for me to get over this. We've got pack business to deal with."

Richard looked as if he wanted to argue, but he didn't say anything. He leaned against the wall, and Jamil and Shang-Da took up positions at the end of the room.

When no one said anything for a few moments, Anita finally looked at Richard. "So?"

Richard crossed his arms over his chest. "Micah, if you'll excuse us?"

"I'm not leaving," came the immediate answer.

Richard glowered. "This is pack business, and you're not pack."

"I'm not leaving," Micah repeated calmly.

 _Is that it?_ Harry wondered. _Is it the whole leopard and wolf thing that's making Richard and Micah so on edge?_ Nathaniel and Jason had been okay with each other, Harry remembered. Maybe it was an alpha thing? Or was it something else? Was it Anita?

"Richard," Anita said. "Micah stays."

Richard shook his head.

Anita sighed and let her head rest on one arm she'd propped up on the couch. She kept staring at Richard.

"Fine," he muttered after a minute. "He can stay."

While the conversation had been taking place, Nathaniel had been very still and silent by Harry's feet.

"How do things stand, Richard?" Anita asked as she pulled her legs up to her chest. She stared down at the carpet.

Letting out a sound that was close to a sigh, Richard said, "So the meeting's still going ahead tonight. Just smaller."

"How much smaller?" Micah asked.

Richard clenched his jaw just a little before he responded. "Instead of the whole pack, I've got about thirty people coming. It's going to be enough to get my point with Suzanne across."

Suzanne. Harry had forgotten that the pack meeting was supposed to be about her. Jason had mentioned what had happened, that one of the werewolves infected her boyfriend and hadn't brought him to the lupanar for the full moon, but he hadn't explained why it was such a bad thing. Now, Harry couldn't understand why Richard looked so grim, or what he was planning to do.

"What are you going to do to her?" Harry blurted out.

Both Richard and Micah turned to look at him. "Not what you think," Richard said.

"I don't know what I think," Harry replied. "I don't know anything of what you'd do to someone who did what she did. I don't even know what she did was so wrong!"

Even as he spoke, Harry was cursing his honourable Gryffindor instincts. He really should just shut up and let the werewolves deal with their own. But if he was going to be one of them, he wouldn't be able to just stand by and let something bad needlessly happen to someone, even a stranger.

As Richard frowned, Anita's voice cut across the room. "She infected her boyfriend."

"And Richard may have infected me, but no one's saying he should be punished!" Harry exclaimed. When he saw the expression on Richard's face, he faltered momentarily. "Well, it's true!" 

"That's not why she's being punished." Anita leaned forward on the couch. "She didn't tell anyone. She let him run free that first night."

"But Jason said nothing happened." 

"Something could have." Anita stared at Harry. "If he had hurt anyone, or killed anyone, the police might have killed him. If they didn't, they could have stuck him in a halfway house. You can't get out of those, Harry. It's a one-way trip."

"But what does this have to do with Suzanne?" Harry asked.

Anita took a breath, then closed her eyes in pain. It looked as if she was trying to swallow, but it hurt too much.

Richard pushed off the wall, concern mingling with horror on his face. He took two steps toward her and stopped, as if he was not sure what to do.

Anita finally managed to swallow, but she kept her eyes closed for a few seconds. Then she took a breath, opened her eyes, and continued.

"There's no point in there being a pack if we don't protect everyone, Harry," she said quietly. "If we need to threaten someone for the safety of the whole pack, we do it."

There was some sense in what Anita said, but Harry didn't have time to think it over.

"Anita, this is crazy!" Richard exclaimed. "You're still hurt, there is no way you can come out tonight!"

"I'm fine," Anita said faintly, looking down. It looked to Harry as if she locked eyes with Nathaniel momentarily. Then she looked away.

"You're not fine!" Richard paced across the room, as if standing still was too difficult. "You can't even swallow right, how are you going to deal with tonight?"

Anita shot to her feet. "Don't you tell me what I can fucking handle!" she shouted. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself tonight, okay? I've got a job to do and I'll damned well do it!"

As Anita yelled at Richard, Micah had gotten up and stopped by her side. He tried to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away from him. Micah didn't follow her.

"Richard." Shang-Da gave his Ulfric a look, and to Harry's eyes, it wasn't all that friendly.

Richard locked eyes with Shang-Da for a few moments, then glanced at Harry. "You don't have to do anything tonight, Anita."

"Don't fucking start again," Anita said wearily. She went back to the end of the couch and leaned against the upholstered overstuffed arm.

"I'm not starting," Richard told her. "It's just..." He seemed at a loss of what to say next.

Jamil stepped in. "What he's trying to say is that Sylvie's done all the leg work on this one."

"Meaning what?" Micah asked.

"She went to see Suzanne and convinced her that it would be in everyone's best interests for her to admit she was wrong," Jamil said with a smirk.

Harry frowned at Jamil's phrasing. He wasn't sure what sort of action such 'convincing' would take, and he couldn't not know. "What did she do?"

Jamil shrugged. "Nothing bad. Sylvie told Suzanne all about the big nasty witch attacking us and how Richard's temper was pretty much non-existent because of it. Suzanne may be a bit of a pain in the ass, but she's got good survival instincts. She saw Sylvie's point."

Hearing it like that, it made a sort of sense. Harry also couldn't help but be glad that nothing violent was going to happen, even if Sylvie had used Bellatrix as a threat. _A threat that I brought into their midst._ He licked his lips nervously. "So what happens next?"

"Suzanne shows up tonight, grovels at Richard's feet, and we introduce what's-his-name to the pack. Same as we'll introduce you."

"Paul," Richard muttered. "His name's Paul."

Harry stood up, his legs bumping against Nathaniel. "What do you mean, introduce me?" he asked sharply.

He suddenly remembered with icy clarity, standing in the entrance hall of Hogwarts, waiting to be Sorted, while Ron muttered on about wrestling a troll. There was probably no troll-wrestling to be had in the Missouri woods,, but that left a whole lot of other things that he might need to do.

"We just take you to the pack and introduce you. They're going to want to smell you," Richard said. "Nothing bad."

The conversation was touching on unfamiliar topics, and Harry felt a bit confused as he tried to take in everything at once. "Smell me?" Richard nodded. "Am I going to need to take a bath?"

Jamil snorted, and even Shang-Da cracked a smile. "Whatever you want," Richard said, ignoring his bodyguards. "It's just so we can know your scent, know that you're going to be pack."

When Richard said it like that, Harry supposed it didn't sound too horrible. If Suzanne wasn't going to be hurt, Harry didn't think the evening would be too bad.

"What about the witch?" Nathaniel asked quietly from the floor.

Richard glared down at the wereleopard, as if only noticing him for the first time. "What about the witch?" he asked through clenched teeth.

Nathaniel stood up in a quick fluid motion, and went to stand beside and just a little behind Micah, putting the Nimir-Raj's body between him and Richard. "If she found Harry last night in the woods, she might try and find him again," Nathaniel pointed out. "What if she comes back again?"

Right. Harry drew out his wand and tapped one end on his open palm, thinking. He had spent the better part of the morning how he would fight Bellatrix this time, what curses he would use and what actions he would take. "If she comes back, I try and stop her," he said quietly. He was amazed and a little bit horrified at how calm his voice was, considering what he was thinking of doing. "I'm not going to let anyone else get hurt."

"Is that going to be enough?" Nathaniel asked Harry, his violet eyes bright.

Harry swallowed, hard. He couldn't lie. "Maybe." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I don't know, maybe Nathaniel's right, maybe me going out there is a stupid idea."

For the first time, Merle spoke. "If this witch is as dangerous as you say, staying here will only put everyone in this house at risk."

Richard frowned. "What about those wards Harry put up last night?" he asked.

Harry glanced over at Anita, who appeared to be ignoring the conversation while staring at the carpet. "The wards can stop someone from apparating in, that's all."

"So if she wants to walk in, she can do so," Merle pressed.

The words stuck in Harry's throat for a moment. Being somewhere, inside, was supposed to be safe, like at Hogwarts. Fat chance of that. "Yes. We'll know she's coming, but she can still come in."

"So it might be safer if Harry goes to the lupanar tonight," Micah said.

Harry didn't want to say yes, in case Bellatrix went after the wolves, but he didn't want to say no, in case she attacked the house and the wereleopards.

"So what you're trying to do is get the witch to go after my wolves, not your leopards," Richard interrupted, his voice harsh again.

Micah glared at Richard. "I was talking about Harry's safety," he replied, annoyed. "Being surrounded by forty-odd lycanthropes if a witch attacks might be safer than if there's only a few around. She might think better of attacking if she's massively outnumbered."

"And the minor side-effect that none of your leopards will be hurt is just an added bonus?"

"Two of mine were already hurt!" Micah exclaimed. "Or were you just not paying attention to that?"

"What two?" Richard asked, confusion on his face.

Micah narrowed his eyes at Richard, looking very cat-like. "Nathaniel and Anita." His voice had dropped a bit lower than normal.

Anita stood up and walked across the room. She paused by Jamil, and carefully looked up at him. "Are you okay?" she asked in a tiny voice.

All hints of previous laughter gone, Jamil nodded. "Good as new."

Anita nodded back, a jerky movement of her head, and kept walking.

"Anita," Richard called after her. She vanished around the corner.

"Let her go," Micah growled. "Just leave her the fuck alone."

Richard whirled on Micah. "What, like you are?" he spat. "Are you even attempting to help her, or are you just hoping she'll get over it so you can get back to your twice-daily roll in the hay?"

The last part of Richard's angry comment cause an uncomfortable feeling in Harry's stomach. He slipped his wand back into his pocket and began to edge toward the door. "Can I go?" he asked.

Micah and Richard said, "Yes," at the same time, then glared at each other even harder.

Harry took the opportunity to escape into the hall. If Anita thought it was okay to leave the two of them alone, and the bodyguards were there, Harry didn't see what he could add to the situation.

The sounds of raised voices followed Harry down the hall, and he shook his head as he started climbing the stairs. He'd been fine until Richard had made that comment about Anita and Micah having sex. It had been so negative and unhappy that it made Harry not want to hear any more.

 _It's their business, not Richard's,_ Harry thought stubbornly. _He shouldn't talk people like that._

Harry knew he should be thinking about Bellatrix, and the threat she posed, but he was getting tired of jumping at every noise, every fluttering movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders were tight and his whole body ached with unused adrenaline. What good was all this if he didn't have something to attack? Was this what Mad-Eye Moody meant with _constant vigilance_? How could anyone be this alert all the time and not go crazy?

Once at the top of the stairs, Harry stopped. He had forgotten his DADA book back in the living room. He considered going back to get it, but judging on how loud Richard was shouting, the fight wasn't over. He'd get the book later.

Harry rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, and almost stepped on Anita. Her dark eyes were huge as she stared up at Harry solemnly from where she sat on the hall carpet.

"Why are you here?" he asked, like an idiot.

Anita pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. "Is there somewhere else to go?"

"I suppose not." From the living room below, voices rose up for a moment, then cut off abruptly. Harry had a moment to wonder if Richard and Micah had thrown themselves at one another, when the front door slammed, and the house was silent.

Anita closed her eyes and laid her cheek on her knees. "I thought it was going to work," she said softly.

Harry sat down on the carpet across the hall from Anita. "Thought what was going to work?"

"This." Anita opened her eyes and stared blankly into space. "Me and Micah and Nathaniel and the vampires and Richard, all one big happy family."

She sounded so miserable that Harry wanted to say something to comfort her, but what could he say? He didn't even know half of what was going on around the house half the time.

"It worked for a while, I guess," Anita continued. "Everything seemed to be going along okay. Then Richard just stopped making it work." She rubbed her eyes. "God, you must think I'm the world's biggest slut."

Harry crossed his legs and put his elbows on his knees. He had been wondering out Anita's living arrangements, especially after his talk with Micah about the ardeur. It certainly was very different from anything he had ever heard of, but he had figured it the sort of thing that necromancers and wereleopards and vampires might do. "Not really, no."

Anita didn't say anything. The silence in the house seemed oppressive, and Harry wondered what Micah and Nathaniel and the bodyguards were doing. Maybe they'd left with Richard.

"About Bellatrix..." Harry began.

"What about her?" Anita asked flatly. She picked idly at the carpet with her fingernails, still not looking at Harry.

"I..." What did he want to say? That he was sorry? That he didn't know if he could stop her? That he didn't want to die? "I've been reading up, on curses and stuff. I think I'll be more prepared this time."

Anita laid her hand flat on the carpet. "How did she know you were going to be there, anyway?"

Her voice cracked, just a little, but if she could pretend that she was okay, so could Harry.

"I don't know. Maybe she saw me somewhere and cast a tracer on me or something?"

"Do you mean like maybe at the crime scene?" 

Harry shrugged. It didn't hurt his shoulder at all. "Or at the Circus, if she was after the snakes?"

"Maybe." Anita licked her lips. "Is she human?"

It was an odd thing to ask. "How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Is she human?" Anita repeated. "Can she die like a normal human? Or does she have some sort of super healing like a lycanthrope?"

"Oh." Harry tried to remember all he had learned about Bellatrix in the previous year. Everything he knew of her was mixed with anger and guilt in his memory, and it felt so horrible he almost didn't want to think about it. _Stop acting like a child!_ Harry admonished himself. No one had time for his squeamish feelings. "I think she's normal. Death Eaters are usually just like everyone else."

"So if I shoot her, she'll die?"

"Probably." Harry's guts clenched. They were talking casually about killing someone. True, an evil and vicious someone who had killed one of the most important people in Harry's life, and someone who Harry had seriously considered killing himself. But this was different. This was out loud. This was real.

"What's wrong?" Anita asked.

Harry looked down at his hands. "I thought that only the bad guys are supposed to kill people."

Anita sighed. "Do you remember what I told you this morning?"

Harry considered deliberately misunderstanding her, but the expression on her face stopped him. She was so serious. "About protecting people?"

Anita nodded.

"But--"

"Life's not like the movies," Anita interrupted. "The good guys can't afford to always let everyone live. If someone's trying to kill you, and you let them live so they can try again, that's not noble. It's suicide."

Her words made Harry uncomfortable. The Order of the Phoenix hadn't ever killed anyone, that Harry knew of, and they were the good guys. Right? 

Could Harry kill someone and still be a good guy? He didn't want to be evil. But wasn't that what the prophecy said? He had to kill Voldemort, had to become a murderer, in order to live. Now that he thought of it, there hadn't ever been a time when he had considered letting Voldemort just kill him and be done with it. Harry wanted to live. He'd pretty much made the decision to kill Voldemort. Could he kill Bellatrix, to prevent her from killing him?

He wanted to scream and yell, to deny what was going on, even if it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he asked, calmly, "Have you always thought that?" 

Anita considered. "No. It used to be all black and white. The bad guys killed, the good guys didn't." She lifted her head and traced fingers along a crooked cross-shaped scar on her arm.

"Did the bad guys do that?" Harry asked.

Nodding, Anita said, "I was after a master vampire. His Renfields caught me and branded me. They thought it was funny. They laughed right up until I killed them."

Harry didn't know what to say. She spoke about it so matter-of-factly. "Is that how the rest of them happened? The scars?"

"Not really." Anita pointed at a set of delicate scars running over the cross. "This one was from a shape-shifting witch. She tried to kill Zerbrowski and me."

"Your elbow?"

Anita extended her arm. "A vampire tried to eat me. He chewed out my elbow and then broke my collarbone with his teeth."

"How did you get away?" Harry asked, spellbound.

"I let him lick the bone ends while I reached for holy water with my other hand," Anita told him. "We thought we'd burned out the whole nest, but he got away."

"Oh." Harry thought about what he had been through at school. Suddenly, fighting Voldemort in the graveyard didn't seem quite so gigantic. "Who's we?"

Anita shifted her weight and stretched her legs out in front of her. "Me and Edward. He's a... I guess he's a friend." She frowned. "Sometimes I think I might be the only friend Edward has."

She looked down at her fingers, where she still had dirt wedged under her nails. While she concentrated on her hands, Harry heard faint movement downstairs, then the murmur of Micah's voice.

"I don't want to talk about me anymore," Anita said abruptly. "Tell me about you."

"What?" Harry asked, a bit off-guard. "What do you want to hear?" He thought she would want to know more about Bellatrix or Voldemort.

"We were talking about my friends," Anita said. "Tell me about your friends."

"I don't know--"

"Please?"

There was a wildness in her eyes, something faint but definitely there. It was something that Harry recognized, the _I can't talk about this anymore_ look he'd seen often in the mirror after Sirius died.

"Well, I've got two real good friends," he said slowly. The near-panic in Anita's eyes faded, and he carried on. "Ron and Hermione. I've known them since the first day of school. At Hogwarts, I mean."

"Hermione?" Anita raised her eyebrows.

"Yeah, the one I called day before yesterday." Was it only yesterday? It seemed like so long ago.

"Were you friends right away?" Anita asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not with Hermione. Me and Ron were. I didn't know how to get to the platform, to get on the train, and I saw Ron's mum and all the Weasleys, and I sort of followed them."

Anita listed as Harry told her of his first encounter with the Weasleys, and in getting on the train, and the look on Ron's face when he admitted that he was indeed Harry Potter.

"... and then the food cart came along, and I think I asked for one of everything." Harry smiled slightly at the recollection. "God, I must have looked like such a prat. I'd never had money before, and there I was, ordering all the candy I could."

"Why didn't you had any money before?" Anita asked.

"The Dursleys never gave me any pocket money before," Harry replied. "Before I started school, I went to Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. My parents had left their money there, and I was given the key for the account just before I went to Hogwarts."

"Do Wizards have a different currency?" 

"Yes," Harry said. In all the chaos of the past few days, sitting here and explaining his world to someone was actually helping him to centre himself. "There's galleons, sickles and knuts."

The corner of Anita's mouth twitched. "Knuts?"

Harry fought to keep a straight face. "Yes. A wizard has to be careful when asking for someone to pass him his money, though."

"Like 'hand me my knuts'?" Anita said.

It was a juvenile joke, but one that always made Harry want to laugh. The sameness of it made Harry relax, just a little. "Or 'has anyone seen my knuts?'"

Anita smiled, just a little, and Harry echoed the smile. She seemed to be getting... maybe better wasn't the word, but it looked like she was pulling herself together.

"But Ron and I have been friends right from the start. He didn't mind that I didn't know anything about the Wizarding world." Harry looked down at his hands. He wondered what Ron was doing right then. Maybe he was using Harry's Firebolt, or maybe he was feeding Hedwig. Harry wished that Ron were there. His best friend usually had a way of making every dangerous situation not seem so hopeless.

"What's he like?" Anita asked softly.

Harry thought for a moment. "He's brave. Loyal. The best friend anyone could ever want. He's also a brilliant strategist. His grades aren't as good as Hermione's... well, no one's are, but he's gotten very good at defensive magic and curses since fifth year."

"What happened in fifth year?"

 _Sirius, falling through the Veil._ "We all almost died," Harry said. He managed to keep his voice level. Anita just looked at him. "We got into a fight with the Death Eaters. Ron and Hermione almost died." _Because I let Voldemort trick me_.

"Are they okay?"

"They are now." Harry stretched out his legs in front of him, trying to make himself more comfortable.

"Good." Anita pushed her hair back from her face. The bruise on her jaw had faded somewhat, so it no longer looked as if she'd slammed her face on a rock the previous night. "Tell me about the other one."

"Who, Hermione?" Harry asked. "She's brilliant. Really, really smart. I don't think I've ever met a smarter witch. She knows all the curses, spells, everything. She's also a really good friend, even if sometimes me and Ron make it hard." 

"You said you weren't friends right away with her?"

"We weren't. On the train that first day, she came into the compartment Ron and I were in, all bossy and know-it-all. Plus, she was a girl, and eleven-year-old boys don't make friends with girls," Harry said mockingly.

"So when did that change?"

"Halloween. Professor Quirrell let a mountain troll into the dungeons and it cornered Hermione in the girl's bathroom," Harry said. "Ron and I managed to knock the troll out, but then the professors were going to punish us for going after a troll on our own, so Hermione told them that it was her idea. Saved us a lot of trouble. We've been friends ever since."

"Wait, a troll?" Anita frowned. "Why would a troll attack humans? Trolls are scavengers. They wouldn't attack unless they were threatened."

That didn't tally with Harry's experience with trolls. "This one did. Maybe trolls over here are different than at home?"

"Maybe." Anita kept frowning. "If you want to talk about trolls, you should talk to Richard. He did his master's degree on trolls in Tennessee."

For some reason, it surprised Harry to think of having a life outside of the werewolves. He knew that Richard taught school, but he hadn't thought of what else the man might do. It was strange, really. He'd never thought about what his own teachers did on their off time.

"They sound nice," Anita said, her voice vaguely wistful.

Harry suddenly realized he'd been talking about himself for quite some time. "What about you?" he asked politely. "Did you have many friends in school?"

Anita's face went blank so fast that Harry started to wonder what he'd said wrong. "No," she said after a minute. "I didn't." She tried to smile, but it didn't quite work. "No one wanted to play with the freak." She stood up and, crossing her arms over her chest, paced back and forth along the hallway. "It didn't really bother me, not really," she said. "I was always different. Too short, not white enough, not belonging to anyone. So what if I raised the dead? Just another thing for people to not like about me."

"Did you... could you raise the dead, even back then?" Harry asked quietly as he watched Anita pace. Her movements were jerky, not at all like the smooth fluid walk he'd seen her use in the first days he'd known her.

"Even back then," Anita said. "It started when I was little. I saw my first soul when I was eight."

Harry's mouth fell open. She could see souls? How could anyone see souls? He'd never even heard of anyone do that.

"When I was thirteen, my dog Jenny died," Anita continued. "I woke up one night and there she was, all dead and covered in dirt and watching me. She was empty inside but she still walked around."

A shiver ran down Harry's spine. What would it be like to have the dead suddenly come back? To have Sirius back, looking at him with empty, dead eyes?

"It got worse. Finally, my dad took me down to Mexico and left me with my grandmother. She was vaudun. A voodoo priestess," Anita clarified at Harry's confused expression. "He told her to fix me."

"Did she?"

Anita stopped pacing and leaned against a wall. "Yeah. She showed me how to contain the power, how to keep it inside. God," Anita exclaimed, "She could have shown me so much, and all she did was teach me to keep everything inside."

Slowly, Harry stood up. "Why didn't she show you more?" he asked.

Anita looked up at him, her eyes dark. "She was worried I'd go all evil. My own grandmother thought that if I knew all I could do, I'd become evil." She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe she was right," Anita added tonelessly.

"Was she?" Harry slouched against the wall. "Just because you could have known stuff that was powerful, would you have gone evil?"

Anita didn't answer.

"Just because you can do evil stuff doesn't make you evil," Harry argued. "Look, Voldemort used to be known as Tom Riddle, just a normal wizard. He was like me, his mum dead. He grew up in an orphanage because no one wanted him. The Durselys didn't want me, either, but when Tom went evil, I didn't. We started out the same, learned a lot of the same stuff, but I'm not going to turn out like him, ever."

Harry's voice was a bit desperate when he finished. It was something that had been stewing in his brain ever since he had learned about Voldemort's past. Why were they so different, if they started from such similar backgrounds? The Durselys only ever tolerated him. His life in primary school had been miserable, thanks to Dudley. But Harry had never thought of himself as a bad person, not even when the Dursleys were being intolerable. Maybe, just maybe, if he had not met Ron on the train, if he had shaken Draco Malfoy's hand that first day at Hogwarts, if he had let the Sorting Hat place him in Slytherin... so many ifs, and no answers.

"Maybe you're right," Anita said. She rested her head against the wall.

Harry's stomach grumbled unhappily. It had been only a few hours since breakfast, but Harry had only eaten a few bites. Suddenly, he was ravenous. "Look, I'm going to go downstairs to get some lunch."

"Oh."

When had Anita last eaten? Maybe dinner the previous night? They had eaten early so they could get to the lupanar when it was still light. Harry knew she hadn't eaten breakfast. "Do you want me to make you something?"

Anita didn't reply for so long that Harry was about to repeat the question. "If you're making something, then I guess so."

It was a start, Harry reasoned. As he followed Anita downstairs, he wondered if she was really feeling better, or if she was just getting better at hiding whatever she was thinking.

* * *

They drove to the lupanar in silence. Harry was in the backseat with Jason, while Anita sat, very unhappily, in the passenger seat. Graham was driving.

Micah had been adamant that Anita not drive. She'd argued with him for about ten minutes about it, but when he'd finally pointed out that she kept dropping things, she'd snapped her mouth shut and stormed out of the house.

Privately, Harry was a bit glad that Graham was behind the wheel, especially after dark. Anita had dropped a plate at lunch, which Micah had caught before it hit the ground, and then a shoe when she was getting ready to leave. Harry didn't want to have to think what might happen if she lost her grip on the steering wheel while driving.

Harry looked out the window, lost in thought, wondering about what was going to happen that night. He wasn't sure what to expect. Would some of the other werewolves be angry at him because Anita had been hurt?

Watching the trees flash by as they drove deeper and deeper into the woods, Harry found himself thinking of the Forbidden Forest. What dangers lay in these trees?

Graham finally turned off the road and drove into the clearing. It was crowded with cars, all models and shapes. Easing the Jeep between a red convertible and an old beat-up van, Graham turned off the engine and undid his seatbelt.

"Come on," Jason murmured under his breath to Harry. They got out of the Jeep.

Graham met them beside the van. "Do either of you want to go get Anita?" he asked quietly.

Harry looked back at the Jeep. Anita hadn't moved.

"Considering what happened last night out here, do you blame her for not wanting to get out?" Jason whispered. As he finished, the passenger door of the Jeep opened, and Anita slid out of the seat. She slammed the door behind her and walked past Harry and the werewolves without a word. Graham and Jason exchanged a look, and trailed after her, dragging Harry along with them.

They had made it past most of the cars when someone came out of the gathering dark, someone Harry recognized. It was Clay, the werewolf from the Circus of the Damned. "Hey."

Graham nodded back. Anita stopped. "Why are you here?" she asked.

Clay smiled lazily at her. "Richard asked me to play bodyguard to Harry tonight. Just in case anyone gets any ideas."

Anita stared at Clay, then shook her head.

"And I've got something for you," Clay continued. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun, offering it to Anita handle first. "Your Browning."

Anita took the gun, holding it firmly. Harry was immensely pleased that she didn't drop it as she checked it for something, then tucked it into the waistband of her shorts. "Thanks."

Clay turned to Harry. "I need to smell you," he said.

"What?" Harry blurted out.

"Smell you," Clay repeated. "So I know who you are. It won't hurt, I promise."

Glad he had taken a few minutes to shower after lunch, Harry made himself stand still as the taller man walked over, then bent his head. He sniffed his way along Harry's neck, then raised up to smell the top of Harry's head. He was frowning when he stepped back.

"What is it?" Jason asked.

"He already sort of smells like pack," Clay said. "Not completely. But kind of like Anita."

"You're just saying that because he used her soap," Jason said, slapping Harry on his bad shoulder. Harry twitched at the slight pain. "Sorry."

"It's not that," Clay said. "But that's good. Pack is good."

"Now that we've all played scratch and sniff with the new guy, can we get going?" Graham asked. "We're going to be late."

"They're not going to start without Anita," Jason said as Anita turned on her heel and led the way into the woods.

As soon as Harry stepped into the trees, he began to feel more like himself. Even though it was dark, he found that he could see with the faint moonlight shining through the branches. The tension that had been riding in his shoulders since the previous night loosened.

Up ahead, there was a faint flickering light. As they got closer, Harry saw that someone had placed a lit candle in a glass lantern, and hung it from a tree branch. Looking deeper into the woods, Harry saw another faint light in the distance.

"They're to guide the way to the lupanar," Jason told him as they carried on. "In the winter, we use real torches, but it's so dry in the woods this summer that Richard doesn't want to risk a forest fire."

As they walked over the dry forest floor, Harry wondered if he could light some torches with a magical fire, so there would be no risk of having anything else burn. _Hermione would know. Maybe I can ask her for next time--_

He stopped so suddenly that Jason almost walked into him. _What am I doing?_ he thought frantically. _I can't stay. I have to go back to Hogwarts and finish school! And Voldemort..._

He couldn't. Could he? Just never go back to England, let the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry deal with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But wasn't it his responsibility to face Voldemort?

 _Why does it have to be me?_ Harry thought, his heart racing. _How often is a prophecy right, anyway?_

Anita walked over to Harry. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, unable to speak. He'd never thought about not going back, not really. Could he stay? Could he leave everything else behind?

"Come on, then." Anita held out her hand to him. "They're waiting."

Harry took hold of her hand. Her fingers were cold where they wrapped around his palm, and he let her guide him deeper into the woods.

* * *

The clearing of the lupanar was rimmed with real flaming torches, casting light onto an odd scene. A bare-chested Richard was perched on stone chair, same as the night before, and Sylvie and Jamil were close by the chair. A number of people stood around the edges of the clearing, watching two people in the centre of open space.

A man stood uneasily beside a kneeling woman. Harry could almost feel the agitation that was coming off the man.

Richard looked over as Anita led Harry to a part of the clearing near the throne. She let go of his hand and walked over to the throne. Clay and Jason stopped on either side of Harry.

"We are here tonight to deal with one of our own," Richard said, his voice booming across the suddenly silent clearing. "And to welcome a new pack member."

The only sound came from the leave rustling in the trees as a slightly cooling breeze blew across the lupanar.

Richard pushed himself off the throne in a smooth motion and stalked toward the woman in the centre of the clearing. He stopped a few feet from her. She hunched her head, not looking up at him.

"Do you have something you want to say, Suzanne?" Richard demanded.

The woman raised her head. She was trembling slightly. "Y-yes," she stuttered.

Richard waited.

"I... I made Paul one of us, last month. When the full moon came, I did not bring him to the lupanar, to the pack." She stopped and took a ragged breath. Her words sounded rehearsed, but the emotion in her voice was very real. "I have come to ask the forgiveness of the pack for my insolence."

A murmuring sound rose up from the gathered werewolves. Richard silenced them with a glance. "And why is what you did so wrong?" he asked.

Suzanne looked over at Paul, then back at Richard. "Because I did not offer him the protection of the lukoi," she said, her voice growing more solid. Or maybe more resigned, Harry didn't know.

Richard circled around Suzanne and Paul. "We are lukoi, we are family!" he said. It sounded like a proclamation, and a few people cheered. Someone let out a howl. "We are protected because we are together! If we are alone, we are weak. Together, we are the Thronos Rokke, the Throne Rock people, and nothing will destroy us!"

More cheers and yells of agreement rose from the watching pack.

Richard stopped in front of Suzanne. She closed her eyes, as if waiting for a blow. Richard dropped to his knees in front of her, and grabbed her upper arms. "From this day forward, you are back at the bottom of the pack," Richard said, his voice sharp. "If you ever repeat this behaviour, you will be banished from the pack, cut off from the lukoi."

He let go of her and stood up. Suzanne sagged to the ground, tears of relief running down her face. Paul dropped to her side and took her hand in his. It was a soft gesture, and Harry wondered if they loved each other.

"Hear me!" Richard exclaimed. The pack fell silent. "This is the only warning I will give! If any member of this pack infects a human and does not inform me immediate, I will not be as tolerant! We are fortunate in this city that the Master calls wolves and that he has allied himself and his vampires with us, as have the wererats and the leopards. But we are still outnumbered by the humans, with their laws and their guns!"

As he spoke, Richard strode back to the throne and stood on the stone step. Every eye in the clearing was upon him.

"I have been called weak for encouraging us to live within the laws as they stand, but everyone here knows what happens when lycanthropes rampage." Some people looked at Anita, and Harry suddenly felt cold. "We will give the humans no excuse to come after us! We will not use our beasts as an excuse to fall to the worst human traits! We will protect our own. These are my words."

As Richard finished speaking, he sat down on the stone chair. Sylvie leaned over and whispered something to him, and he nodded. Sylvie walked across the clearing and pulled Suzanne, not ungently, to her feet. "Suzanne, introduce Paul to his Ulfric," Sylvie said loudly.

Standing, Suzanne was taller than Sylvie, and almost as tall as Paul. She guided Paul up to the throne and to Richard, then gave Paul an encouraging nod. The man took the last step to Richard alone.

Richard leaned forward and Paul bent his head, then rolled his eyes up and licked Richard's lower lip. Harry, who was watching this from the side of the circle, raised his eyebrows. "Am I going to have to do that?" he whispered to Jason.

The blond smirked at Harry. "Only if you don't want to declare yourself Ulfric," he whispered back.

From Harry's other side, Clay leaned in. "You haven't shifted for the first time yet," he said. "You don't need to let Richard acknowledge dominance over you until then."

"Spoilsport," Jason said, as Sylvie guided Paul to the other side of the clearing, where he went through a similar greeting with the first person there, then the next.

Some people, Paul just rubbed cheeks with, while with others he bent his head and licked lips. Harry couldn't see a pattern, and he asked Jason about it.

"The ones he's rubbing cheeks with, they're low in the pack," Jason told him. "So they're kind of equal. Richard told us no challenges tonight, so we're going to have to wait to see how Paul does in the next few months. The other ones, they're more alpha. I have to say this, he seems okay with it."

Someone who was standing next to Clay, a short balding man with curly hair and glasses, leaned around Clay. "I heard that Sylvie told them that pissing off Richard tonight would be a painful idea, and so Paul's just going to do what he's told."

"Is that going to hurt his future standing in the pack?" Jason asked, frowning.

The man shook his head. "I don't think so. You know how scary Sylvie can be when she wants to." He looked at Harry. "I'm Irving."

"Harry." Was he supposed to shake hands? Rub cheeks?

Irving must have sensed his hesitation. "It's okay," he said. "We'll figure it all out next month."

Then Sylvie and Paul were standing in front of Irving. Paul hesitated, then rubbed cheeks with Irving.

The bespectacled man stepped back, and Sylvie guided Paul past Clay and Harry to Jason. Jason grinned up at the new werewolf and rubbed cheeks. "Welcome to the pack," he said as Paul stepped back. Sylvie glared and took Paul back over to where Suzanne was standing, then rejoined Richard by the throne.

"Why didn't Clay greet Paul?" Harry asked Jason.

Jason motioned with his head over to where Shang-Da and Jamil stood beside Anita. "None of the bodyguards play meet and greet," he said. "They need to be busy guarding."

"What about me?"

"Like Irving said, you're not pack yet. Next month. Maybe."

"Oh." Harry looked over the clearing. It seemed as if everyone was taking the lull in the activity to talk with their neighbour. Only a few remained silent. Across the clearing, Harry spotted a man that could only be Stephen. He wondered if he was allowed to wave, or if that was a werewolf faux pas. _Faux paw,_ he thought, and almost giggled nervously. His nerves much have been worse than he had thought if he was making such horrible mental puns.

Richard stood up, and everyone stopped talking. "We have something to do tonight," he said. He held out his hand toward Harry.

Harry didn't move. _Now what?_

He felt Jason's hand on his back and was given a quick shove into the circle. _Great,_ Harry thought as he walked, suddenly feeling very small and very much a target, toward Richard.

He stopped a couple of feet from Richard. The Ulfric briefly put his hand on Harry's shoulder, which Harry thought was some sort of indication of protection, then removed his hand and faced the pack.

"You have probably heard rumours of what happened on the night of the full moon," Richard said. He took a deep breath. "This is Harry. He was the human in the woods. It was my claws that injured him."

"Will he become one of us?" someone called.

"It looks that way," Richard replied. "But that is not all. You all know that Damian is Anita's vampire. Harry is Damian's grandson."

The amount of rather incredulous noise that comment generated made Harry wonder if Stephen had told anyone what they had learned a few nights ago. Richard had to shout to be heard above the noise.

"I'm not finished!" The voices slowed, but not everyone stopped. Richard spoke over them. "Anita has pledged to protect Harry. I will honour that arrangement."

"What about what happened to Anita?" asked someone else.

Richard looked back at Anita, then at the crowd. "Anita and Jamil were attacked last night by a witch, one who knows and was after Harry."

"Will she come back?" the voice asked, as voices rose again. This time, they sounded slightly hostile.

"She might," Richard said. "But that does not change anything."

"Are we to risk our lives for this stranger?" The speaker stepped out of the circle, a medium-height man.

"You are to risk your lives for your Lupa," Richard said.

"But if she risks her life for this boy, then we are by default a part of this!" the man said. A few people spoke in agreement.

Sylvie came to stand by Richard. "What about the wereleopards, Darren? They are not pack, and Anita offers them her protection."

"That's different, they don't have witches after them," the man said.

"So are we to abandon those who look to us for protection, just because it might be dangerous?" Sylvie asked, a hint of a growl in her words. "Turn against our own for sport? Do you remember when we last did that?" She looked around the circle. "Does anyone remember what it was like when Raina and Gabriel pitted the wolves against themselves, those who were too weak to say no?"

She walked out to the centre of the circle, power radiating off her.

"Did no one here listen to what Richard said earlier? We are strong because we stand together. Together, we are strong. Together, we will devour our enemies!" 

Some voices rose in agreement with Sylvie. Not everyone, but more than had agreed with Darren.

"We will soon know if Harry will become lukoi," Richard said. "Until then, heed this. The witch could have attacked Harry. She chose to go after Jamil and Anita. There's nothing we can do to change this, so we just need to deal with it. Got it?"

He stalked back to the throne, leaving Harry in the edge of the circle. Feeling very uneasy, Harry edged over to where Anita was watching silently.

People started milling about, and it looked as if the meeting was breaking up. Harry looked down at Anita as Clay wandered over. "Is that it?" Harry asked.

"For the most part," Clay said. "The next little bit's just people talking to each other."

Over the next half hour, several of the werewolves came over to introduce themselves to Harry, and try to talk to Anita. She was brief to the point of being rude, and eventually they stopped bothering her.

After a while, Sylvie sauntered up. "That went well," she said in a low voice.

"With Suzanne?" Harry asked.

Sylvie nodded. "I think it was the best possible outcome. Richard's right, the more we let our differences divide us, the more danger we are--"

Voice rose suddenly in alarm, and everyone turned around. Some of the werewolves began to run into the woods.

"What--?" Sylvie started.

Shang-Da ran over. "Someone's out there," he said, pulling out a gun. "Jamil thinks it's the witch."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat as he yanked out his wand, just as Clay and Anita both pulled their guns.

Sylvie turned and ran after the other wolves. Richard jumped down from the throne and yelled, "Clay! Anita! Take Harry and go into the woods!" Then he ran after Sylvie.

Harry protested as Clay grabbed his arm and manhandled him out of the clearing. "I should be going with them!" he exclaimed as he was dragged deeper into the dark woods.

"Shh!" Anita ordered. "Protecting you does not including throwing you in front of a witch!" Harry caught a glimpse of her face, illuminated by moonlight. Her eyes were wide, just as they had been the previous night. "Now shut the fuck up!"

Harry shut up and used all his breath for running. Even though he couldn't really see, he moved over the trees and rocks just like the werewolves, but he was too scared to marvel at his new-found grace.

_What if Bellatrix attacks the wolves? I should be there, I'm the only one who can fight her. I'm the one she wants!_

They spilled out of the woods to the bank of a small stream. Anita stopped just under cover of the trees, and everyone stopped near her. She held up her hand for quiet.

The only sounds were the stream and the soft pants of the werewolves. Now that they had stopped, Harry saw that he, Anita and Clay weren't alone. Shang-Da was with them, as were Suzanne and Paul, and about five werewolves Harry didn't know. The strangers and Shang-Da spread out along the edge of the trees, scanning the woods.

Harry realized he was breathing too fast and tried to calm down. Somehow, this was worse than at the Ministry battle, because no one here knew how to use magic to defend themselves. Bellatrix could pick them off one by one and never even break a sweat.

Anita dropped to his side, gun still in hand. "Stay in the trees," she whispered softly.

"Anita--"

"Do it." With that, Anita vanished into the dark.

Suzanne pulled Paul over to a tree near Harry and pushed him down. He grabbed her hand. "Stay down," Suzanne said, barely loud enough for Harry to hear.

"What are you going to do?" Paul replied. He sounded so worried.

In the dim light, Harry saw Suzanne smile at Paul as she extracted her hand from his grip. "I've been doing this longer than you. Just stay down and everything's going to be okay, I promise." Harry wished he had her optimism.

A loud crack echoed in the woods, and Harry threw himself into a roll before he thought. He saw a hint of a black cloak before a shot of blue light slammed into a tree inches above his head. "Protegro!" Harry shouted, an instant before another flash of light came at him. The hex bounced harmlessly off his shield.

There was another crack as Bellatrix vanished, then another from on the stream bank. Harry whirled around. Bellatrix was now behind him, wand pointed at his heart.

Ropes shot out of the end of Bellatrix's wand toward Harry, and he dove to the side, bashing into Paul as he did so. Bellatrix fired another flash of light at Harry and it bit into the tree above Paul's head.

Out of the darkness, Suzanne leaped at Bellatrix, who cut her down with the same flashing red curse she'd used on Jamil the previous day. With another crack, Bellatrix disapparated.

Harry scrambled up and aimed his wand at Suzanne. Even as he spoke the words to reverse the choking hex, he knew he was making himself a huge target, which was probably why Bellatrix had done it.

 _I will not let her kill anyone else because of me,_ Harry thought grimly as Suzanne gasped, the hex removed. Paul ran out into the open and dragged Suzanne into the trees.

Harry hadn't heard Bellatrix apparate back, but maybe he missed it, he thought as he ducked down beside a rock, wand ready. He didn't think she was gone. She'd probably diverted the other wolves, then doubled back for Harry. But how had she known where to find them?

Harry caught sight of Anita, crouched beside a tree several yards away. The moonlight didn't glint off her gun, but Harry knew it was there.

 _The gun._ Of course! Bellatrix could have gone back after they had left the woods the previous night and cast a tracer spell on the gun, and used the spell to find Anita.

Harry opened his mouth to call to Anita to throw the gun away, because who knew what else Bellatrix might have done to it, when his instincts suddenly screamed at him, and he jumped back as a huge rock crashed down on the place he had just been hiding.

Bellatrix was standing in the shadows of a tree, and without thinking, Harry shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

The spell bounced off a shield in front of the witch and she laughed.

There was motion off to Harry's right. He saw a gun being raised and knew it had to be Anita, because no one else was that short. Bellatrix whipped her wand at Anita and yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"

"No!" Harry yelled as instant green death barrelled towards Anita.

Then out of nowhere, Clay threw himself in front of Anita. The green light hit him square in the chest and he fell lifeless to the ground.

Moving quicker than he ever had before, Harry flicked his wand at Bellatrix and yelled, putting his power and rage behind it, "Accio wand!"

Bellatrix's wand was ripped from her hand and flew up and over the shield, landing flat in Harry's hand. Before he thought about it, Harry broke her wand in half.

Bellatrix screamed in rage, her hand still outstretched. They stood frozen like that, for a moment. Harry had time to see the anger and fear in her eyes before she turned and ran.

She didn't make it far. Three huge wolves hurtled out of the darkness and attacked, pushing her to the ground, screaming. More shapes joined them from the darkness, as more werewolves joining the kill.

Bellatrix's screams stopped abruptly, and the only sounds were the snarls from the werewolves.

Harry made himself stand still, watching, as the pack devoured what remained of Bellatrix Lestrange.


	18. Parts of Me I Cannot Hide

* * *

_Should it take this long for werewolves to eat someone?_ Harry thought distantly. He didn't feel altogether there, and he wondered for a moment if maybe he was dead and this was some sort of strange dream. Maybe Bellatrix had hit him with the Killing Curse instead, and his mind was still adjusting to being dead.

That thought came to an abrupt halt when a werewolf lifted its head and gulped down a piece of meat. _A piece of Bellatrix._

Harry felt the bile rising in his throat. He gripped his wand so tightly the wood cut into his hand, and concentrated on not throwing up. _You wanted to stay and watch this, Potter,_ he thought grimly. _No running away. You did this._

Off to his left, Harry heard strange sounds, like he had in the woods last night when Jason shifted, after Anita was attacked. He looked, the world still swimming in a nauseating haze, and saw Paul's body writhing, bones sliding out of skin and fur crawling over raw muscles.

"The new ones can't not shift when everyone else does," Anita said softly at Harry's side. He looked down at her. She still held her gun in two hands, arms straight, pointed into the mass of wolves.

As Harry looked at Anita, with her steady small hands and her wild dark hair, he thought that there was something about her that he needed to remember. What was it? Something Bellatrix had tried to do to her. "Clay," Harry whispered, feeling suddenly a whole lot worse. How had he forgotten, even for a moment, that Clay had been hit with the Killing Curse?

"He's dead." Anita's voice was cold, final.

A wolf, as huge as a pony, detached itself from the gorging pack and padded over to Anita. It nudged its nose against her arm, and she transferred her gun to one hand. The wolf nuzzled her hand and licked her wrist, leaving a bloody wet mark on her skin.

Then the wolf went over to Clay. Harry saw the care the wolf took as it gently grasped Clay's shoulder with its teeth and shook the body. Then the wolf let go, sat back on its haunches and howled up at the sky, long and sorrowful.

Other wolves joined in the call. A couple of the pack still in human form raised their heads and howled just the same.

Harry's vision blurred, and his nausea melted away as the sadness of the call filled him. He had never heard anything so sad as those wolves, grieving Clay's death.

The wolf that had started the call lowered its head. Harry couldn't stop watching as the werewolf shifted back from animal form to human.

Once he had finished shifting, Richard stood up, naked and bloody. Huge wolves swarmed around him, touching him with their noses, then backing away to let others take their place.

Richard eventually waded out from the pack and walked over to Anita and Harry. He seemed to be totally unconcerned with the fact that he was naked. _Okay,_ Harry thought, still feeling light-headed. _Naked werewolf. They all are, right?_

"Anita, are you okay?" Richard asked. He touched Anita's arm, as if trying to reassure himself that she was really there.

Anita nodded. "Clay dove in front of me." Her voice was flat. "It's just-- I saw his soul get knocked loose, Richard. I saw him die."

Richard looked back at the fallen werewolf. "What happened to him?"

"Killing Curse," Harry said. His eyes strayed over to where Bellatrix was. There were still some werewolves there, but Harry could see bones, glowing a dull white in the moonlight, in amongst the meat. _I did this._

At Harry's words, a few of the wolves around Clay turned and growled at Bellatrix's body. One of the wolves started back towards the ruined body of the witch, but Richard reached out and grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck. It whimpered and rolled its eyes up, then groveled at Richard's feet.

"Not now, Jason," Richard said. He looked at Harry. "What does this Killing Curse do?" he demanded.

"Was it the kind of magic that killed your parents?" Anita asked, tucking the gun away somewhere.

Harry nodded. One of the wolves around Clay's body licked the dead man's hand, and Harry felt his nausea come back. "Are they going to eat him?" he asked, wincing at how high-pitched his voice was.

Anita and Richard exchanged glances. "Harry..." Richard began.

"Richard, does it have to be now?" Anita asked. "He's in shock."

"But the munin, Anita," Richard argued. "It needs to be--"

"Harry doesn't need to see that right now," Anita interrupted.

"But if he's going to be--"

"And other wolves might not be satisfied with the witch's death," Anita said softly, cutting Richard off. Richard looked down at Jason, still huddled at his feet, then at Harry.

What did Anita mean by that? Harry suddenly remembered the people who had been speaking against him earlier in the night. His mental fuzziness was swept away in a surge of adrenaline and he gripped his wand firmly. Would they want to eat him next? Even after he helped Suzanne? _But Clay's dead._

"Okay," Richard said, just as softly. "But I don't want you going alone."

"I don't need protection," Anita snapped.

"That's not what I meant," Richard told her.

At that moment, several wolves looked up to the sky, and Harry jumped as two people suddenly dropped from the sky to the ground by Clay's feet. Harry recognized Jean-Claude right away, his white skin glowing in the moonlight, but the other vampire stayed back in the shadows of the trees. A few werewolves bounded up to the Master vampire, whining for attention. Jean-Claude absently touched their heads as he stared at Clay. Then he turned to look at Bellatrix's partially eaten body.

"I heard your call, mon ami," Jean-Claude said to Richard. "I feared we would arrive too late."

Richard shook his head and crouched by Clay's body, pushing a few werewolves away from the corpse. Jean-Claude joined him.

"What has happened here?" Jean-Claude asked. He spoke softly, but the wind carried his power on the air. Harry shivered violently as the vampire's power touched his skin, prickly and sharp.

"The witch diverted us," Richard said, sounding disgusted. "Anita and Shang-Da took Harry off in another direction, but we lost the trail."

"She surprised us," Anita said. She stood near the stream bank with her arms crossed, her face in shadows. Jason stood up and trotted over to her. As he pressed his furry sides against her legs, she continued, "She killed Clay and then Harry got her wand away from her."

"Then the wolves came," Jean-Claude said. He and Richard exchanged glances, and then Jean-Claude looked at Anita. "Ma petite, we should be on our way. The wolves must grieve Clay on their own."

Anita nodded. "Come on, Harry."

Like he was in a dream, Harry obediently went to Anita's side. He didn't want to have to think or make any decisions. Just once, he wanted to be the kid, to let the grown-ups fix the mess he'd made. It was childish and stupid, but Harry was sick of being the one who had to fix the things he'd messed up.

 _Sirius is dead, because of me, and now Clay's dead because I wasn't fast enough._ Harry looked at Bellatrix's body again. Some of the wolves had gone back to chew on her bones. A large grey wolf moved to one side, and Harry caught a sudden glimpse of the witch's head. The wolves had eaten half of her face, and her teeth showed in a macabre death grin through her ruined cheek.

The world started to swim in streams of grey. Harry closed his eyes to try to make it stop. Someone grabbed his upper arms with an iron grip. The sudden pain was like a bucket of ice over Harry's head. He blinked and focused on Anita. She shook him once and then let him go. "Are you going to be able to hold it together?" she demanded.

Keenly aware that two vampires, as well as many of the werewolves, were staring at him, Harry made himself nod. Anita looked as if she didn't believe him. but she didn't say anything.

"Come, ma petite." Jean-Claude held out his hand, but Anita ignored him and turned to walk into the woods.

Jason let out a short bark and leaped into the air, landing softly about ten feet away. He barked at Anita again, then poked at the ground with his muzzle. He moved back as Anita walked to his side. She knelt down and picked something up off the ground.

Bellatrix's broken wand.

Harry hadn't even remembered dropping the wand after he had snapped it in half. But he must have, for there it was.

A wild, horrible thought suddenly occurred to Harry. He looked down at the wand he held in his hand. It looked like his, in the moonlight. He hadn't snapped the wrong wand, had he?

His heart pounding, Harry pointed his wand at his shoes and quickly spoke the incantation to make leather change colour. He felt the magic flow out of the wand, as effortlessly as always, and almost shouted in relief as his trainers turned from white to black.

"You okay?" Anita asked him, a frown on her face.

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yeah." He looked at the broken wand in Anita's hand, then over at the dead witch. He hadn't noticed before, but there was blood all over the ground around her. "What are they going to do with Bellatrix?"

Anita shrugged. "They're probably going to finish eating her," she said.

"Oh." Harry took a deep breath, just as the wind shifted. On the wind came the stench like an outhouse. Instinctively, Harry held his breath. _Where did that come from?_ Harry thought as he watched a werewolf bury its mouth in the lower abdomen of the body, and start pulling out what looked like wet rope.

Harry looked up at the sky, trying desperately to get himself under control. He tried to squash down the uncomfortable feeling of satisfaction in his gut at the thought that Bellatrix was dead, just like Sirius was dead, and that she'd never be able to hurt anyone again.

 _Is this the werewolf part of me?_ Harry wondered, disgusted with himself, as Anita took hold of his arm and started to drag him bodily into the woods. The vampires trailed after them. _It can't be the wizard part of me that wanted her dead like that, the human part. Can it?_

He nearly tripped over a log and stumbled along for a few feet before he could pry his arm out of Anita's grasp. "Stop it!" he said sharply as he pulled away from her.

Anita whirled on him and pushed him up against a tree. "Do you have any fucking idea what's going on?" she demanded. In the darkness, Harry couldn't see her eyes. "One of their own is dead, Harry. Clay's dead." 

She let him go and backed a few feet away. Harry didn't move.

"They killed the bitch that did it, but do you think that's going to be enough for all of them? All it takes is one wolf to decide it wants to chew on you for a while, for what happened to Clay, and you're gone," Anita said. "Is that what you want?" When Harry didn't answer, Anita stepped forward again and shoved Harry against the tree, so hard he felt the bark roughly against his back through his shirt. "Is it?"

"Ma petite, you must--" Jean-Claude started to say, but Anita abruptly let go of Harry and stalked off into the trees.

As wolves began to howl deeper in the woods, Harry pushed himself away from the tree. Did he want to stay and maybe get eaten? Was it even something he had to think about?

Carefully ducking around Jean-Claude, and hoping that it wasn't a bad idea to turn his back on the vampire, Harry hurried after Anita.

* * *

Harry finally caught up to Anita at the Jeep. She already had her keys out and was trying to unlock the door, but she couldn't seem to make it work.

The two vampires approached the car just behind Harry. Jean-Claude slowly went to Anita's side, while the other one, a blond vampire Harry couldn't remember meeting, stopped several feet away.

"Ma petite--"

"Shut up!" Anita said as she dropped the keys into the grass. She let out a frustrated growl and bent over to pick them up. Once she had righted herself, she sorted through the keys on the chain, very carefully not looking at Jean-Claude.

Harry saw Jean-Claude and the other vampire exchange glances. "Anita, perhaps I should drive," the other vampire said. It was the first time Harry had heard him speak, and for some reason it surprised him to hear the cultured French accent. Harry hadn't thought that there would be such a concentration of French vampires in St. Louis.

At the blond vampire's words, Anita balled the keys up into her fist. She hesitated for a moment, then turned and threw the keys hard at the vampire. He caught the keys easily as Anita stalked around to the far side of the Jeep.

After a moment's hesitation, the blond vampire walked to the car and unlocked the doors.

Not really sure what he should do, Harry once again ducked around Jean-Claude and slipped into the backseat of the Jeep. The leather on the seats felt sticky under Harry's hands as he righted himself on the passenger side.

Anita got into front passenger seat of the Jeep and slammed the door so hard that Harry jumped a bit. Jean-Claude climbed into the backseat of the jeep with inhuman grace and closed the door as the blond vampire started the engine and maneuvered the vehicle out of the grassy meadow and onto the road.

The silence in the Jeep was heavy, almost tangible. The only things Harry could hear were his and Anita's breathing. How did vampires manage to stay so still? Harry wondered.

Added to the silence was the smothering warmth; the interior of the Jeep still held the heat from the day. After the car made the transfer from bumpy gravel road to smooth concrete, Harry rolled down his window. The slightly cooler night air blowing over his face helped him to sort through his muddled thoughts.

Everything was all mixed up in his head. Had he reacted fast enough? Had he done enough? After Sirius died, Harry had been numb. He wasn't numb now. He was almost vibrating with contained energy, either an aftermath of the fight or some side effect of almost being killed.

As they drove deeper into the night, images from the fight flashed across Harry's mind. A blast from a curse hitting a tree inches from Harry's face. Crashing into Paul, feeling the other man's body as they both hit the ground. Suzanne being struck in mid-air by a choking blast of red light.

Green death headed for Anita; the feeling of horror at knowing he wasn't going to be able to save her, knowing that everyone was going to die, Damian and Nathaniel and Richard and Jean-Claude, because Harry wasn't fast enough to save Anita... but also glad that he wasn't going to be the dead one. Not yet.

Clay's blank, dead eyes, staring at nothing.

 _Are they going to eat him?_ Harry had asked. Watching the wolves chew on Bellatrix, sharp killing teeth ripping her skin away, tearing into the meat underneath, down to bones and guts and soon she wouldn't be anything anymore, just a meal in the stomachs of several angry werewolves.

_Animals. Like I'm going to be._

Before he could stop, Harry's mind imagined to what it might be like to be one of the werewolves, ripping apart Bellatrix with his teeth, feeling her bones snap in his jaws, knowing she was dead and knowing he killed her, the taste of blood in his mouth and raw flesh, dead Bellatrix, sliding down his throat.

His human mind finally caught up with his imagination, and Harry gagged. He started fumbling with the door handle, not caring how fast the car was going. Dimly, he heard Anita say, "Asher, pull over!"

The car jerked to a halt and Harry managed to open the door, stumbling out onto the road. He made it a few steps down the embankment into the brittle grass before falling to his knees and vomiting.

He threw up until he was dry heaving into the grass. It felt like he was going to throw everything up, all his insides until they'd be spread over the grass, like Bellatrix was torn apart all over everywhere.

Finally, he managed to stop his heaves. He took a shallow breath and crawled away from the mess he'd made. Looking up, he saw Anita sitting silently on the grassy slope a little away from him, watching.

Too tired to feel embarrassed, Harry staggered to his feet. He walked the few shaky steps to Anita's side, crunching on the dry grass, then sank to the ground.

"Here," Anita said, breaking the silence. She handed him a bottle of water.

"Thanks," Harry muttered. He uncapped the bottle and poured a bit into his mouth. The water tasted flat and warm, but it was still so much better than anything else he had ever tasted. He swirled the water around his mouth and spat into the grass. "Where's..."

"Jean-Claude and Asher?" Anita tilted her head back in the direction of the road. "At the Jeep."

"Oh."

Anita waited until Harry had taken another sip of water. "It gets better," she offered.

Harry looked at her. She seemed blurrier than normal, and he yanked off his glasses. "In what possible way could it get better?" he demanded as he tried to find a clean spot on his t-shirt to clean his glasses.

Anita let out a sigh. "You stop freaking out," she said, her voice so soft that Harry almost couldn't hear her over the quiet noises of the night. "Yeah, people die, but you stop... it's less horrifying. It has to be."

"Why?" Harry asked, shoving his glasses back onto his face. He wanted desperately to be upset at Anita. He knew it was irrational. It wasn't her fault that Bellatrix had tried to kill her, that Clay had died for her.

Anita leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her legs. "If it keeps being so horrible, you can't function. When that happens, you screw up too much. You end up dead."

"So I have to be okay with this?" Harry asked, anger finally hitting him. "I have to be okay with watching people get eaten and watching people die? Is that it?" He bounced to his feet and took a few steps away down the hill, before turning back to Anita. He needed some distance from her. "I can't do this! I can't keep watching people die in front of me!" He kicked violently at an offending tuft of grass. "Voldemort's going to kill me anyway, why the bloody hell do I need to learn how to deal with this?"

Anita stood up slowly. "So, what, you're just going to roll over and die when he comes for you, is that it?" she demanded in a very cold voice. "I didn't see you doing a lot of that when Bellatrix was trying to kill you."

"That's different," Harry shot back. Feelings of slightly panicky desperation were welling up in Harry's chest. He thought Anita might understand what he was going through, but it looked as if he was wrong.

"How the fuck is it different?" Anita shouted. "She tried to kill you, and you did whatever you could to stop her! You did whatever you could to beat her, until she couldn't hurt you any more." She turned and walked stiffly up the slope about halfway, then stopped. "Look at what she tried to do to Suzanne," Anita said, her voice no longer quite so angry. "Look at what she tried to do to me. What she did to Clay."

Harry's stomach dropped. "So because Clay died, I'm supposed to act differently?"

"No, damn it!" Anita pushed her hair back from her face. In the very faint moonlight, she was cast into silhouette, and for a crystalline moment, when her head was back and her fingers gripping her hair, so much like they had been the previous night _hands back over her head, pinned under his body, his head back far enough so that she couldn't sink teeth into him_ , she looked like someone from a dream that Harry just couldn't remember. Then she dropped her hands and the moment was gone. "There is no fucking higher purpose in dying, Harry. No goals, no gains. Just dead."

Maybe it was the moonlight, but she looked weary.

Harry licked his lips. "I'm glad she's dead," he said hesitantly. It was the truth, the whole uncivilized, brutal truth, and he hated to have to say it out loud. But he didn't want Anita to think he was sorry Bellatrix was dead.

"Me too." Anita turned back toward the road.

Perhaps because he was thinking of things he didn't want to say, Harry opened his mouth and blurted out, "And I'd rather Clay be dead than you."

Anita froze. Harry was horrified by what he'd just said. _Even if it's true?_

After a minute, Anita started walking again. Over the sounds of the wind rustling the grass, Harry almost didn't hear her say, "So am I."

* * *

Asher hadn't even completely stopped the car before Anita had her seatbelt off and was out of the car, headed to the house.

Jean-Claude was out of the Jeep seconds after Anita. Not sure what was wrong, if anything, Harry flung open his door and scrambled out.

Anita was halfway to the house when Jean-Claude caught her shoulder. "Ma petite--"

Pulling away from the vampire, Anita spun and almost tripped onto the flower bed. "We're here in one piece, now go away!"

"What do you mean, go away?" Jean-Claude demanded. "I am not going anywhere!"

"I don't need you here!" Anita exclaimed. "Ding dong, the witch is dead, so you can go back to whatever you were doing, okay?"

Jean-Claude made a frustrated noise in his throat. "Anita, you almost died this night, you cannot think that I have somewhere better to be!"

"I don't want you here like this!" Anita yelled. As soon of the words were out of her mouth, her eyes widened and she stepped back hastily onto the grass.

Jean-Claude didn't move, a stillness as complete as death falling over him. Over at the house, the front porch light went on and the door opened. Micah stepped out onto the porch.

"So, you need to go away," Anita continued, flustered. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she kept looking between Jean-Claude and Micah, but not really focusing on either.

Something was wrong, that much Harry knew. But he didn't know Anita well enough to know what it was.

Jean-Claude finally moved, shedding his unnatural stillness, and Anita took another step back. She glanced over her shoulder into the dark, then back at Jean-Claude.

"As you wish, ma petite," Jean-Claude said. His words sounded harsh, like broken glass, and Harry fought the urge to duck his head. "Far be it for me to do anything against your express wishes."

An odd expression crossed Anita's face as she stared up at Jean-Claude. Then she shook her head, and walked toward the house.

"But Asher will remain," Jean-Claude added.

"What?" Anita exclaimed. "No, he's not staying--"

"This is not open for discussion!" Jean-Claude shouted, his voice and his power lashing out like a whip. This time, Harry actually did curl his shoulders and hunch over. If this was just backlash from Jean-Claude's power, Harry really wanted to avoid being the one Jean-Claude was mad at. "He stays, Anita, for if you will not move to protect yourself, then someone else will!"

With that, the vampire took to the air in a rush.

After Harry was sure that Jean-Claude was gone, he straightened up. He hated feeling like that, like someone's power was riding over him, but at least this time, he thought he understood what Jean-Claude meant. He just seemed to be worried about Anita. So why had she told him to leave?

"Anita, what's going on?" Micah asked. He walked down the steps and tried to get near Anita, but she moved as he approached, skirting around him until she got to the porch. With quick steps, she went into the house.

Micah looked over at Harry, then past him to the vampire that was leaning against the Jeep.

"Asher, what happened?"

The vampire stood away from the Jeep as if moved by strings. "Perhaps we should go inside," he suggested.

Micah glared at the vampire, then at Harry. "Is she all right?" he demanded.

Harry was tempted to ask if the Nimir-Raj meant physically or mentally, but the weight in Micah's gaze made Harry answer the obvious question. "She's not hurt."

"And you?"

For a moment, Harry was confused. Why did Micah care if he was all right? "I didn't get hurt either."

Asher walked past Harry toward the house. The vampire's hair hung down like a mask, and with a jolt Harry realized that he hadn't ever seen the man's face.

Micah started up the steps. Not wanting to be left outside, Harry hurried across the lawn. He wasn't sure if Micah would kick him out after what happened with Clay. Bellatrix was dead, so the danger to Anita and the pard was over. Right?

Nathaniel was hovering in the hallway when Harry entered the house. He turned wide violet eyes toward Harry. "What happened?"

Instead of answering the question, Harry asked, "Where's Anita?" 

"I think she went to put the gun away in the safe upstairs," the wereleopard said. His eyes followed Asher as the vampire strode into the living room. "What happened?"

Even though he had nothing left in him to throw up, Harry felt sick to his stomach at Nathaniel's question. What the hell was he going to say?

Harry jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Micah was beside him, and Harry hadn't even heard him move. "Come into the living room, Harry" Micah said.

Harry did what he was told. He wasn't normally this compliant, he thought, as he sank down into a soft chair. The dirt on his shorts and his hands made him uncomfortable. _You're worried about making a mess of the rug when you watched two people die?_ Harry thought to himself, disgusted.

"What happened?" Micah asked from the entranceway to the living room.

Harry didn't know how to begin. "I, I mean we... it happened so fast..."

His voice trailed off. How did he say what needed to be said?

"Did anyone die?" Nathaniel asked quietly.

The question forced Harry's thoughts back into perspective. He nodded and made himself look up at Micah. "Bellatrix is dead. The wolves ate her."

Harry was completely unprepared for the expression of relief on Micah's face. "Completely dead?" 

"Yeah," Harry said with a gulp. "But not soon enough."

The smile slid off Micah's face. "Who else?"

"Clay," Asher said. The vampire fiddled with a photograph on the mantle over the fireplace. "From what Monsieur Zeeman said, Clay died protecting Anita from death magic. The witch did not die until after."

Harry swallowed hard. His mouth tasted sour and gross, and he wished he had taken the bottle of water out of the Jeep.

Micah let out a growl. "Tell me what happened, all of it," he said through clenched teeth. "Now."

Haltingly, Harry told Micah everything that had happened from when they left the house earlier that evening. It took a while, and by the time Harry had finished, he was beginning to wonder where Anita was. She hadn't come downstairs yet, and there was no noise from the floor overhead.

"I can't believe this," Micah muttered. He cast a glance at the ceiling. "I'm going to go see what Anita's doing. She shouldn't be alone after this."

The room was silent after Micah vanished up the stairs. Harry sank back into his chair, wincing as his back hit the cushions. He must have bruised something during the fight, or when Anita threw him up against a tree.

Nathaniel let out a shaky sigh. "Anita almost died tonight?" he asked quietly.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Yeah." 

"Oh." The wereleopard buried his face in his hands. "Why does all this stuff always happen to her?"

"Because she puts herself in danger to save others a similar fate," Asher said bitterly. He put the photograph back on the mantle with a clatter.

Harry wanted to say something, but the words were sticking in his throat. Everything seemed a bit thick. Was it shock? He twiddled his wand in his hand, wondering what he would have done if Bellatrix had disarmed him again. _I might have lost._

 _Wait. Wands?_ Harry shot out of his chair. "What happened with Bellatrix's wand?" he demanded. "They might be able to track the wand, if they come here--"

"Jean-Claude took it," Asher interrupted him. "He said he would discard of it."

"When?" Harry couldn't remember hearing anything like that, not after Anita had gotten him back in the Jeep after his embarrassing little fit on the road.

"While you were on the grass," Asher told him. The vampire turned to face him, one hand on his hip. The movement caused Asher's hair to sway for a moment, revealing the right side of his face. The skin didn't look real; it had the appearance of melted candle wax. Then the man's golden hair slid back into to place, hiding the mess of his face.

Harry stared at Asher, wondering what on earth could have caused such horrible scars. The thing was, the rest of the man's face was so perfect, too perfect, that the scars seemed ever more obscene.

Asher's eyes narrowed. "Is there something you wish to know?" he hissed.

Harry looked down, then back up. He hadn't meant to stare. "How did that happen?"

The look Asher gave him was exceedingly unfriendly, and if Nathaniel hadn't been there, Harry might have been a bit worried. "Do you know what happen when a vampire is hit with holy water?" Asher asked.

Harry shook his head again. But Harry remembered earlier that day, talking to Anita about her scars...

Backing up a few steps, Harry looked frantically at Nathaniel. Anita wouldn't trust a vampire that had tried to kill her before, would she? 

Nathaniel stood up, responding to the panic on Harry's face. "What is it?" he asked.

Harry licked his lips, careful not to look at Asher. "Anita told me how she got those scars on her collarbone."

Nathaniel looked confused. "So?"

"So she said she chased off the vampire who did it with holy water!" Harry exclaimed.

Asher hissed and took a step closer to Harry, who backed up until his legs hit the couch, wand in his hand. Nathaniel put himself between vampire and wizard and faced Asher. "Asher, he doesn't know what he's talking about," Nathaniel said in a rush.

"He dares accuse me of hurting Anita?" Asher spat, his pale blue eyes beginning to glow. "This--"

"Asher, please stop!" Nathaniel turned to Harry. "The vampire who tried to kill Anita like that wasn't Asher, it was Valentine, one of the old Master's kiss. Anita killed him, he's really dead now. Asher's on our side, really."

Harry didn't put his wand down.

"Do you really think that Jean-Claude would have let Asher near Anita if he'd tried to kill her?" Nathaniel tried again.

"I suppose not," Harry said, chancing a look at Asher. The vampire's eyes had stopped glowing, but he was still glaring bloody murder at Harry.

"Good." Nathaniel stepped back. When neither Harry nor Asher did anything, he sighed and let his shoulders slump. "They all get along really well, actually. They date and stuff."

Harry frowned at Nathaniel. "Anita and Asher?" How many boyfriends did the woman have?

"And Jean-Claude."

"Anita and Jean-Claude, or Anita and Asher?"

"Yes."

"What? All at once?" Was it even allowed to date two other people at once?

Asher shook his head. "The English," he muttered under his breath in disgust as he leaned back against the mantle. "Nathaniel, is anyone else here?"

"There's me and Micah, and Merle," Nathaniel told him. Harry went and sat back on the chair, still trying to figure out how two guys and girl could date. Who paid for dinner? Wouldn't someone get left out of stuff? "Noah went into town with the wererats. I think he was going to pick up Gregory or something."

"And what of Damian?"

"Hannah needed him to cover something at the club," Nathaniel said. "She'd given him some time off, what with Harry and what happened to Anita, but Damian figured that he could get here if she needed to."

"Who's Hannah?" Harry interrupted.

"She's the manager of the club Damian works at," Nathaniel explained.

"Oh." Harry snuck another look over at Asher. Now that the initial shock of seeing the scars was gone, Harry was curious to see them again. In all his admittedly sparse reading on vampires in school, he had never read that holy water could cause scarring. _Does the Wizarding world even have holy objects?_

The more he thought about it, the curiouser he was. Granted, it was either think of this or focus on the deaths of the evening. For some reason, after the initial shock, Clay's death wasn't as horrifying as Cedric's had been. _Maybe Anita's right. Maybe it gets less worse._

Carefully, Harry stood up and tucked his wand away. Nathaniel watched him warily as he walked a bit closer to Asher. "Sir?" Harry asked. Asher didn't react. "Might I ask a question?"

Asher shook his head so his hair covered almost his entire face. "What?"

Trusting that Nathaniel was right, and that Asher was a good guy, Harry said, "Are there many vampires with holy water scars?" 

Asher turned his head to glare at Harry. "Non, not many," he finally responded. His hair was once again covering the scars. "I had heard of this Valentine from Jean-Claude, but was unaware that it was he who caused Anita such pain."

"Anita doesn't like to talk about it," Nathaniel added. "I think it's because of Phillip."

Asher raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Phillip. He used to work at the club, back before I started."

"And how would this Phillip have an impact on Anita discussing Valentine?" Asher asked.

Nathaniel shrugged and looked down. "Valentine was one of the vampires in Nikolaos's kiss. She, I mean Nikolaos, she was the Master of the City before Jean-Claude. They wanted Anita to do something, and used Phillip as a hostage."

Something in Nathaniel's voice, some sense of finality, made Harry ask, "What happened?"

"They killed him," Nathaniel said softly.

Harry tried to think of a question to ask that didn't sound stupid, like why they had killed him and what had Anita done about it, when there was the sound of rushing footsteps on the stairs, then Anita burst into the room.

"Shut up!" she exclaimed, facing Nathaniel.

"Anita, what--" he began, eyes wide.

"Shut up about Phillip!" Anita insisted, so angry. There was some kind of wild emotion in her eyes that Harry couldn't identify "Don't ever talk about him again, do you understand?"

Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunched in. He looked so upset. "What did I--"

Anita interrupted him again. "What happened with Phillip is no one's fucking business! Don't ever talk about him again!" She started to move toward Nathaniel, but Micah appeared and grabbed onto her arms.

"Anita, stop this, now!" Micah said forcefully.

She tried to pull away from him, but either his grip was too strong or she just wasn't able to co-ordinate herself. "I'll stop it when he stops talking about things that he has no right to talk about!"

"Anita, stop!" Micah's power rode over the room. Anita elbowed Micah in the ribs and managed to get away from him. Not even wincing, Micah put himself between Nathaniel and Anita. She froze when she saw what he was doing, where he was standing, and the strangest expression of... was it fear? How could it be fear? crossed her face. Then she bolted down the hallway. A few seconds later, a door slammed somewhere in the house.

The resulting stillness was almost too quiet. Micah turned around to look at Nathaniel, and now he appeared to be angry at the young wereleopard. "What the hell did you say?" 

"We were discussing a vampire who had once injured Anita," Asher answered. "Does she not need someone with her?"

Micah let out a breath. "No."

"But she's so upset," Harry blurted.

"I know that." Micah stared unhappily at Nathaniel, who looked wretched. "We spent a few minutes upstairs of her telling me that she's just fine and that I needed to go away."

"And you are going to listen to her?" Asher said, a slight sneer in his voice.

"Oh, you're free to go after her," Micah snapped. "I'm just going to give her a few minutes. I've never seen her act like this before."

"Do you think I should go apologize?" Nathaniel asked. He crept over to his Nimir-Raj.

"I don't know. No. Not yet. Just... just let her calm down for a few minutes. Or maybe longer." 

Harry looked toward the kitchen, where the door had slammed. Why was Anita so upset about the mention of this man Phillip? 

* * *

After I slammed the basement door, I clambered down the stairs in the dark. Damian wasn't here, so there wasn't anything down here to blame me for anything.

Once I got down the steps, I walked over to Damian's room, opened his door and went in, closing the door behind me. I crossed the room in the dark, getting around the furniture by touch, making it over to the far wall. Once there, I put my back against the wall and slid to the floor.

I had been doing okay, maybe a little shaky, until I had heard Nathaniel mention Phillip. Then the panic and fear and regret and shame at not being able to save Phillip all those years ago returned and I lashed out. I needed to make him shut up, because if Harry and Asher heard how people kept dying because of me, they might leave too. I couldn't lose everyone. I just couldn't.

It might have been better if Nathaniel had fought back, but he just stood there and took it. I was so angry that I might have hit him, if Micah hadn't stopped me. That had almost stopped me right there. I wasn't supposed to want to hurt Nathaniel. But it was becoming more and more clear to me that I couldn't protect anyone; look at what had happened the previous night. Maybe if Nathaniel went away from me, I couldn't hurt him any more.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and pressed my forehead against my knees. Someone was breathing a little too fast, and since I was the only person in the room, it had to be me. It didn't feel like me. None of this felt like me. I wasn't supposed to feel regret, or shame, or fear like this. When Micah had stood between me and Nathaniel, I knew then that I'd lost him too, that he'd side with Nathaniel. That I was all alone.

There was something hot and wet on my face. I couldn't be crying. I was supposed to be this stone-cold killer, no emotions. Not crying when people died because of me, not scared when everyone left me.

Again, for the thousandth time in the last hour, I tried to reach out mentally to Jean-Claude. I couldn't feel him at all. I hadn't been able to feel him since the pain from last night, but I hadn't realized it until tonight, when the witch had attacked us in the woods. I'd tried to call for him, to tell him we needed him, that I needed him, but all I'd been met with was a cold dead silence, like an impenetrable stone wall.

Then the witch had tried to kill me, and Clay died instead. I'd tried calling out for Richard through the marks, but there was the same cold silence. It wasn't until Jean-Claude arrived that I learned he and Richard had been communicating mentally. That was when the panic set in. Why had they been talking with each other, and keeping me out? 

It hadn't occurred to me, until I had started to drag Harry into the woods, that I couldn't feel Damian or Nathaniel. I'd tried calling out for them, but there was the same silence.

I didn't figure out why all of them would have shut me out until we were almost back at the Jeep. Then the realization had hit me, and I'd almost stumbled. Was it because I'd made them hurt so much the previous night? When I hadn't been able to close the marks fast enough to stop them all from feeling the pain I was feeling?

The more I thought of it, the more sense it made. Maybe they were mad at me, or maybe they just didn't want to go through that again, in case the witch came back. One thing that Jean-Claude and Nathaniel and Damian all had in common, and that Richard was getting better at, was self-preservation. I couldn't fault them for that, could I?

But I was so scared. I'd thought after the witch had died, that Jean-Claude at least would lower his shields, but he had been just as unyielding outside, as cold as ever, as unreachable. I'd told him I didn't want him here, but I didn't mean it. He'd never listened to me before, not about stuff like this, so why today? Why had he left?

I wanted to apologize, to beg him to let me back in so I wouldn't be so alone, but I couldn't do it. Then he went away.

I sniffled. The room was so dark that I couldn't see anything. We'd made it completely light-proof for Damian. Wiping away my useless tears, I stood up and shuffled over to the dresser. Damian had candles in here. I didn't know if I could stand the overhead lights, but maybe a candle or two might be tolerable.

By sense of touch alone, I found Damian's lighter and managed to flick it on. The sudden yellow flame made me blink. I stared at the lighter for a second before touching the flame to the wick of one of the candles.

The wick caught easily, and I put the lighter back on the dresser. I looked around the room. It was sparse and tidy, yet had Damian's things lying around so it felt a lot like him, like he was here with me.

I'd used to think that Damian wanted me to be his master, but how could he? I walked over to his desk and touched the book lying there. Damian was almost a thousand years old. I was only twenty-seven. How could I have imagined that this would work?

For some reason, the thought of losing Damian made me feel sick. It didn't make any sense. I hadn't wanted to be his master, but now that I was, losing him would be horrible.

I left the book where it was and went over to Damian's coffin. He'd left the lid up, and I leaned over the side.

Was losing Damian any worse than losing Nathaniel? I had to swallow hard against the lump in my throat. I hadn't thought Nathaniel blamed me for the pain, until I heard him talking about Phillip.

I touched the small pillow in the coffin as I thought about Phillip. Phillip, with all his vampire bite scars and his melt-your-socks smile and his fears. I'd only known Phillip for a few days before Nikolaos killed him, but there was something about him, something fragile and broken. If he'd lived... maybe I'd have gotten around to trying to fix him.

But he had died. Because of me. Just like Clay.

I climbed into the coffin and curled up on my side. Something metal was shoved along the side of the box, hidden from the light, and I traced over it with my fingers. It was Damian's broadsword, almost as tall as I was. He'd had that sword for longer than the English language had existed, had carried it into battle for almost a millennia.

I slid my fingers over the hilt to the blade. Purposefully, I ran a finger over the edge. When my skin split, no deeper than a paper cut, I put my finger in my mouth and sucked down the few drops of blood.

If I was going to lose Damian, if he wanted away from me because of the pain and because people kept dying because of me, then maybe I could leave a little of myself behind for him.

I stared at the sword until the candle burned down to nothing. In the dark that followed, I prayed, for Clay and for Phillip and for all my guys, and just a little bit for me.

Like everyone else, God didn't answer.

* * *

Harry hadn't even tried to sleep. Keeping half an ear open for Anita, he'd gone and brushed his teeth, showered, dressed in some of the new clothes that Anita had bought for him, then trudged back downstairs to the living room.

Nathaniel was still there, looking lost. He didn't say anything as Harry flopped onto the couch.

"Where's Asher and Micah?" Harry finally asked.

Nathaniel rolled onto his back on the carpet and stared up at the ceiling. "Micah's talking to Merle. Asher's somewhere."

"Oh." Harry let his gaze roam around the room until it landed on the small clock on the VCR. He watched the minutes tick by. Minutes that Clay didn't have any more. "Are you okay?"

Nathaniel didn't answer.

Harry felt incredibly lethargic, as if all his energy had been sucked out. Over and over, he remembered what had happened to Clay and to Bellatrix, until it seemed like he had watched it happen to someone else. _Does this make me a killer? Even if I didn't eat Bellatrix myself, I took her wand away, made her vulnerable. My actions made her dead._

He didn't feel like a killer. How many killers did he know, though? The Death Eaters. Voldemort. Had anyone in the Order of the Phoenix ever killed anyone? No one ever talked about it. But wouldn't it make sense? If it came down to someone like Ron's dad and a Death Eater, Harry knew who he'd want to win. But he just couldn't picture Mr. Weasley as a killer. What could make the man into a killer, Harry wondered. Someone threatening Mrs. Weasley, or Ron or Ginny? 

What about Remus? Harry took his eyes off the clock and looked at Nathaniel. The wereleopard was still staring at the ceiling. Had Remus ever killed anyone? Harry remembered in third year, at how close he and Hermione and Ron had come to being eaten by werewolf Remus. Were there others who hadn't been so lucky?

 _Is he to blame for that?_ Harry wondered. _If I turn into a werewolf, will I be to blame if I eat someone?_

The questions swirled around Harry's head for a long time. Micah and Merle came through the room twice, but Harry hadn't cared enough to ask what they were doing. The hours passed and Harry's mind didn't slow down.

The clock had just rolled around to half past three in the morning when the front door clicked open. Harry's lethargy was chased away with that simple sound and he let his hand rest near the pocket where he had put his wand.

The door clicked shut again and Damian walked noiselessly into the room. He stopped when he saw Harry on the couch. "Are you all right?" he asked without preamble.

Harry sat up, suddenly nervous. "Yes, I am."

"Good." Damian glanced at Nathaniel, and gave him a slight frown before looking back to Harry. "Jean-Claude told me what occurred this evening."

"He did?" Harry asked, standing up. "When?"

"An hour ago. He came to Danse Macabre to tell me of the witch's death." Damian's frown returned. "He said you conducted yourself honourably."

Harry didn't know what to say. "I did what I had to," he stammered.

"You acted in defence of your people," Damian pointed out. "You did what you needed to do." His words were strangely formal, and Harry wondered if he was missing something. "I do not know if you will take this as it is meant, but I am proud of your actions, and I thank you for defending Anita in my absence."

Harry felt a rush of heat to his face. No member of his family had ever told them that they were proud of him before, and he didn't know what to say. The weight on his shoulders lightened, just a little.

Damian looked down at Nathaniel. "Why are you lying there?"

Nathaniel rolled his eyes up to Damian. "Is there a point to being somewhere else?"

Damian reached down and offered Nathaniel a hand, then pulled the wereleopard to his feet. "Where's Anita?"

"Downstairs," Nathaniel said as he wandered over to the couch and slumped down beside Harry. "Has been since she got home." The bitterness in Nathaniel's voice was palpable.

Damian narrowed his eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Nathaniel grumbled.

Micah walked into the room then, alone. "Damian," he said. "I'm surprised to see you up here."

Damian inclined his head. "The sun does not rise for another hour," he said. "I was just speaking with Harry."

"Yeah." Micah rubbed his eyes. "Are you going downstairs?"

"That was the intention."

"Can you deal with Anita, or do you want me to go down with you?"

Damian drew himself up and glowered down at the shorter man. "I do not need a chaperone with Anita," he said coldly.

Micah shook his head. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he said as he continued on through the living room and out the other door.

Harry exchanged a look with Nathaniel, then looked back at Damian. For his part, Damian appeared slightly apologetic. "Perhaps it is best if I were to go down now," Damian said. "But I would like to speak with you further, tomorrow night."

"Sure," Harry said. Damian nodded at him once, then headed toward the kitchen. Harry slumped back on the couch, his arm brushing Nathaniel's. "What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did Damian think you'd done something?"

"Beats me." Nathaniel pulled his braid in front of him and began playing with the elastic. Harry suspected that it was a nervous gesture. "Maybe because to him, Anita can do no wrong."

"Oh." Harry looked back at the clock. Never before had a night felt so long.

Nathaniel sighed. "And it's just... I don't know what I did. She's never acted like this before, never. I can't get through to her, no matter how hard I try. It's like she's put this wall up between us."

Again, Harry didn't know what to say, but maybe Nathaniel wasn't looking for a response.

They sat on the couch, both unhappy, for some time. The curtains began to glow after a while, and Nathaniel stood up to draw back the drapes before returning to the couch. The early morning sun brightened the room gradually. Harry realized that he had been awake for the entire day. Maybe that was part of the reason why he felt like some sort of residue stuck to the bottom of a cauldron.

He sensed, rather than heard, Anita. He looked up to see her trying to creep through the room, her hair hanging down in an action very reminiscent of Asher. He wondered if he should say anything, but Anita seemed determined to ignore his presence. He had just decided to ignore her back when the phone rang.

At Harry's side, Nathaniel jumped like a scalded cat. His own heart beating rather fast, Harry sat up as Anita changed direction and picked up the phone. "Hello?" she asked quietly. Then she frowned. "Yeah, one minute." She lowered the receiver and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. "Harry, it's for you."

"At five in the morning?" Harry asked, his heart sinking. Who on earth would be calling him this early? He stood and took the phone from Anita. "Hello?"

"Harry? Is that you?"

"Hermione?" Panic exploded in his chest. "What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Nothing's wrong, you just wanted me to call you when I got any information on Nigel Spencer." Hermione sounded puzzled and a little excited.

Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes and willed his heart to slow down. He had completely forgotten he had called Hermione asking for information on the man Bellatrix had killed. "It's bloody five in the morning here, Hermione," he said. "What's that important?"

It sounded like Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" she squeaked. "I thought it was seven."

"That's still bloody early," Harry said, glancing at the other people in the room. Nathaniel had gone back to staring at the ceiling, and Anita was watching Harry as if he was some kind of strange animal. "What did you find?"

"Harry, you're right, it's so early--"

"No, don't worry about it. I was up anyway. I was just surprised."

"Oh. Right then." Hermione took a deep breath. "Do you have some paper?"

"Just a minute." Harry looked around, and saw a pad of paper and a pen on the table next to the phone. He picked them up and balanced the paper on his knee. "Okay, ready."

"First off, it was very hard to get this information without telling anyone why I needed it," Hermione began, speaking very rapidly. "You were right, Nigel Spencer was in Hogwarts, in Slytherin, but he was two years ahead of Snape and your parents. Molly told me a bit about him when I was at the Ministry yesterday."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Molly?"

"I mean Mrs. Weasley." Hermione sounded a bit embarrassed. "She asked me to call her Molly. I've been spending a lot of time with them this summer."

Harry felt a pang of homesickness. He wished he could have been in England with the Weasleys and Hermione; then none of this would have happened. "What else did she say?"

There was the soft sound of shuffling papers. "He was an inventor of magical devices. Some of them were really brilliant, and really dangerous. Apparently after the war with Voldemort, the first war, he vanished."

"Was he a supporter of Voldemort?" Harry asked, scribbling furiously. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Anita leaning over his shoulder to see what he was writing.

"No, he wasn't. But he wasn't against him, either."

"Imperious?"

"Opportunist," Hermione said with a bit of disgust in her voice. "He sold his devices to the highest bidder, and that bidder was usually--"

"On Voldemort's side, got it." Harry frowned. "So why did he leave?"

"Maybe he thought being seen to support the losing side was a bad idea?" Hermione suggested. "I did ask Bill, and he told me that the Ministry had wanted to talk to Mr. Spencer for some time, but no one had any idea where he went. Not to any wizarding community in any country with political ties to England."

"Uh huh." Harry tapped the page with his pen. "Did he have any family? Enemies?"

"Bill thought he had a brother who died in an IRA bombing back in the eighties," Hermione said. "But Molly or Bill didn't seem to know anything about Mr. Spencer having real enemies. Just people who didn't like him. I'm going to see Professor Lupin in a few days, I'll ask him then."

"Right." Harry sighed and pulled off his glasses.

"You sound tired," Hermione said.

"I am."

"Harry, why did you need to know about Mr. Spencer? I know you said you'd tell me later, but are you in any danger?"

Harry slid his glasses back on. Anita was still staring at him, eyes so dark. "No, I'm not in any danger," he said. Even though it wasn't a lie, Harry felt horrible at not telling Hermione the truth. But if she heard that Bellatrix had been the one to kill Nigel Spencer, and that Harry had later, in part, caused Bellatrix's death... What would Hermione think of him then, if she knew that? 

"Harry."

"I'm not!" Harry exclaimed. "Something came up, and someone wanted me to ask. That's all."

"What aren't you telling me?" Hermione demanded.

"It's nothing, I promise!" 

Hermione huffed. "Harry James Potter, why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Harry hedged. He needed to get off the phone now, before Hermione asked a question that would force Harry to lie.

"You're hiding something! And who was that who answered the phone, anyway? It didn't sound anything like your aunt."

"It wasn't. Hermione, I have to go."

Hermione was very quiet on the other end of the line. "Maybe when you feel like telling me what's wrong, Harry, call me," she said sharply, then hung up the phone.

Harry stared at the receiver in his hand, suddenly feeling a different kind of bad. He hadn't meant to make Hermione angry, he just couldn't tell her what he had gotten himself into.

Anita softly took the phone out of his hand and hung it up. "Did she tell you anything?"

Harry made himself nod. "A few things. It might be important, I don't know."

"Good." She looked at the clock. "We should head downtown, tell the cops."

"What, now?"

"Yes, now." Anita looked down at herself, still in the clothes she'd worn to the lupanar. "After I shower."

With that, she turned around and walked out of the room. Nathaniel's eyes tracked her, but she seemed to ignore him completely.

Harry stood up. The lack of sleep was beginning to catch up with him, but it didn't look like he would be getting a chance to lie down any time soon.

* * *

Anita turned the Jeep into the parking lot of a large brick building and parked in an empty spot near the road. She leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath.

Harry blinked a few times and bit back a yawn. The drive down had seemed a bit surreal, especially because it was so early. He was beginning to feel rather hungry, but Anita had been so determined to get to the police station that he hadn't said anything.

"Come on," Anita finally said. "No time like the present."

Harry wanted to argue with that, but he got out the Jeep just the same and trailed Anita into the police station. He had to go through the metal detectors and sign a little book, which he thought was all rather silly. They really just needed some wards on the place.

Anita got to go around the metal detector and joined Harry on the other side. "Come on, RPIT's up this way."

Harry's stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly. Anita raised her eyebrows. "I'm a little hungry," Harry said defensively.

"How about a doughnut?" Anita offered.

It was better than thinking about anything involving meat. Harry nodded, and followed Anita to a little kiosk on the main floor.

Two doughnuts later, Harry felt a little better. Anita had eaten half a muffin and knocked back a large cup of coffee while he had eaten. "Now are you ready to face the big guns?" Anita asked.

"Sure."

Anita took Harry further into the main floor, past door with fascinating names on them, like Evidence and Holding. Anita opened the door on the set of back stairs and came to a sudden halt.

"Jesus, Zerbrowski, what are you doing hiding back here?" she demanded. Over her head, Harry saw Sgt. Zerbrowski sitting on the stairs, looking at an empty coffee cup.

Zerbrowski blinked up at Anita. "Hi. Why are you here?"

"I need to see Dolph," she said, walking closer to the policeman. "Why are you in the back stairwell?"

Zerbrowski shrugged. "Just because." He looked over at Harry. "Who's this?"

"Knock it off," Anita demanded. "This is Harry, you met him at the Spencer crime scene."

"What are you talking about?" Zerbrowski asked, putting down the empty cup and standing. "What crime scene?"

"The Spencer crime scene? Magical death?" Anita said sharply.

"I don't remember any..." Zerbrowski's voice trailed off. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he looked down at his clothes. "I don't remember getting dressed this morning," he said, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. "What's going on?"

Harry silently cursed himself. How had he not thought of this danger before? "I think his memory's been modified," Harry said to Anita. "Sergeant, what's the last thing you remember clearly?"

"Um, two guy, wearing weird clothes, just a few minutes ago," Zerbrowski said. "They asked where Dolph was, I didn't think it was strange or anything. I don't do shit like that!"

"Fuck!" Anita pulled her gun out of its shoulder holster. "These guys, they can break memories?" she asked Harry.

"Sometimes." Harry removed his wand out of his pocket. "If they know we were at the Spencer house, they could be trying to erase everyone's memory who was there."

"Damn it!" Anita looked at Zerbrowski. "Do you know if Tammy's here?"

"Why would she be?" Zerbrowski asked as Anita started running up the stairs. He ran after her, and Harry only hesitated a moment before taking off after them. "I thought she was on mat leave."

"Spencer died a magical death," Anita said, her breath short as she turned the corner on the stairs. "Dolph pulled her off maternity leave to deal with it."

"Great," Zerbrowski puffed.

Harry's lungs were burning by the time Anita finally pushed through a door and tore down the hall, Zerbrowski and Harry right behind her. At the end of the hall was a set of double doors, and Anita yanked the door open so hard the hinges bent.

They ran past a bunch of startled policemen. Harry heard Zerbrowski shout, "Find Reynolds!" as they neared a glassed-in office at the far end of the room.

Anita got there first, Harry only a moment behind her. What he saw had him raising his wand before he even thought.

Two wizards stood on front of Lt. Storr, wands raised, and words were already coming from one wizard's mouth.


	19. Alone In The Storm

* * *

Anita pointed her gun at the startled wizards and shouted, "Drop it!" at the same time as Harry pointed his wand and said, "Expelliarmus!"

The hex slammed into the wizard closest to Lt. Storr, disarming him, but the other wizard ducked behind his companion and threw a stunner at Harry. Everything moved so fast; Harry knew he was going to be too slow to put up a shield, but still he stepped back and tried to cast the incantation.

Moving so fast that she was a blur, Anita was suddenly in front of Harry. The bright red light of the stunner hit her hard in the shoulder and threw her into the air and back through the plate glass window.

Seeing an opening, Harry dropped to his knees and twisted behind the desk, while aiming his wand and shouting, "Expelliarmus!" again. Maybe it was the angle or the other wizard's surprise at hitting the wrong target, but the wizard's wand flew from his hand.

Lt. Storr was on his feet, gun drawn, shouting at the wizards to get on the floor. More cops crowded into the room, guns drawn, pointed at the wizards.

Tammy Reynolds forced her way into the room, her gun in her hand. "Search them for other wands!" she ordered. "Lieutenant, are you okay?"

Lt. Storr nodded, his gun never wavering.

Now that the wizards were disarmed and that someone else who knew about them was there, Harry needed to find Anita. She'd been hit with a stunner and thrown through a window; maybe she was badly hurt. _I can't believe she took a stunner for me!_ Harry thought frantically.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and twisted Harry around. He ended up staring at a very angry cop.

"What the hell do you think--" the cop started.

"It's okay, Smith, he's with Anita," Sgt. Zerbrowski interrupted. The sergeant elbowed his way out of the office, Harry close behind him.

Anita was lying in the middle of a pile of shattered glass, trying to sit up. Harry ran over to Anita's side, glass breaking under his shoes.

"Anita?" Harry asked.

She looked up, but Harry wasn't sure if she really saw him. She gasped and looked back at Lt. Storr's office. "Gun, need my gun," she said frantically.

"No, it's okay, they can't hurt anyone," Harry said, trying to calm her down. He hoped it wasn't a lie. "They haven't got their wands anymore."

"The kid's right, Anita, we took them down," Zerbrowski added.

Anita let out a breath and raised a shaky hand to the side of her head. "Crisis over?" she asked weakly.

"All over," Zerbrowski said. To Harry, he said, "Come on, let's get her out of this glass."

Carefully, Harry and Zerbrowski helped Anita stand up. Her legs didn't seem to be working properly, and Zerbrowski had to put his arm around her waist to keep her upright. They guided her over to a chair and sat her down, then Harry let go of her shoulder and arm. He was going to push his glasses up, and didn't focus on his hand until it was half-way to his face.

His hand and sleeve were drenched in blood.

"Oh god," Zerbrowski muttered. "Can I get a bit of help over here?" he shouted.

Anita blinked up at him. "Why do you need help?" she asked. Her voice sounded distant.

"Because for some unfathomable reason, you don't travel with a medical team," Zerbrowski snapped at her as he dropped to her side. "Where does it hurt?"

"Hurt?" 

Harry went to Anita's other side. Her jacket was black, which was why he hadn't seen the huge spreading wet stain on her back before. "We need to get her jacket off," Harry said.

"Do it," Zerbrowski said grimly. He took a look at the buzz of activity around Lt. Storr's office. "Don't suppose you have any first aid training, kid?"

"Sort of." Harry undid the buttons on Anita's jacket and tried to ease the cloth over her shoulders. She didn't make a sound, just stared at the bloody glass on the linoleum. Harry dropped the jacket to the ground and looked at Anita's back. Her once-white shirt was cut to ribbons on her shoulder and upper back, blood everywhere.

"Shit!" Zerbrowski caught a passing uniformed cop. "Get a first aid kit!"

"But--"

"Get a fucking first aid kit or get the fuck out of here!" Zerbrowski nearly shouted. The cop took off back in the direction he came.

"Anita?" Harry asked as he put his fingers in a tear of the cloth, and ripped it to expose her back. Only a few of the cuts looked deep, but Harry could see tiny bits of glass ground into the wounds on Anita's shoulder.

Anita blinked up at Harry. "I'm getting really sick of this shit happening to me," she told him, her voice wavering.

Harry glanced at Anita's face as he worked on her shirt, then did a double-take. There was a trickle of blood on her cheek that hadn't been there a minute ago.

Zerbrowski followed Harry's gaze and swore again. "When this is over, Anita, you're taking a very long vacation," he told her. The uniform ran back over with the first aid kit, and Zerbrowski dug into it, surfacing with several packets of gauze. "Kid, here."

Harry ripped open one gauze packet and pressed it over the biggest wound on Anita's back. She made a small noise in her throat and tried to move away from the pressure.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, but he didn't move the gauze. "We need to stop the bleeding." They had gone over this in Defence Against the Dark Arts class last year, a whole month of healing spells and potions. Madame Pomfrey had told them that before they used magic on any wound, they needed to know how bad the injury was. To know how bad it was, Harry knew he had to stop the bleeding.

"Just leave it alone, it'll heal on its own," Anita said through gritted teeth.

"No chance of that, Blake," Zerbrowski said. He finished pulling on a pair of latex gloves and touched her chin to turn her head toward him. "Can you imagine what Count Dracula would do to me if I let you bleed to death on the floor of RPIT? Hell, imagine what the media would say."

"You also have glass in the wound," Harry said. He put more gauze over the first blood-soaked piece. "I can't get it out until the bleeding slows down."

"What?" Zerbrowski demanded as another policeman joined them. This detective already had on a pair of latex gloves. "Perry, what are you doing here?"

Detective Clive Perry, who Harry had met at the crime scene a few days before, pulled more gauze out of the first aid kit and laid it on the desk. "Tammy and Dolph have things under control," he said. "It looks as if you needed some help."

"Why isn't anyone else over here?" Zerbrowski said, pushing Anita's hair out of the way and pressing some gauze over a bleeding gash in her head.

Detective Perry pressed his lips together. "They don't want to catch what she has," he said shortly.

"Motherfucking cowards," Zerbrowski muttered. He sounded so angry.

"They did the same thing with you," Anita said. Her eyes were closed and there were little pain lines around her mouth. "That thing with the witch."

Zerbrowski attempted to smile. "Yeah, and who was there to hold me together?" The smile faltered when he lifted his hand and saw that the gauze on Anita's head was soaked with blood. "Hey, Blake! Talk to me!"

"I'm here," Anita said. Her voice was getting fainter. Harry hadn't thought she could get any paler, but she was beginning to have the same waxy white shade as a vampire, under the blood on her skin.

Harry took a deep breath, drawing in the thick copper scent of blood, and it helped him to concentrate. "Anita, I think I might be able to stop the bleeding," he said urgently.

This made Anita open her eyes. "How?"

"Magic." Harry let Detective Perry put his hand over the gauze on Anita's back. Pulling his wand out of his trousers pocket, Harry held it up so Anita could see it. "I'd need to take out the glass first, but then I think I can heal the wounds." He was probably going to catch hell for doing this in front of muggles, but he'd scream about his world from the rooftops if it would stop Anita from fading away like this.

"What do you mean, you think you can do it?" Zerbrowski demanded.

"I've only ever tried it in class," Harry said hotly. "But I can't just let her bleed to death!" Not after she'd taken a hex for him.

"Do it," Anita said.

"Anita--"

"Zerbrowski, just let him do it," Anita said. "Please."

Zerbrowski and Detective Perry exchanged glances. "Tammy's going to flip," Zerbrowski muttered. "Okay, kid, do your thing."

Right. "I need to get the glass out first," Harry warned Anita.

"Just do it."

"It may hurt."

"It already fucking hurts, just do it!"

Harry turned his back to the crowd of police officers. Taking careful hold of Anita's arm below the cuts, he pointed his wand at the most obvious bits of glass and murmured, "Accio glass."

The tiny shards of glass worked themselves out of Anita's flesh and moved up to hover near Harry's wand tip. He carefully guided the glass over to the desk, then dropped it to the tabletop.

He had to repeat the action several times, until no more glass came to his wand when called. Throughout the process, Anita kept her eyes closed. Other than the occasional sharp intake of breath, she made no noise.

Harry laid his wand down and dabbed at Anita's skin around the wounds with some fresh gauze. The blood had slowed, and he could see the cuts more clearly. There were only a few deep gashes, with lots of superficial scrapes. He decided to leave those alone and concentrate on the deeper wounds. Healing injuries with magic like this was going to hurt enough on its own.

"Anita?" Harry said quietly. It took a moment, but Anita opened her eyes. She stared blankly at him. "I can heal up these cuts now."

"Fine."

Harry hesitated. "It's going to hurt."

"Fine."

"A lot."

Zerbrowski made a sound in this throat as he lifted the blood-soaked piece of cloth away from Anita's head. "Don't you have some kind of god-damned magic spell to make it not hurt?" he demanded.

"We didn't get that far in class," Harry said, keenly aware of how the two detectives were looking at him.

"Just get it done," Anita said, cutting off any protest from Zerbrowski.

Harry once again lifted his wand. The only pain-relieving charm he knew couldn't be cast on an open wound without risking massive bleeding. He knew what he was talking about when he said that the charm he was about to use hurt a lot. Hermione had to cast it on Harry during one of their little escapades the previous year.

There was no use in waiting. Harry pointed his wand and spoke the words. The wound glowed with a blue-green light and began to close. Anita gasped, a horrible soft sound coming from deep in her chest, and clenched her hands tightly around the arms of the chair.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered as he pulled his wand away. Anita breathed out sharply. Desperately, Harry wanted Anita to tell him to stop, but she didn't say a word. Trying to be as quick as possible, Harry healed the other two large cuts. Anita didn't make any more noise, but when Harry started on the last wound, her hands convulsed on the chair arms so hard that one of the metal arms was ripped off its moorings.

When he was finished, Harry slipped his wand out of sight into his pocket and reached for some more gauze, to wipe away the congealing blood on Anita's back, but Zerbrowski stopped him.

"We can take it from here," the detective said. There was a weight in his expression that Harry could not figure out, but he moved back anyway and let Zerbrowski carefully clean the blood of Anita's skin.

Harry couldn't look at Anita. He examined his hands, at the blood caking and drying on his skin, under his nails, while he tried to figure out how to apologize to her, that he wasn't able to disarm both wizards in one go.

 _First Bellatrix and now this,_ Harry thought morosely. _Anita keeps getting hurt when people aim for me. It's not fair._ But life wasn't fair, Harry knew. If life was fair, Bellatrix would have killed him and not Sirius, back at the Ministry. If life was fair, his parents wouldn't have died when Voldemort came to kill him as a baby.

There was a commotion, and Harry raised his head. The two wizards were being guided, none too gently, across the squad room by a number of police officers. They were both shackled at the hands and feet. The man closer to Harry, the first one he disarmed, glared down at the boy. Harry fought the urge to look away, and glared back. He felt anger rage up in his chest at the sight of the men. They'd attacked Anita and Sgt. Zerbrowski, and almost attacked Lt. Storr.

 _But was it really an attack on Sgt. Zerbrowski?_ Harry began to wonder. _They just modified his memory._

But that had been what Anita was so mad about, he remembered. The wizards and witches in England didn't make it seem like that big a deal, to modify the memories of muggles. Why was it different here? 

_We didn't know what the Death Eaters were going to do to Lt. Storr,_ Harry thought, but faltered. He'd never seen those two wizards before. Why was he so convinced that they were Death Eaters? Because of Bellatrix? 

The more he ran it over in his mind, the more uneasy he became. Why would two Death Eaters, who had successfully gotten away with murdering Nigel Spencer, have come back for the police? They had to know the police couldn't link them to the murder. If there was something they needed from the dead man, why didn't they just take it to begin with? And why hadn't the one who had glared at Harry been surprised to see him? Come to think of it, the man didn't act as if he recognized Harry at all.

Harry kept his eyes on the wizards as they were manhandled out of the door by the police officers. He caught a glimpse of Anita's face as he did so. She was also watching the procession, and Harry was chilled by the cold, dead expression in her eyes.

* * *

Zerbrowski had found a spare shirt in his locker. It was so big on me that I had to roll up the sleeves just to be able to use my hands.

There was no salvaging my bra, though. Apparently when I'd gone through the window, the glass that had cut up my back had done a number on my bra strap. Zerbrowski wouldn't be able to help me fix that one.

For some reason, it was making me jumpy that I didn't have a bra. It didn't make any sense, but still I had to stop myself from hunching over and crossing my arms over my chest. I had a shirt on, and it was loose enough. Even though it didn't make any sense, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

That wasn't the only problem. When I'd gone through the glass, I think I lost a few seconds. I remember being hit with something, flying through the air... then Harry was by my side and there were dozens of cops that hadn't been there a moment before.

I shook my head and put my elbows on the table. Zerbrowski, Harry and I were in one of the interrogation rooms, along with a policewoman from downstairs I didn't know. Zerbrowski was all pissed off because he wanted to help with the interrogation of the wizards or something, not just sit here like a useless lump. He'd been so angry when Tammy stood up to him and Dolph both and told them that they had been compromised.

 _Compromised._ Such a stupid word. The military uses it to sanitize its messes, security's been compromised. But that wasn't what happened to Zerbrowski and almost happened to Dolph. Zerbrowski got his mind fucked with by a couple of wand-wielding sorcerers. We still weren't sure Dolph was unaffected; if Harry and I had gotten there in time.

Harry. Who was sitting at the table across from me, staring at the dried blood on his hands like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The policewoman had let him go wash up, but the blood under his nails and in the creases of his knuckles wasn't going to come out without some serious soap and scrubbing.

Not just any blood. My blood. I wasn't able to stop a tiny shiver that ran down my spine and burrowed into the core of my body. I was cold, so cold, but no amount of the hot, weak coffee Zerbrowski was shoving at me seemed to be able to fix that.

I hadn't known what we'd find in Dolph's office. It was possible that he'd be having a nice chat over tea with some drag queens, and I would have gotten my ass escorted off the property, but even I hadn't expected what we found. It had taken me back to last night, only this time it wasn't me the wand was aimed at, it was Harry, and this time there was no Clay to save Harry's life. I'd jumped without even thinking. I still didn't know why.

I stood up and walked over to the far wall. I couldn't put my shoulder holster back on. The leather was soaked with blood, and it pressed right into several of the more painful cuts on my back. So the gun was shoved into my waistband. Some days I wondered if I should just get a hip holster, like in those cowboy movies, and be done with it.

Harry's eyes followed me. I wanted to scream at him to stop watching me like I was his mother. But that wasn't it. He was watching me like a good little werewolf watches its Lupa. It was making me angry.

I could still feel echoes of the pain from when Harry had healed my back. It had felt like he was sewing the skin back together without anesthetic. But it hadn't hurt as much as the pain in the woods. I shivered again. The feeling I'd been living with for days, that sense of horrid anticipation, had finally gone away. Rather, instead of sitting on the surface of my skin, it was like it had finally sunk in, out of sight, where not even I could see it anymore.

The door to the room swung open and Tammy walked in. She looked exhausted. Dolph was right behind her.

"What's up, Tammy?" Zerbrowski asked, putting his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the wall.

Tammy went and sat in the chair I had just vacated, and made some serious eye contact with Harry. He sat up, looking a bit worried.

"We got a bit of information out of them," Tammy said. She glanced at me, then back at Harry.

"Do you know who they are?" Harry demanded. "Are they Death Eaters?"

Dolph closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "They say not."

The suspicion in Dolph's voice was as strong as ever, and it was comforting, how some things never changed.

"Then who the fuck are they?" Zerbrowski demanded.

"One of them said that they're Aurors," Tammy said flatly.

The word was familiar to me, but I didn't clue in as to why until Harry went sheet-white. "Aurors?" he repeated weakly, then dropped his head into his hands. "Bloody hell."

Zerbrowski opened his mouth to say something, but Tammy beat him to the punch. "They're in charge of magical law enforcement," she said.

"Then why the fuck did they go after Zerbrowski?" I asked. Now I remembered when I had heard about Aurors. Harry had said he wanted to be one, before one of his classmates ended up dead.

Tammy shook her head. "They're not talking. The only think I can think of would be that they wanted to get rid of any trace of an attack on Spencer." She stood up. I hadn't ever seen Tammy this mad before. It was quiet and cold, but as she paced past me, I could feel her power almost buzzing on her skin. "From what I've heard, they're not supposed to do this kind of thing. Get involved after the police do. Why the hell are they here?"

Harry lifted his face out of his hands. "Maybe because of the Dark Mark over Mr. Spencer's house?" he suggested tentatively.

"Maybe." Tammy kept pacing. "Maybe they're afraid of some kind of political incident? But they haven't got involved before now, why not?"

Dolph shrugged, and it was a bit like watching a mountain move. It certainly caught my attention. "So what do we do next, detective?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Wait, Tammy's in charge of the case?" I asked. It wasn't the most tactful thing I'd ever done, and Tammy glared at me, looking only the tiniest bit hurt. "Sorry, Tammy, but you're not the most experienced cop here."

"No, but she's the only one with any experience at magic. She's also the only one not a potential target in this." Dolph's face was blank. I wondered if he was upset about this, mad at Tammy, or what.

If Dolph was okay with it, I'd swallow my misgivings. I wasn't a cop, after all. "Okay, so now what?" I asked.

Mollified, Tammy spread her hands. "I need to talk to these guys more. We need to know if they're alone and why they're here. And I want Anita with me."

"Why?" I leaned back a bit, and accidentally bumped into the wall. The tiny impact sent a wave of pain over my back, and I bit my lip to keep silent. I'd been hurt before. I was not going to act like a weakling over this.

Was it my imagination, or did Tammy hesitate for a moment before replying? "You're sensitive to magic. You may be able to tell if they're lying."

I so didn't believe her, but since I wanted to get answers out of these bastards, I wasn't going to say no. "Sure thing."

"Can I come?" Harry asked quickly

"No," Tammy and I said at the same time. "Look, Harry, as much as you want to know what's going on, you're not a cop or a federal marshal," I said. "You're not going in on this."

Zerbrowski was giving me a funny look. I didn't know why, so I didn't say anything.

"They don't know who disarmed them," Tammy added. "One of them asked me who the wizard was, which leads me to believe that they didn't recognize you, Harry."

"Oh." Harry frowned slightly. "Is that good?"

"Yes, that's good." Tammy pushed her hair back behind her ears. "The last thing any of us needs is for these guys to know that it's Harry Potter who disarmed them."

"Speaking of which, what are we going to put in the reports about a kid who took out the bad guys with magic?" Zerbrowski asked.

I'd been thinking about this while we were waiting for Tammy, and I had an answer. "It's okay, I deputized him," I told Zerbrowski with a smile.

"When?" Zerbrowski asked.

"On the stairs." It wasn't exactly accurate... okay, it wasn't true at all, but they didn't need to know that, as long as Harry kept his mouth shut.

"I didn't hear it," Zerbrowski retorted.

"I'm surprised you could hear anything over your heavy breathing," I shot back.

"Even a Federal Marshal can't deputize minors, Anita," Dolph rumbled.

"I can't?" I asked, giving Dolph wide eyes.

He didn't buy it. "No."

"I'll make a note of that for next time, then." I turned to Harry, who was still half-glowering at me. "Don't you have stuff to tell Dolph about Spencer?"

"Oh. Yes." Harry's irritation faded somewhat.

"See you guys in a bit, then." I followed Tammy out into the hall.

They had stuck the two wizards down in the basement, in the holding cells designed for the preternatural suspects. It was a bit of a walk, and halfway down the second flight of stairs, I started to feel a bit light-headed and put my hand on the railing to balance myself.

"How are you feeling?" Tammy asked.

"Fine," I snapped. My stomach was starting to protest as well. I never understood why blood loss made me nauseous sometimes.

"We can stop if you need to."

"I don't need to." 

Another flight of stairs passed in silence. Then Tammy said, "I owe my mother an apology."

"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about, and I had to concentrate on the stairs.

Tammy held a door open for me, and I couldn't find the energy to complain. "I told you that I was invited to the American magic school, right?"

"Yeah." The flat surface was easier to walk on, and I felt less ill. Good sign.

"My mother was the one who wouldn't let me go. She'd had a cousin who went, years ago. My father wasn't sure, but my mother put her foot down. I was so angry at her at the time. I thought she didn't want to let me learn about who I was."

"And now?" From what I'd seen of Tammy's parents, I'd have thought it would have been her father who'd be against the magic school thing. Both the Reynolds were Followers of the Way, hardcore Christian witches. Mr. Reynolds always seemed more adamant about it than his wife.

"Mom said that I'd lose my values," Tammy said quietly. We had reached a set of barred doors, and she had to ring the buzzer for someone to let us in. "That the school made witches look down on normal people, think they're not as important."

"Differently than the Followers of the Way look down on people?" I asked.

Tammy glared at me. "There is a huge difference between looking down on someone for being inferior because of the way they were born, and wanting to help someone to accept Christ into their heart," she said angrily. "Like messing with Zerbrowski's memories just because he's not magical. That's what these people do, Anita."

The door rolled open, and Tammy stalked past me down the hall. Damn it. I wasn't Tammy's friend, but even I usually had better judgment than this. I didn't run to catch up with her, but I did try to walk faster.

Tammy paused by the next set of doors and turned to face me. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Oh goody. We weren't going to play swap the insult all morning. "Sure."

"Here we go," Tammy said. There was a feeling of dread in her words, and I found myself wondering what Tammy was thinking.

* * *

The first idiot we talked to didn't say anything, not even when Tammy finally demanded to know if he wanted a lawyer. I didn't get an introduction, just stood in the corner. I wasn't getting any magic vibes of this one. Maybe without his wand, he was pretty much useless? But I'd felt the magic thrumming on Harry's skin when the boy didn't have his wand. Maybe it was just Harry. Or maybe it was his growing beast.

Most of the heat in my anger at these guys bled away while I watched the man's face, leaving me cold again.

After an hour, Tammy gave up in disgust and we went down the hall to the other room.

While his partner was all calm and collected, this guy was nervous. His hands were moving in useless patterns on the table, and his eyes kept flicking around the room. He was trying not to look so nervous, and failing miserably.

Tammy nodded at the biggest of the four cops in the room, and took the chair across the table from the wizard. I sat in another chair, this one closer to the wall. I had a perfectly clear shot at the wizard if he tried anything.

"Why did you modify Sgt. Zerbrowski's memory?" Tammy asked without preamble. She sounded bored.

The guy shook his head.

Tammy raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing to Lt. Storr?" she asked. The guy didn't answer. She looked over at me, then back at the wizard. "Do you know who this is?"

The wizard flicked a glance at me, but I don't think he actually saw me.

Tammy leaned forward over the table, and smiled. "This is Anita Blake."

The wizard jerked back and tried to stand up, but he was shackled to the chair and all he succeeded in doing was moving the chair back about a foot. There was an expression of absolute terror on his face, and I didn't understand why, but I think Tammy did.

"She's the one you hit with a stunner," Tammy continued, her voice calm. "I see you've heard of her."

The wizard shook his head. "We didn't know she was going to be here, honest," he blurted out. His voice was higher than I'd expected, and sort of weedy. He sounded like he was from the Bronx.

"Fortunate for us that she was," Tammy continued. "Now, why did you modify Sgt. Zerbrowski's memory?"

The wizard tried to push his chair farther away from me. What the fuck was going on? "I can't say--" 

Tammy stood up and turned her back on him. She had a question in her eyes as she looked at me. I think she wanted me to ask the guy some questions.

Fine, I'd ask questions. Then Tammy and I would have a nice conversation in the hall. I did not like being blindsided like this.

I stood up and took careful steps to Tammy's chair. The dizziness receded quickly, and I didn't fall over. A hundred brownie points for me. I sat down before I fell over, and tried to look as threatening as possible. When you're only five foot two, it's hard. It's even harder when you look like you've been playing dress-up with your dad's clothes.

"Why did you modify Sgt. Zerbrowski's memory?" I began.

It took three hours, but we finally got the story out of the wizard. They were Aurors, all right. He didn't give us any names. They'd been told that Tammy, the only real witch in the department, was on maternity leave. No one had suggested that I might be there, which was why they hadn't expected any resistance. They were supposed to modify the memories of everyone who had been involved with the Nigel Spencer case. He didn't tell us why.

He also didn't tell me why he was so scared of me. As far as I could remember, I'd never met him before.

At one point, the guy asked who had been with me in Dolph's office. I ignored the question.

After we'd gotten as much out of the guy as possible, Tammy called an end to our session, and we left. I managed to restrain myself until we got to the stairs.

"What the fuck was that all about?" I demanded as soon as we cleared the last set of bars.

Tammy didn't pretend to not know what I was talking about. "Everyone knows who you are, Anita."

"That is not the fucking reason why that idiot back there practically sat up and begged to tell us everything!" I wanted to yell in her face, but I didn't trust myself to get that close to her. I could feel my beast rumbling in my chest, like a restless animal. It wasn't any happier with this than I was.

Tammy crossed her arms over her chest. "I'd thought..."

"What?"

"I heard, from people, when I married Larry, that necromancers are like the bogymen of these wizards," she finally said.

My mouth fell open. "And you didn't tell me this?" I asked, incredulous. I knew the vampires used to kill necromancers on sight, but witches and wizards feared us? The only magic I'd had, before I met Jean-Claude, was control over the dead. I couldn't use a wand like Harry could, and from what I'd seen so far, that was far more useful and deadly.

"I didn't know!" Tammy exclaimed. "I just thought I'd try it, and it worked."

I realized I was clenching my hands so tightly that my back was tensing up, shooting pain through my shoulders. I took a deep breath and made myself relax. "I appreciate that you're shooting in the dark, Tammy," I said, "But you keep me out of the loop again and I'm not going to play. I'm not your enemy on this!" I exclaimed. "I want to know why these bastards were after Dolph and Zerbrowski as much as you do, okay?"

"Next time, I'll tell you what I'm going to do, happy?" Tammy snapped. I noticed that she didn't say sorry.

"Fine." I turned toward the stairs. I was so sick of this shit. All I wanted to do was collect Harry and go home.

Tammy and I reached for the handle to the stairwell door at the same time, and her fingers brushed over the back of my hand.

It felt like there were burning knives on her fingertips, digging into my flesh. I jerked my hand back and cradled it against my chest. Tammy gave me a strange look, and opened the door.

I looked down at my hand. The skin was unmarked. I flexed my hand and the echoes of the pain slowly faded.

I swallowed, hard. What the hell was going on?


	20. Sinking Like A Stone

* * *

I pulled the Jeep into the driveway at home sharply, and had to stop a bit more abruptly than was graceful to avoid hitting Micah's car. Harry didn't say anything as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

I yanked on the parking brake and got out of the Jeep. I had to open the back door to get the blood-soaked bundle of cloth that had been my jacket and shirt, and my shoulder twinged in protest. I breathed out through my nose and grabbed the bundle. I could ignore this pain.

Harry still didn't say anything as I closed the car door and walked toward the house. He took a couple of quick steps to open the front door for me. It was one open door too many for me that day. "I'm not incapacitated, Harry," I snapped at him. "Don't act like I am."

His eyes were wide behind those ridiculous glasses. "I was just trying to--"

"Don't." I stormed past him into the house, careful not to touch him.

Micah came into the hall, looking very worried. "Where have you guys been?" he asked. "You left over twelve hours ago."

"The police station," I said shortly, trying to figure a way to get around him without physical contact. I'd been trying to avoid touching anyone since my brush with Tammy. I wasn't even thinking about it; my body just cringed back from contact. Luckily, no one at the station was big on shaking my hand, and Harry wasn't all touchy-feely.

Micah just looked at me. "Why didn't you call?" he asked quietly.

"Why didn't you?" I shot back.

"You left your cell phone on the couch," Micah said. He breathed in, and his gaze traveled from my face down my arm to the bloody cloth I had still clenched in one hand. "What happened to you?"

"I cut myself shaving," I retorted.

"There were two wizards at the police station," came Harry's voice from behind me. "They were going to attack Lt. Storr, but Anita got in their way."

Micah's eyes widened. "Are you okay?" he demanded.

"I'm fine," I said. "I'm going to have a shower."

"Anita--"

I threw the bloody bundle of cloth at Micah's chest. "Back off, Micah. I'm not dead." I walked quickly down the hall, past Micah. He didn't make any move to touch me, but I felt his gaze on me as I moved. It hurt almost as much as I imagined his touch would.

* * *

I locked the bathroom door and put the Browning on the counter. Unbuttoning the shirt was a painful treat. My back was hurting more than it should. I idly wondered if Harry had gotten all the glass out before he closed up the wounds, then the full impact of that thought hit me and I yanked the shirt off, ignoring the pain. Ripping off the bandages, I looked at my shoulder in the mirror.

There was bruising under the various scrapes and cuts, and three long lines of clean flesh among the gashes. Those much have been what Harry healed, I thought as I ran my fingers over the skin. It felt smooth.

I had to force myself to press my fingers against the skin. If there was glass in there, it would hurt, right?

Other than the normal pain of bruises, there was no sharp shooting pains. I let my breath out in a waving sigh. No glass, then. Probably.

I finished undressing. I was spending too much time in this bathroom taking off bloody clothes. Zerbrowski's comment about me needing a vacation didn't sound so bad, I thought as I turned on the shower. No magic, no monsters. Maybe just me and a lounge chair somewhere. Or maybe I'd just sleep for a week. That sounded nice, too.

Over the patter of the water, I thought I heard footsteps in the hall. I froze, not sure what to do. After a brief pause, the footsteps moved on down the hall.

Calm down, I told myself, my heart in my throat. No one in this house would do anything to hurt you.

Repeating that in my head, I stepped into the shower. I remembered to redirect the showerhead so the spray was on my knees, about the only uninjured part of my body. I ducked my head under the spray, hissing as the water hit the gash on my scalp and the scrapes on my shoulder. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was still better than the pain in the woods. I'd survived that. I wasn't going to whine about this.

After a very uncomfortable shower, I had washed the traces of blood off my skin and hair. I dried off slowly. When I was done, the formerly white towel was dotted with red spots where my wounds had reopened.

I dropped the towel on top of my ruined clothing and slipped into a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It must have been Nathaniel's. I wrapped it around me like a security blanket, hugging Nathaniel's scent to me. I was trembling, I realized. Why did it feel like I was saying goodbye?

The humid air in the bathroom was suddenly too thick to breathe in. I fumbled with the lock and let myself out into the hall. There was no one to be seen, and I made it to the bedroom without seeing anyone.

I shut the door behind me and headed to the dresser. I wanted clothes. I didn't like being undressed. It made me feel naked in more ways than just the clothes.

The bra was the first thing I grabbed. Out of force of habit, I rooted around for some matching panties. Triumphant in my battle with the underwear drawer, I turned around and jumped back, letting out a squeak. Micah was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, staring at me.

"Damn it, Micah, don't do that!" I exclaimed. I hadn't even heard the door open.

"I was here when you came in," Micah said. His voice was low. There was something about the way he was looking at me that made my heartbeat pick up. It wasn't sexual. He wasn't doing anything, but as I watched him, I think I finally realized that he was a predator. And I'd left my gun in the bathroom.

I swallowed hard. Micah wouldn't hurt me. He'd never do anything to hurt me. He'd been in my bed for over a year; if he'd wanted to hurt me, he'd had a thousand opportunities. Maybe he was just waiting until your defences were down, whispered a tiny voice in my head.

No.

"What?" Micah said, and I realized that I'd said that last word out loud. I shook my head and clutched the bathrobe tighter.

"Go away, I need to get dressed."

Slowly, Micah pushed himself off the wall and stalked across the room. I was frozen, like a little rabbit when the big bad leopard's coming.

Micah stopped about a foot away, too close for comfort. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Just breathe, I told myself. Don't forget to breathe. "Doing what?"

Micah's gaze was heavy on my skin. "Harry told me that you jumped in front of a magic spell to save him."

I hadn't expected the conversation to swing this way, and I didn't know what he wanted to hear. "So?"

"So?" Micah repeated, his voice bordering on incredulous. "Anita, talk to me! After last night--"

"Don't talk about last night!" I exclaimed. I couldn't talk about last night, and Phillip and Clay or any of it. I dropped the underwear on the ground and skirted around Micah, putting the bed between us. It was a stupid move, I realized too late. Now Micah was between me and the door.

"Why not?" Micah demanded. "Why won't you let me in? Why won't you please let me help you?"

"I don't need your help!" I almost shouted. "I don't need anyone's help!"

"Yes, you do!" Micah shouted back. "Why won't you tell us what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong!" I stepped back as Micah approached me, until I was at the wall and didn't have anywhere else to go.

"You know that's not true!" Micah's voice had taken on an edge of frustration. He was too close for me to think clearly, and I couldn't watch everything at once, so I missed it when his hand darted out and wrapped around my wrist.

It felt as if someone was cutting off my hand with a dull saw. I swallowed the scream in my throat and jerked my hand away from him with all my strength.

I'm not sure what Micah saw in my face, but he stepped back.

The pain in my wrist faded to a dull ache. I kept my eyes on Micah's chest. The chest always has the first indications of movement in a fight.

"What's wrong, Anita?" Micah asked. He sounded... I'm not sure what. Tired, or maybe fed up.

"Nothing's wrong," I lied. I just wanted him to go away.

Micah turned around and walked out of the room. I almost called after him, begging him not to leave me alone. God, couldn't I even make up my own mind? 

I rubbed my aching wrist, trying very hard not to cry. I didn't know what was going on, or how to stop it, and I was so scared that it was hard to keep going.

The phone rang and I jumped. I swore quietly as I went to pick it up. Why the fuck was I so skittish?

"Hello?"

"Anita?" 

"Larry?" Why was Larry calling me? 

"Anita, I need a huge favour," Larry said in a rush.

"What?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the neatly-made bed.

I heard a tiny wail in the background. "I think Tannis has an ear infection or something," Larry said, sounding stressed. "She needs to go to the doctor, and Tammy's at work."

"That's too bad," I said slowly.

"And I have one raising tonight, and it's too late to cancel," Larry finished.

"Uh -uh."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. "So can you help me out?"

"Oh." I was bone-tired and ached all over. Did I really want to go out again and slice up my hand to raise a zombie? On the other hand, it would get me out of the house and away from Micah. "Sure."

"Thank you," Larry said. "I owe you so big."

Something about the way he was talking made me think that he hadn't talked to Tammy yet. "It's fine. Where is it?"

Larry gave me the location and the history of the zombie. Standard last will and testament verification. The subject was only five years dead.

"You just go make sure your kid's okay," I said, cutting him off. I told him I'd call him tomorrow, making sure to lace my tone with cheer that I didn't feel, and hung up.

I really wasn't sure I should do this. Raising a zombie after losing so much blood? I'd worked before when I felt bad, I rationalized as I got dressed. And it was my life, wasn't it? No one else had a right to tell me what I should and shouldn't be doing.

Still, it was with growing dread that I walked down the hall to the closet where I kept my zombie bag. There were voices in the living room. I heard Nathaniel saying something to Micah, but I couldn't make out the words.

I opened the closet and dragged out the bag. As a precaution, I always checked it before I left the house. Some things were in disarray, and it took me a minute to remember that Damian had been in here looking for sage a couple of nights ago.

I had a sudden flash of memory back to the woods, of Richard holding me in his arms because I was too weak to move. I swallowed down a sudden rush of shame. I hadn't been strong enough to stand up on my own, and I wondered if everyone else had seen how weak I was. Part of me knew I was being completely irrational, but the rest of me, the louder voice in my head, knew it mattered. It mattered a lot.

"Anita? Are you going out?" 

Nathaniel's voice brought me crashing back to earth. I raised my eyes from the bag, feeling as if I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. "Yes," I said in what I hoped was a calm voice.

"Why?"

"Zombies wait for no man," I said, zipping the bag up and standing.

I made the mistake of looking Nathaniel in the eyes. Something burned in those violet eyes, some kind of emotion that I didn't understand, and it dug at my heart. It hurt and I wanted it to stop.

"Aren't you hungry?" Nathaniel asked, his voice sounding very young.

"No."

I turned away from him and grabbed the bag. I was careful to not look at him as I walked past.

"Where are you going?" Micah asked. I paused with my back to him, my hand on the doorknob.

"Work," I said. "I have to go."

"I thought you didn't have to work for another few days," Micah replied.

Still I didn't turn around. "I'm filling in for Larry. Tannis is sick."

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not!" My hand tightened on the doorknob. I couldn't spend time alone with Micah, not after what happened in the bedroom.

"Then take Nathaniel."

Something in my chest jerked in a visceral reaction to that suggestion. "Nathaniel has to go take his shirt off for a bunch of screaming women tonight," I said sharply. I opened the door and was about to walk out into the night when I heard Micah whisper something.

"You're taking Harry, then," he said flatly.

I bit back a frustrated scream. "Fine." I kept walking toward the Jeep. I placed the zombie bag in the backseat and was just shutting the door when Harry came tearing out of the house. He scrambled to get in the Jeep just as I began to back out of the driveway.

The car was quiet as I drove out of the suburb and headed for the freeway. I wanted Harry to say something, and yet I didn't want to have to come up with more lies.

I turned onto the freeway and drove south, pushing the car up to sixty.

Harry put something in the empty cup holder. "Micah gave me your mobile," he said hesitantly.

"Good for Micah," I muttered. My eyes were burning and I griped the steering wheel tightly.

I heard Harry take in a breath, then let it out again. "I think he's worried about you," he said carefully.

I pressed my lips together. I'd never asked Micah to worry about me. Funny how that never made any difference.

* * *

For all my hesitations, I raised the zombie without any complications. The lawyers began their work, and I wandered over to a nearby grave. We were in an old cemetery that had only just opened up more spaces, so there were all these ancient granite and marble stone monuments everywhere. I sat down at the feet of a large marble angel. Years of rain had etched tear tracks on the angel's face. When I was little, I'd asked my step-mother Judith what made angels cry. She'd told me not to ask stupid questions.

Harry came over and sat next to me, giving me enough space that I didn't feel like I needed to move.

"Was that your first zombie?" I asked, sticking a Band-Aid around the new cut on my left arm. Normally, I did my fingers, but I'd had enough things slicing into me today to make me worry that I might miss and remove a finger with my machete. It was harder to slice through the two bones in the lower arm by accident.

Sometimes, I worried about way I rationalized the parts of my job.

Harry pushed his glasses up on his face and watched the lawyers interacting with the zombie. "Yeah."

Something in his voice made me look closer at him. "You going to be okay?"

He nodded. "It's just... he's really dead. I mean, he's moving around, but the thing that was him, it's gone." 

I looked up at the stars. They were so peaceful. I wondered what God thought when He watched the stars. "I can only control the body, Harry. The soul's in God's hands."

"Would you... would you ever bring back someone you lost? Just to talk to?"

I sighed. "I thought about raising my mother, a long time ago."

"Did you do it?" Harry whispered.

I shook my head. I'd thought about it for months, back when I first started working at Animators Inc. What it might be like to have her back, if only for a little while. I'd been in my car one night, waiting for a light to change to green, when it really hit me, what I was thinking about doing.

If I succeeded, it wouldn't be my mother under that dirt. It was just a shell. I could raise the zombie all I wanted, but it would just be an echo.

That had been the night I finally let my mother go.

"I don't even know where my parents are buried," Harry said. He lay back and rested his head on the angel's stone feet. "My aunt would never tell me."

He fell silent. I watched my zombie for a little while. Jean-Claude and Richard and Nathaniel and Damian might have cut me off, all of the living and the undead, but the truly dead would never abandon me.

I sighed and let my necromancy rise up, filling me like it was cool water and I was a cup. A wind that had nothing to do with the breeze moved my hair as I reached out with invisible thoughts and touched the dead in the graveyard, sifting over the bones in my mind, touching the graves. There was one empty grave in the cemetery, an old one, and it held traces of a familiar power. A vampire had crawled out of that grave a century ago. It didn't matter.

I slowly let my power sink back down, to rest in my body for the next time I needed it. The dark seemed sharper now, like it was waiting for something.

"What was that?" Harry asked. He was looking at me with huge eyes.

"Power of the dead," I said distantly, still riding a bit high from the chill power. It had been too long since I'd done this. I knew I could raise this entire graveyard now. I just needed a reason.

Harry let out a shaky breath. "It was like someone was shoving ice in my chest."

"You felt it?" I asked.

He nodded. "Does it always feel like that?"

"Yes," I said, as a lawyer by the grave raised his hand. I stood up and brushed dirt off the back of my skirt. "Showtime."

* * *

When the zombie was back and the lawyers all driven away, I wrapped the steel machete back in its fabric cover and placed it carefully in my zombie bag.

The silence of the night folded back over us and the crickets slowly picked back up with their songs. This time of night always held so much promise, and all I wanted to do was to stay here among the quiet dead.

"Should we be getting back?" Harry asked, his voice almost quieter than the crickets.

"Probably," I replied, but I went back and sat by my crying angel, the stone cold at my back.

Harry stood by the grave, looking around the shadowy graveyard. "Is there anything out there?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I can't feel anything. Nothing hiding in the dark."

Harry kicked at the overgrown grass, hands in his pockets. "I hate graveyards."

I just sat there, watching him. After a while, I realized I should say something. "Because of Voldemort?"

Harry shuddered. "Yeah." He came over and sat back in the same spot as before. The silvery moon reflected off his glasses, making him appear almost blind. "You know, no one back home says his name."

"Why not?" I asked as I curled up against the stone. "They can't pronounce it?"

"They're afraid of him." Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and ran it between his fingers. "Dumbledore always says that fear of a name is fear of the thing itself."

"He's right." I didn't understand Harry's people's morbid fascination with this Voldemort guy. "He's just a guy."

Harry pointed his wand at a tiny chip of rock and levitated it into the air. "He ruins an awful lot of lives for 'just a guy'," Harry said angrily.

There wasn't anything I could say to that.

Harry bounced the rock chip off a tombstone. "What they did, it wasn't right."

"Kill your parents?" I asked, not sure what he was talking about. Wasn't that much obvious?

"No, at the police station," Harry said. "The Aurors shouldn't have thrown a stunner at you. Or done what they did to Sgt. Zerbrowski."

I hugged my knees to my chest. I was getting cold again. "I was aiming a gun at them."

Harry shook his head rapidly. "It doesn't matter! We're not supposed to use magic against muggles, it's not right! Magic can do so many things, and the muggles can't protect themselves!"

I held up my hand. "Just stop using that word, okay?"

Harry appeared confused. "What word, 'muggle'?"

"Yes." I shook my head, and my hair tumbled down around my knees. It made me a fraction less cold. "It's like you're calling them children or something."

"I'm not," Harry replied, astonished. I wondered if he'd ever thought of it like that before. "It's not like I'm calling them m-mudblooods or anything."

From the way he stuttered on the word, I suspected it wasn't exactly a compliment. "What does that mean?"

Harry looked down, then used his wand to toss the rock chip off into the distance. "It's a word to describe a witch or wizard who's muggle-born. It's a really foul thing to say. It's supposed to mean that their blood is unpure, like it's dirty or something."

"Real sweet little world you've got going on over on the other side of the ocean," I said sharply. "Fucking with people's memories? Magic that can torture and kill? Calling people dirty just because of how they were born?" I made myself stop. Being angry about this wouldn't help anything. "Sounds like Tammy was right after all."

Harry raked his fingers through his messy hair, pushing it back from his face. "What did she say?" 

I thought back to the conversation we'd had in the stairwell. "That the witches at the school Tammy didn't go to, they looked down on regular humans as not being important."

"Not everyone's like that back home!" Harry exclaimed. "Not the Weasleys, not Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall or Hermione or any of my housemates!"

"But some do," I said, reading between the lines of what he just said. "How many? Ten? A quarter of them? Half?"

Harry stood up, took a few steps away, then kicked a tombstone. "I don't know!" 

I looked off into the darkness. I didn't want to have this fight with him. I didn't want to fight with anyone anymore, but I was so alone I wasn't sure I knew what I was doing. Maybe part of the cold within me was how alone I was, now. No open marks, no connections to anyone. I was as alone as I had ever been and it scared me.

But I couldn't act scared. I needed to act like I wasn't terrified of every moment, of any touch, of anything. I needed to be strong for everyone else, and maybe that would be enough to make me not so alone.

Harry slumped down to sit on top of that tombstone of his.

I took a deep breath. "You used magic in front of non-magical people. At the police station. You fixed my shoulder. I thought you weren't supposed to do that." I couldn't hold back a shiver as I remembered what it felt like as my shoulder healed, as the skin was sewn back together with magic.

"That was different."

"Why?"

"You were hurt."

"I would have gotten better."

"That's not the point!" Harry shouted.

I sprang to my feet, suddenly so angry that I wanted to hurt Harry. "Is there a point?" I yelled. "Is there a reason to all this shit that I go through? Is there? What possible reason could there be for me to live this life?"

I whirled around and stalked off toward the Jeep. I was halfway there when I remembered that I'd left my keys in the bag with all my zombie stuff, back by the grave.

I didn't want to go back. I was so tired and so cold that I just wanted to lie down and make it all go away. Barring that, just walking off into the distance and never looking back sounded good, too.

But that would be giving up. I told myself that I wasn't going to give up, so I turned around and slowly retraced my steps.

Harry was still hovering by the grave. My hand was on the straps of the bag when he said, "I just wanted to help you."

I let go of the straps and straightened up. "What about your precious rules?"

"Fuck the rules," Harry said. I don't think I'd ever heard him swear before. "You're the one who told me there's more grey than there is black and white, especially when it comes down to survival."

Panic was fluttering in my head and in my chest. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," I said, bending over and picking up the zombie bag.

I'd gone a few steps toward the Jeep when I heard Harry crunching along in the grass behind me. "When I was little, I'd have given anything to have just one person care about me as much as Micah and Nathaniel care about you," he said quietly.

My stomach lurched and it took everything I had not to fall to my knees and vomit. I'd hurt everyone so much, first when I couldn't stop them from feeling the pain I'd been feeling in the woods, then knowing that I couldn't protect them. How could Harry see so much, and be so wrong? "They don't care about me," I said once I'd gotten my stomach under control.

"What?" Harry exclaimed.

"I don't want to talk about this!" I walked faster, eyes to the ground to avoid stepping into tombstones in the dark.

Harry stopped following me for a minute, then I heard him running after me. "Anita..."

"I said I don't want to talk about this!"

"It's not that!" He took a hop-step over a stone urn and kept just a few steps in front of me. "Did I ever tell you about what happened when Sirius died?"

What was he talking about? I remembered vaguely that Harry had said something about Sirius being his godfather. But didn't Tammy say Sirius was a Voldemort supporter? "Which Sirius?"

"Which Sirius what?" Harry asked. We'd gotten to my car, but I didn't make any attempt to open the doors.

"Which Sirius are you talking about? Your godfather or the one who was working with Voldemort?"

"There's only one," Harry said. He was facing me, and the moon was behind me, so I could see the expression on his face. "But he wasn't a supporter of Voldemort, that was someone else, he was framed."

I just looked at him.

"No, really!" Harry insisted. "This isn't what I wanted to talk about; I wanted to tell you what when I went into the Ministry, I was tricked! Voldemort tricked me, and I didn't check out things the way I should have! I didn't listen to anyone or want to let anyone help me, and because of it, Bellatrix killed Sirius when he and everyone else came to save us."

My hands were twisting the cloth handles of the bag so tightly it hurt. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked. I managed to keep my voice from waving to badly.

Harry suddenly looked so young, but also very old. Guilt will do that to you. "I'm not sure," he said, shaking his head. "I just... I don't know."

I turned away from him. Could he see how guilty I was? Could he see how this was all my fault, everyone going away and leaving me alone? Could he see how I couldn't protect anyone?

I didn't ask, I didn't want to know. If he could see how guilty I was, then who wouldn't be able to see it?

* * *

I put the zombie bag carefully back into the closet and closed the door. Micah's car was gone when we got back, but it was probably too much to ask that both Nathaniel and Micah be gone. Nathaniel probably drove himself to work.

Harry watched from just inside the front door for a bit, then went into the living room. When he was gone, I let my shoulders relax just a little bit. I hadn't realized I'd been so tense. On the drive home, I'd tried to keep all of my attention on the road, but every time Harry moved I'd had to look at him, to make sure he wasn't going to touch me.

I tucked my hair behind my ears and tried to figure out what I was going to do next. Keeping my eyes open at this point was getting hard; I felt tired and stupid and sick to my stomach, and my body was screaming at me to just stop moving and go to bed.

There were male voices in the living room, and my stomach turned over with a sickening flop. I wanted to run away from whoever it was. But that was cowardly, I told myself. I wasn't going to let whoever it was scare me out of my own house.

Damian and Harry were in the living room, talking in low voices. They stopped when they saw me. "Anita," Damian said. "Harry tells me that you took him to witness a zombie raising this evening."

It was not what I expected, and I was thrown for a moment. "Um, yeah."

They were both looking at me with the same eyes, the same expression. "Damian wants to talk about some stuff," Harry said. "Do you mind if we stay in here?"

I shook my head. "No, you stay here," I declared. It was easier, knowing where they would be.

Harry hesitated, then asked, "Would you like to join us?"

I didn't know if I could sit in the same room with them both and not start screaming. "No, I'm going to go to bed."

Damian nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. Harry tried to give me a smile, but I turned away before he was finished.

The walk down the hall to the bedroom seemed to go on forever, but at the same time, it was way too short. In no time at all, I was at my bedroom door, one hand on the knob.

It occurred to me as I opened the door that I hadn't seen Micah since I got back. Maybe he was out with Nathaniel? As I opened the door, I could see the outline of a person lying on the bed.

Micah didn't move as I closed the door. He was probably asleep, I figured as I stood just inside the door and looked at him in the darkened room. The curtains were half-open, and the faint moonlight illuminated the bed.

Micah's back was to me, and the sheet was shoved down far enough on his body to barely cover his hip. One arm was up under his head, and it stretched his torso out in a long line. He was short, like me, and his body was almost delicate, but when he was naked like this, I could see the muscles in his back and arms, and in his legs. I knew how soft his skin could be, and part of me ached to touch him.

He moved slightly in his sleep, and his curly hair slid down over his shoulder and came to rest on his pillow. I froze when he moved, but after a few minutes, when he didn't move any further, I tried to talk myself into walking over to the bed.

Every time I tried to force my foot to move forward, I remembered what it had felt like when Micah's fingers closed around my wrist. Could I put my body next to his? Could I fall asleep with him so close to me?

After a while of these thoughts running through my head, I turned around and let myself out of the bedroom. I didn't know what I was going to do. I didn't even know where to start thinking about it.

I could still hear Harry and Damian in the living room. The thought of dealing any more with my vampire tonight made me feel even sicker to my stomach.

Instead, I went into the kitchen. It was quiet in here, all hushed and waiting. I made a pot of coffee almost mechanically, watching the tiny coffee drops fall in the glass pot, drop by drop, until the machine was done and I had my coffee. I didn't really want to drink it, but it seemed like a waste after I'd just made it. I poured myself a mug and sipped at it slowly. Adding milk or sugar seemed like too much work, and I'm sure it would just upset my stomach anyway.

I walked past the fridge to the kitchen table and poked at the papers on the tabletop. There were a few newspapers and magazines. I looked without really seeing them, until I was done my coffee. I rinsed the mug and the coffee pot, then decided that I needed to clean the machine better than that and ended up dismantling the pieces to wash them all with hot soapy water.

About halfway through, I realized what I was doing, and just walked away, leaving the pieces in the water in the sink. I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth three times. As I was leaving, I noticed that some of the towels were rumpled, and I refolded them before placing them back on the rack.

With no more distractions at hand, I went back to my bedroom and carefully closed the door behind me. Micah was now lying on his back, his head turned toward the wall. He must have been exhausted, I thought as I began to undress. I slipped into a t-shirt and some of Micah's boxer shorts that I sometimes used as pajamas. I tried to tell myself that I was cold, but that really wasn't it.

After a while, I managed to talk myself into walking across the room and climbing on the bed, carefully so I wouldn't disturb Micah. He didn't move. I lifted my legs onto the bed and wrapped a blanket around my body. I tried to lie with my back to Micah, but it made me so tense that I had to roll onto my bad shoulder so I could watch him. The bruises ached, and I could feel the skin stretching a bit too tightly, but I made myself stay where I was.

I was so exhausted. I wondered if I was going to lie awake all night, waiting for Micah to move, when the soft dull edge of sleep sucked me under.

* * *

Harry spent what felt like hours talking with Damian. _Grandfather,_ he mentally corrected himself. It was all right to think of the man like that, he hoped. Damian had certainly expressed more interest in Harry's life in the last few hours than the Durselys had in sixteen years.

Harry hadn't realized before what it was like to talk with someone who was a thousand years old. Damian idly spoke of events that had occurred before Hogwarts was even built without even batting an eye. It certainly put Harry's encounters with Voldemort into the proper perspective.

But Damian had seemed genuinely interested in those battles with Voldemort. Harry tried very hard not to embellish anything as he described what happened with the Chamber of Secrets in his second year. He left out Ginny's name and said that a student was possessed by Tom Riddle. Damian raised an eyebrow at the obvious gap, but did not comment.

Harry had just finished describing how the tears of Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, had healed the poison from the basilisk's fangs, when Nathaniel came in the front door and walked into the living room.

"Where's Anita?" Nathaniel asked abruptly.

"In bed, I think," Harry replied. "She got some coffee a while ago, after we got back, but she went back toward the bedroom."

"Harry is correct," Damian added. "I heard her close the bedroom door."

Nathaniel clenched his jaw as he tossed the car keys onto the coffee table. "How's she doing?"

"Okay, I guess," Harry said. He resisted the urge to fiddle with his glasses. "She seemed okay at the graveyard."

"What do you think?" Nathaniel asked Damian.

Damian looked at Nathaniel very coolly. "I think if Anita is ignoring you, you might want to just stop thinking about yourself in all of this. She has a lot to handle and can't be looking out for your ego all the time."

Nathaniel stiffened, then turned around and stalked out of the room. Harry sprang to his feet and went after Nathaniel. He caught up with the wereleopard in the hallway outside the bathroom. "Nathaniel--"

"Do you think he's right?" Nathaniel demanded in a stage-whisper. "Am I making this all about me?" Not giving Harry any time to say anything, Nathaniel continued, "I know something's wrong with Anita, I just don't know what to do!"

Harry didn't know how to respond. "She seemed to be handling today okay," Harry said. "She got thrown through a window, this morning. She's probably just shaken up."

"I know," Nathaniel muttered. He cast a look down the hall toward Anita's bedroom. "Did she mention me, at all, while you were out?"

Harry winced. He supposed that Anita saying that no one cared about her qualified as being partly about Nathaniel, but he suspected that the young man wouldn't really want to hear that. "No."

Nathaniel shook his head. "I'm going to bed," he said, and walked down the hall to the bedroom.

"Good night," Harry called. He waited until the door closed behind Nathaniel before going back to the living room.

Damian was standing by the window. "I expect you think I treated Nathaniel poorly," he said flatly.

Harry shrugged. "Sort of," he said carefully. "He's just worried about Anita."

"As am I, but I understand that she has great responsibility!" Damian said sharply. "I cannot expect her to drop everything in a time of crisis to hold my hand."

Harry reached up to rub his injured shoulder. It didn't even hurt anymore when he pressed onto where Richard had ripped up his shoulder. "Nathaniel's not like you," he said. "He's young, like me. Maybe he doesn't know how to deal with stuff like this."

He would have said more, but he yawned then, so wide if felt as if it was going to split his head open. It took him a moment to remember that he'd been awake for most of the last two days.

"You should sleep," Damian said. "I have been keeping you awake. I forget, sometimes, this human need for sleep."

"You're probably right," Harry conceded. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. His glasses seemed to be giving him a headache these days. Must be how tired he was. "I'll see you tomorrow evening?"

"Indeed." 

"Good night, sir."

Damian's surprised silence followed Harry up the stairs and down the hall to his room. Harry still didn't know what to make of his grandfather. If he didn't know better, he'd have said Damian was jealous of the attention Anita showed to Nathaniel. But did he know Damian that well to assume anything? 

Harry shut the door behind him and flopped onto the bed. Everything was happening so quickly and Harry didn't know what to think of it all. Things with Anita, and repercussions with everyone at the house, the police...

Under it all, there was something bothering Harry. Something just out of sight, something very important that he needed to remember. But no matter how hard he tried to figure it out, it was just beyond his reach.


	21. Starting to Dig

* * *

I was being torn apart.

The pain dragged me out of my fitful sleep and I screamed and tried to fight, but my arms and legs were trapped. There was something wrapped around me, something that was slicing me apart, and I fought whatever it was with all my might.

Finally something snapped and the thing around me fell away. I put my hands down to scramble to my feet and screamed as they landed on something soft, that slid against my skin like broken glass.

I pulled away and fell through the air for a long horrible second. Just as I remembered that I was scared of falling, the ground slammed up against my back and the air was knocked out of my lungs.

Adrenaline surged through my veins as I got my hands under me. I crab-walked back across the room, not really seeing anything but not able to turn my back on the danger, until I hit a wall and had nowhere else to go.

A lamp was turned on, and the room was bathed in a soft light.

"Anita?" Micah exclaimed, jumping out of bed. "What happened?'

I was gasping, eyes a little too wide. I pushed my hair out of my eyes and pressed my back up against the wall. The motion sent hard, sharp pains down my shoulder and back, but I knew why it hurt and that made it tolerable.

Micah took another step towards me. It was too close, and I pushed myself sideways along the wall until I hit the corner and was trapped.

"Anita, what's going on?" Micah asked again.

Nathaniel crawled out from around the side of the bed. I shook my head, trying to clear the pain-induced fog in my brain. "A nightmare," I managed to say. It took a few tries, but I climbed to my feet.

"You were screaming," Nathaniel said as he pulled himself back onto the bed. There were fresh bleeding scratch marks along his chest, all the way down to his naked hip.

I looked down at my hands. There was blood under my nails and on my fingertips. I rubbed the blood onto my t-shirt. "Were you touching me?" I demanded.

Nathaniel looked at me, his astonished lavender eyes almost black in the shadows. "You were freezing," he said softly.

I cursed myself as I turned around, putting one hand against the wall. I couldn't believe how stupid I had been, to let down my guard by falling asleep like that. I'd been so worried that Micah would touch me, but still I let myself fall asleep.

"Anita, come on," Micah said, holding out his hand to me. "Come back to bed."

"I'm not tired," I blurted out, cringing back from his touch. Nothing could be farther from the truth; my whole body ached with exhaustion and I had to fight to keep my eyes open.

Micah dropped his hand. "How much sleep did you get last night? The night before?" he asked.

"Enough," I responded. I was beginning to get angry, and it was like the tiniest spark of warmth in my chest. "You're not my father. I don't have to explain myself to you!"

"No, I'm not your father." Micah should have looked ridiculous standing there all naked, but he looked so good, so safe. _Don't believe it. It's a lie,_ I thought. "And I'm not your husband, but I do care about you!" 

"Maybe you shouldn't."

Micah's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Do you want that?" he demanded. "I shouldn't care about you, even if you're obviously not okay?"

"I am!" I shouted. "I'm all right!"

"No, you're not!" Micah took a few steps back toward the bed, and the movement drew my eyes down to Nathaniel. My wereleopard was looking up at me with pain-filled eyes. When I saw him looking at me like that, something writhed in my gut, like there was some sort of animal trying to claw its way out. I took a deep breath and pressed my hand against my stomach.

"Anita," Micah said, quieter, "Why won't you let me help you?"

"I don't need your help!" As I spoke, I prayed for all I was worth, to make this only be a dream, for Nathaniel's touch not to have felt like torture, for whatever was inside of me to stop trying to escape. "I need to you protect Harry and the leopards, not me!"

"Like you don't need Jean-Claude?" Micah asked. "Or Damian? Or Nathaniel?"

"Leave them out of this!" I exclaimed, voice shrill.

Micah stated to say something, then stopped himself. He looked so very upset, and that was my fault too. "Anita, please come back to bed," he finally said.

I couldn't do that. I couldn't put myself between Nathaniel and Micah, when every touch was torture and I knew that it was because of me, because I wasn't strong enough to save them.

I made my way over to the door and let myself out of the room. Neither Micah nor Nathaniel followed me, and I wanted to scream at them because of it.

I knew I wasn't being rational, but I couldn't stop thinking like this. The house was silent as I went through the kitchen and fumbled open the glass doors, letting myself out onto the porch. I sank down on the porch steps and stared out into the dark night.

I'd never wanted to run away before, not like this. How far could I run, if I let myself walk into the forest? Could I ever really get away from everyone, no matter how I ran? Couldn't they run faster than I could, hunt better than I could? Would I ever be able to outrun them?

So I sat alone on the porch, with the heavy eyes of the forest watching me, until the sun came up.

* * *

Even though Harry had been exhausted, he still slept badly. Horrible dreams kept bringing him to the brink of consciousness. In his dreams, his mother was screaming and Bellatrix was laughing as she was eaten by werewolves, then by Harry as he lowered his still-human mouth to her stomach and ate at the flesh there. Neville Longbotton sat watching the whole time, throwing bubblegum wrappers at them.

Harry woke when the sun was high in the sky, feeling bruised, like he'd just played Quidditch in the rain for hours.

He pulled on some clothes and ran his fingers through his hair before he headed downstairs. The moment he opened his bedroom door, he realized there was a strange feeling to the house. He didn't have any idea what it was, but it put him on edge as he walked down the stairs.

Nathaniel was in the kitchen, pulling things out of the cupboard with jerky movements. He didn't look up when Harry entered the room.

Having no idea what was wrong, Harry looked out the open glass doors. He could see Anita sitting on the porch, bent over something. Curious and more than a little worried, Harry went outside.

"Anita?" he said as he went around her to the edge of the porch.

Anita looked up at Harry, but didn't say anything.

Harry was going to say good morning to her, but then he saw the strange array before her, and said, "What are you doing?"

"Sharpening knives," Anita muttered. She turned her attention back to the large silver knife in her hand.

The knife looked wicked, something seen in a muggle movie, long and pointed and barbed on the back. Anita angled the knife on the surface of a long black rectangular stone she had braced on the ground, and slowly drew the knife toward her. The sound of the metal on the stone was almost hypnotic. Harry watched Anita sharpen the knife for several minutes, until she seemed satisfied with the sharpness of it and picked up a rag to run over the knife.

"How often do you do this?" Harry asked, sitting down.

"Whenever they need to be sharpened," Anita said. She laid the knife down next to another, and Harry saw she had a line of about twenty knives of varying size laid out.

"Why this morning?" Harry watched Anita very carefully as he asked. Her hair was more of a mess than it had been the previous day, and she was wearing a rumpled t-shirt and cut-off shorts. There were dark circles under her eyes and when she wasn't holding a knife, her hands trembled ever so slightly.

"Because they weren't sharp enough!" Anita said vehemently, glaring at Harry.

"Okay," Harry replied, resisting the urge to move back. "Did you have a good sleep?" 

Anita went back to her knives and ignored him. Harry sat on the porch, keeping his mouth shut while he grew even more uneasy. Last night, she had seemed to be getting better, recovering from being thrown through the window at the police station, but now she looked a mess. Had she gotten any sleep at all?

A phone rang, and Anita jumped slightly. She laid down the knife she was holding and picked up her mobile, which was by her side.

"Is it the police?" Harry asked.

"I hope not," Anita said. "Hello?" She listened to the person on the other end of the line, and a shadow of an expression crossed her face. "Hi, Ronnie."

While she was on the phone, Nathaniel came out onto the porch. Anita immediately tensed up, flicking her eyes at Nathaniel, then Harry, then Nathaniel again.

"Just-- I'll call you back," Anita said and dropped the phone as she shot to her feet.

Nathaniel's hair was down, and it almost obscured his face as he leaned against the edge of the French door. He stared at Anita for a long moment. "You..." He took a deep breath. "You should eat something, Anita."

"No," Anita replied quickly.

Nathaniel cringed back a bit at the harsh word. "If you don't eat, you could get hurt," he whispered. "Damian could get hurt. I could get hurt."

Anita shook her head and hurried down the porch stairs onto the grass in her bare feet. Nathaniel hesitated, then went after her.

Harry watched from the porch with growing dread as Nathaniel reached out to grab Anita's arm, but she danced just out of his reach. "Why are you doing this?" Nathaniel asked. "Why won't you let me in?"

Anita balled up her hands into fists. "It's not your life, it's mine!" she exclaimed. "Stop trying to run my life!"

"Anita--"

"I'm the one in charge, remember?" Anita continued, interrupting whatever Nathaniel was going to say. "If you don't like how I'm doing this, then you can just fucking leave!"

Anita whirled and stalked off toward the forest on the edge of the property.

Nathaniel collapsed to his knees, staring after Anita. When she had vanished from sight, he staggered to his feet and dashed past Harry into the house.

Harry didn't know what to do. Go after Anita? Or Nathaniel? They were grown-ups, they should be able to have their own lives... but there was something else happening, something very, very wrong.

Micah ran out of the house and grabbed Harry's arm. "Go in there, don't let him leave!" Micah ordered.

"But--"

"I don't care if you have to knock him out with that magic wand of yours, but do not let Nathaniel leave this house!" Micah almost shouted. The Nimir-Raj let go of Harry and took off after Anita.

Harry stood frozen for a moment, watching as Micah entered the trees. _How am I going to stop Nathaniel?_ Harry wondered. He shook his head and hurried back into the house. There were thumping noises upstairs, from Harry's bedroom where Nathaniel kept his stuff.

 _Don't let him leave,_ Micah had said. Harry didn't have any idea what was going on, but he knew this was more than a simple argument. He just wished he knew what was really going on, as he ran up the stairs.

* * *

I stopped running by a stand of trees about half a mile from the house. I would have kept going, but I was dizzy and there were grey smudges on the edges of my vision. If I'd eaten anything in the last twelve hours, I might have thrown it up.

I couldn't get that look on Nathaniel's face out of my head. I'd known I'd slowly been becoming more like the monsters I hunted over the years, but nothing had ever made that as clear as Nathaniel's reaction what to I'd just done.

As I crumbled to the ground, trying desperately not to cry, I tried to tell myself it was for the best. Nathaniel would have a better life away from me. I wasn't good for him. I took him for granted and couldn't understand what he needed and got frustrated how easily he anticipated what I needed.

But he was there for me almost every morning when I woke up, lying next to me so warm and safe. I could sit with him in silence for hours and it felt comfortable. He never wanted me to change, never wanted me to be anyone different than I already was.

My stomach twisted painfully and I dug my bare toes into the dirt. I wondered if I could just sit here forever, when Micah burst out of the woods and skidded to a stop a few feet in front of me. He had to be here because of Nathaniel, I thought, and lowered my head. I knew Micah would choose Nathaniel in the end.

"What the hell is going on?" Micah demanded, dropping to his hands and knees in front of me.

"I... I--"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Micah didn't wait for me to finish whatever I was going to try to say. "What you're doing to Nathaniel?"

I closed my eyes, but all that did was make that last image of Nathaniel clearer in my head.

"Anita, don't you understand?" Micah pleaded with me. "Nathaniel's not like us, he'll do whatever you ask him to, even if it kills him. How can this be what you want?"

"What do you mean, kill him?" I asked, finally looking up.

I didn't understand the expression on Micah's face. "If you make Nathaniel leave, it's going to kill him. Maybe not today, or next week, but if you drive him away from you he's just going to lie down and die!"

Panic exploded in my chest. Nathaniel was supposed to be safer if he got away from me, he was supposed to be safe and I wouldn't be able to hurt him anymore. It was supposed to help him. "No, no," I whispered.

Micah crept a bit closer to me. "Anita, what's happening to make you act like this?"

"Nathaniel won't die," I insisted, ignoring his question. "He's stronger now, he doesn't need me to run his life!"

"This isn't about running his life, it's about loving you and being a part of your life," Micah told me.

I shook my head violently. "He won't die!"

"He won't have any reason not to."

"He can't die," I whispered. This wasn't what I wanted at all. "Where is he?"

Micah sat back on his heels. "I think he's packing."

I stared at Micah for one terrible second, then climbed to my feet and ran back in the direction of the house. I think I heard Micah's voice behind me, but I didn't have time for that. I had to stop Nathaniel from dying because of me.

* * *

I might have run past Harry, I wasn't sure. Hell, I may have run past a whole camera crew and probably wouldn't have seen them at all, I was so intent on finding Nathaniel. He wasn't in the kitchen, or the bedroom. If he wasn't upstairs, if he was already gone, then what was I going to do?

The door to Harry's room was open, and someone was making noise inside. I slowed down, suddenly terrified that Nathaniel was already gone, that I'd already driven him away to die. I placed my hand on the doorframe and made myself take that last step.

Nathaniel was on his knees, pulling long flat boxes out from under the bed. I'm not sure he even saw me at first. He turned to get another box, and froze, staring right at me.

I couldn't move. Now that I was here, and so was Nathaniel, I didn't know what to do.

Nathaniel let his hand fall off the box lid. "Anita?" 

His voice was uncertain, so much like it used to be when I first met him. I dug my nails into the wood of the doorframe to keep from screaming. "Where are you going?" I asked instead.

A shadow fell across his face. "You told me to go."

I searched for something to say, to keep him here. I must have been silent too long, because Nathaniel began crawling towards me.

"What did I do?" he implored, looking up at me with wide, hurt eyes. "Was it something I did?"

I shook my head. "No," I made myself say. "You didn't do anything wrong."

But wasn't that a lie? I wondered as Nathaniel got even closer. It was his touch that had dragged me screaming out of sleep last night, wasn't it?

"Then why are you doing this?"

I let go of the doorframe. Every part of my body ached with exhaustion and fear, and I couldn't find an answer to give him.

Nathaniel stopped just in front of me, mere inches from touching me. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. "What can I do so I can stay? I'd do anything at all for you, you have to know that!"

His eyes were dry, but I could hear the tears in his voice. I couldn't make him leave. "I know." I swallowed so hard it hurt. "You don't have to do anything, just stay."

He looked as if he didn't believe me. And why would he, when I'd been trying my hardest to push him away for the past few days?

I took a deep breath and tried to steel myself for what I had to do. It was going to hurt, I knew, and that's what made it so very hard to hold out my hand to Nathaniel. "I want you to stay."

Nathaniel only hesitated a second before closing the distance between us, taking my hand and rubbing it against his cheek. I couldn't stop the sharp intake of breath as the contact felt like a thousand tiny knives sliding over my hand. Then Nathaniel wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his face against my stomach.

It didn't hurt as much where he was pressed against my clothes, but then one of his hands slid down my leg, and it was agony. I laid my hands on his hair and used that pain to hold the screams inside, tried to keep my breathing even.

Just when I thought I wouldn't be able to hold it in anymore, Nathaniel let go of me and moved back. I had to concentrate very hard not to let what I was feeling show on my face, how much it hurt. If they know how much they can hurt you, they'll use it against you.

Nathaniel knelt and looked up at me. I'd known him for over four years, had spent those years with him looking up at me like this. I should know how to read him by now, but his face was a closed door to me.

I don't know how long I stood like that, staring down at Nathaniel with him looking back at me.

He broke the silence eventually. "I should go tell Micah I'm not leaving," he said.

"Yes," I agreed, seizing on the excuse, any excuse, to get Nathaniel away from me. "You do that."

"Do you want to come with me?" he asked slowly.

I took an involuntary step backward. "No, no." I tried to think of any reason at all to get him to leave me alone. "I need to stay here and... and clean up this mess."

Nathaniel looked around the room. "I made the mess," he pointed out.

"But that was my fault, so I'll clean up." I was almost tripping over the words to get him out.

Nathaniel nodded as he stood up. He walked past me, and I tensed up, in case he touched me, like he always touched me when he was near, but this time he gave me plenty of room. I was too relieved to wonder why. "If there anything I can do?" he whispered on his way past me.

I shook my head.

I waited until Nathaniel had vanished around the bend in the hall and I heard him walking down the stairs before I went over to the window seat. I sank down onto it and pulled my legs up to my chest, as tight as I could make it. It took me a few tries to be able to tuck my hands in around my knees, I was shaking so hard.

I couldn't do it. I knew to make Nathaniel stay, I'd have to touch him again, but I just couldn't do it. And the rest of them...

A cold shudder ran down my body. I tried to imagine them touching me, Micah and Jean-Claude and Asher and Richard, like they did, a brush of hands in the hall, a hug, a kiss on the cheek.

Running their hands over my naked body while we had sex. Pressing themselves inside of me...

I bowed my head to my knees, shaking. I couldn't do it, any of it. Even if it meant Nathaniel left, if they all left me alone, if they thought I hated them, anything had to be better than being ripped apart by their touch.

* * *

Harry was with Micah in the living room when Nathaniel slowly came downstairs. The young wereleopard stopped in the middle of the room, looking more worried than Harry had ever seen him.

"So?" Micah asked. "What happened?"

Nathaniel shook his head. "She told me to stay," he replied, his voice distant.

"And?"

Nathaniel looked at Harry, then back at Micah. "I think she's broken," he said.

"What?" Harry exclaimed as Micah shot to his feet.

"I-- I can't explain, but when I touched her, she reacted like I was hurting her, bad."

Micah pushed his hair back from his face. "She asked if you were touching her last night, when she woke up screaming." Micah kicked the leg of the coffee table so hard the wood splintered. "What the fuck is happening to her?"

Nathaniel turned around and looked back at the stairs. "When did it start? Do you know when it started?"

"Maybe something about the police station yesterday?" Harry wondered. "She seemed okay with touching people before then."

"That's not all, though," Nathaniel said. "She's shielding so hard that I can't feel her at all. She almost never shields this hard, ever."

"When was the last time you could reach her?" Micah demanded.

Nathaniel closed his eyes. "The last time I felt anything from her was after that night when she was hit with the pain curse, by the lupanar," he said slowly. "I thought she was keeping us out because Damian and I were draining energy from her, I thought she was angry at us!"

Sudden horror swept through Harry. All of the pieces of the puzzle came to him in a rush: Anita's slow decent into what looked like madness, his dream with Neville the previous night, what had been bothering him the previous night.

"No," Harry whispered, unable to keep his panic inside. Micah picked up on the word and was suddenly in front of Harry.

"What do you know?" he demanded.

Harry gulped. "I didn't think--"

"I don't care what you didn't think, tell me what you know!" Micah said, power boiling off of him and burning along Harry's skin. "What is happening to Anita?"

"I think... I think it's the Cruciatus curse," Harry stuttered. "I thought Anita was okay, but-- There's this boy at school, his parents were tortured, by Bellatrix, with the Cruciatus curse back after the first war with Voldemort."

"Did they die?" Nathaniel asked.

Harry shook his head. "They went mad." He shoved his hands in his pockets, unable to look at Micah or Nathaniel. "I saw them, two years ago."

Nathaniel stared at Harry, horrified.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know--" Harry began, but Micah interrupted him.

"We haven't got time for this," Micah declared. He straightened up, resolve replacing his worry. "We need to help Anita."

"How?" Nathaniel asked.

"Harry," Micah said, "What do you know about this magic thing?" 

"Not a lot," Harry confessed. "They don't tell us much about magic they don't want us casting."

"Shit!" Micah said. He bowed his head for a moment, thinking. "Okay. Nathaniel, call Cherry, get her over here. I'll call the Circus and see if Jean-Claude is awake."

"Will he be awake at noon?" Nathaniel asked, already heading toward the phone.

"If he's not, I'll talk to Jason," Micah muttered.

"What should I do?" Harry asked.

Micah and Nathaniel exchanged glances. "Anita needs to eat," Nathaniel said.

"Get her some food and take it up there. And keep an eye on her," Micah instructed. "I'll be up in a bit to watch her."

"And she needs water, too," Nathaniel added before lifting the phone receiver.

Harry shoved his glasses up on his face. "Micah, I'm sorry I didn't think about this before."

Micah gave Harry a look. "Here's what we're going to do," he said quietly. "We are going to figure out how to help Anita. When she is better, then, and only then, we will have this conversation, got it?"

Harry nodded, and Micah shoved him toward the kitchen.

Throwing open the fridge door, Harry stared unseeing into the icebox for a minute. He had thought that when Bellatrix died, all of his problems with magic in St. Louis were over. How could he have known Anita could still be affected? How could he have missed the signs?

 _Because I wanted it all to be okay,_ Harry thought angrily as he grabbed a container of left-over fried rice out of the fridge and shut the door. _I wanted everything to be happy and pleasant. I didn't want to be the reason for anyone being hurt._

But it didn't make any difference. Anita was still hurt, and it was Harry's fault, and he didn't have a clue how to fix her.

* * *

Harry spent most of the day hovering around the second-story landing, eyes trained on his bedroom door. Anita was still in there, but she'd gotten so flustered whenever anyone went near her that Micah finally told Harry to wait outside the room. The Nimir-Raj was running all over, making phone calls and trying to keep Nathaniel calm, that Harry wasn't sure how he didn't go crazy himself.

So Harry sat, his butt going numb from sitting in one position for so long. The plate of food he'd given Anita remained untouched, although he'd managed to refill her glass with water once after she drank that.

 _Not sleeping, not eating, not drinking,_ Harry thought nervously. _But this is new, she wasn't doing this before her trip through Lt. Storr's window._

Harry looked down at the notebook in his hand. At Jean-Claude's request, delivered through a phone call with Micah, Harry was writing down all that had happened in the time he'd spent with Anita since Bellatrix had hit her with the Cruciatus curse.

 _She seemed fine yesterday morning,_ Harry remembered. _But only after we left the house. She freaked out on Nathaniel before that._

Harry put down the book and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. He peered down the hall myopically, and was surprised that things weren't as blurry as they usually were. _Maybe the werewolf thing?_ he wondered. There had been a werewolf at the lupanar, Irving, who had glasses.

Harry sensed something, and turned around, putting his glasses back on. Nathaniel was halfway up the stairs. When he saw that he had Harry's attention, he beckoned with his hand.

Picking up his notebook, Harry joined Nathaniel. "What?" he whispered.

Nathaniel leaned in close so he could whisper into Harry's ear. "Jean-Claude's outside, he wants to talk to you."

Right. Harry would rather have taken Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts for a walk, but he nodded and continued on down the stairs.

He let himself out of the front door. Jean-Claude was leaning on the side of Anita's Jeep, staring up at the gathering gloom. Harry hadn't realized it was so late, although by the look of the sky, Jean-Claude had to have flown from the Circus to make it to the house so fast after sunset.

The vampire lowered his gaze from the stars to Harry, his expression blank. Harry wanted desperately to go for his wand, but restrained himself. _He told me he was going to hold me responsible for whatever happened to Anita,_ Harry thought. _What's he doing to do?_

Jean-Claude slowly pushed himself off the car. It was such a human movement that Harry frowned in spite of himself.

"Come, monsieur, let us talk," Jean-Claude said. He raised a hand and Harry felt an almost irresistible pull, deep in his chest. He found himself stumbling along after the vampire as they walked to the edge of the trees. When Jean-Claude stopped, the pressure snapped free.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Harry demanded, rubbing his chest. It hadn't hurt, it just felt weird.

"I called your beast," Jean-Claude said flatly. "I have no desire to speak of this to you. If Jason ever locates Richard, we can all discuss it after Anita is better. What had happened to Anita?"

"I thought Micah told you," Harry said.

A dark blue fire danced through Jean-Claude's eyes. "He did, but he does not have the understanding for this magic!" Jean-Claude snapped, his accent growing slightly thicker. "You have been with ma petite since it happened, tell me everything! Omit no detail, however small."

Warily, Harry told Jean-Claude what he had told Micah and Nathaniel. He ended up going through his notebook, telling the vampire everything that had happened. Jean-Claude was motionless, listening to Harry's words.

"And what of these people in England, the ones who went mad?" Jean-Claude asked after Harry was finished.

"The Longbottoms?" Harry tossed the notebook to the ground. He thought as hard as he could, telling Jean-Claude all he remembered of what he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensive in fourth year, and what he remembered from seeing Neville's parents in Ward 49 of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries over Christmas in fifth year.

"Do you have any idea how long these Longbottoms were subjected to the Cruciatus curse?" Jean-Claude finally asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't." Jean-Claude kept his gaze on Harry. It was very unnerving, and Harry began to fidget. "I'm sorry," he said.

Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow. "As much as I may wish it," he said, "I am unable to cast the blame for this solely at your feet. I will restrain myself from harming you until Anita is healed; it would be most unfortunate to discover after your death that you alone could help her."

"And then?" Harry had to ask. Chills were running down his spine at how easily Jean-Claude was talking about killing him. _Not that I'm surprised, he promised to do this._

Jean-Claude ignored the question. "Micah has said that ma petite does not find your presence as... alarming, as she does the other men in the house?"

"I don't think so, no."

Jean-Claude let out a very weary sigh. "Then I have a plan, mon moitié-loup, but I will need your help."

* * *

I had been watching the scene on the front yard through a tiny crack in the curtain since Jean-Claude arrived. I couldn't see Jean-Claude's face, but I knew Harry was worried and a little frightened.

Jean-Claude had never liked Harry, even threatened him on a couple of occasions. I couldn't let this happen. Jean-Claude had told me I needed to protect Harry against anything. I was supposed to make sure nothing threatened him.

I pushed back at the lethargy that had been sinking deep into my bones all day, and made myself stand up. I almost fell over, my legs were so shaky, but I used the edge of the bed to balance myself and by the time I reached the door, I was a bit more stable.

I paused in the doorway. I knew what I needed to do. But first, there was something that I needed to get.

* * *

I waited at the top of the stairs until the coast was clear, then tip-toed downstairs and slipped out of the front door, easing it shut with a click.

Jean-Claude turned around as I walked down the front steps toward him. The grass was cool under my bare feet, and the breeze brushed over my skin so lightly as I walked across the front lawn.

"Ma petite," he began, but I wasn't falling for it.

I'd had a long careful speech prepared, but what came out of my mouth was, "Get away from him."

Harry looked astonished. "I'm not doing any--"

"Not you," I said, "Him." I pointed at Jean-Claude. "Get away from Harry."

Jean-Claude didn't move. "Why do you wish this of me?" he asked in a mild voice.

My vision was starting to get a bit grey around the edges again. "You can't threaten him," I said, trying to sound reasonable. "I can't let you threaten him."

Jean-Claude spread his hands. "Ma petite, I was not--"

I reached around my back and pulled my Browning out of my waistband, my thumb clicking off the safety as I aimed the gun at Jean-Claude's heart. "I said get away from him!"

Jean-Claude froze, going into that unnatural stillness vampires have. His eyes never left my gun.

Harry took a couple of steps back. "Anita, what are you doing?" he demanded.

I kept both eyes on Jean-Claude. "I'm doing what he told me," I insisted. "I'm supposed to protect you!"

"I don't need protecting!" Harry insisted. "We were just talking about what was wrong with you."

"Nothing's wrong with me!" I insisted. I brought my left hand up and used it to steady the gun.

"Ma petite, please listen to me," Jean-Claude said. His voice, usually as soft as silk against my skin, made it feel like I was being shoved through broken glass. My grip tightened involuntarily on the gun, and I moved my finger just before I put too much pressure on the trigger.

"Stop it, stop it!" I shouted.

There was a commotion behind me, and Nathaniel ran up to us. He stopped too close to me, and I backed away, gun still trained on Jean-Claude.

"What are you doing?" Nathaniel asked frantically.

"What I'm supposed to!" 

"Anita, please," Nathaniel pleaded, stepping a bit in front of me. He was almost blocking my shot at Jean-Claude, and I tried to shuffle to the side. "Please don't do this. If you shoot Jean-Claude, you might die!"

"Promise?" I whispered.

Nathaniel's eyes grew wide. He held out his hand, palm up. "Me and Damian might also die," he whispered. "Please, Anita, I don't want to die. Give me the gun."

I wavered for a moment. Hadn't I already decided that I wanted Nathaniel to live? I'd told him he could stay because of what Micah told me. But that had been so long ago, and so much had changed since then. I hadn't changed, but the world around me had.

Before I could decide what I was going to do, I heard a car door slam and Richard's voice shout out, "Anita!"

I turned my head to see what was behind me, when Nathaniel did something very stupid. He grabbed my right wrist and pushed upwards, so the gun wasn't aimed at anyone.

The pain that screamed through my head as Nathaniel's fingers closed around my wrist broke my final barrier, and I started screaming. Nathaniel wouldn't let go of my wrist, trying to yank the gun out of my grasp.

I recovered enough to pull my left hand free and reach around to the back pocket of my shorts. I drew my newly sharpened silver knife out of its sheath and pulled my arm around my body to thrust the blade toward Nathaniel.

I felt the impact all the way up my arm as the knife cut into flesh and ground hard against bone. The pain stopped abruptly as I buried the knife deep in Nathaniel's chest over his heart.


	22. The Things I Ask Of You

* * *

Time slowed to a crawl as I watched Nathaniel fall to the ground, my gun in his hand and my knife in his chest. I took one step back, then another. There was yelling and a lot of motion and chaos, but Nathaniel lay still.

I kept moving back. My foot got caught on an upraised tree root and I tripped, landing hard on my butt in the grass. I lowered my eyes from the chaos around Nathaniel.

I'd killed him.

Nathaniel had looked to me to protect him, since almost the day we'd met. We had been through so much pain, so much crap. All he'd ever wanted to do was to be a part of my life, for me to love him like he loved me. I'd fought it for years, but inch by inch, Nathaniel had slipped past my defences, into my bed, into my heart.

And I'd sliced his heart in two.

I closed my eyes, the pain of losing Nathaniel-- no, knowing I was the one who killed him opening up in my head like a giant aching void. If I'd killed Nathaniel, one of the most important people in my life, what could I do to everyone else?

I had to stop. I had to be stopped.

I opened my eyes. Harry and Damian and Cherry and Micah were all gathered around Nathaniel's body, shouting and yelling. Richard was standing off to the side, looking at me like I was a monster.

I looked away. Richard wasn't even able to accept himself. He wouldn't be able to stop me. My eyes landed on Jean-Claude, who was watching me with a horrified expression in his eyes. Jean-Claude wouldn't be able to do it either. He loved me too much. He might be able to lock me in a box to prevent me from hurting anyone else, but he'd never do what I needed him to.

Micah detached himself from the mess around Nathaniel and hurried over to me. "Anita? Anita, talk to me!" he almost shouted.

Micah could do it. He knew how to protect his people. He could stop me before I hurt anyone else. Sure, he loved me, but not like anyone else. Micah had always been very practical.

"Kill me," I whispered.

"What?" Micah asked, incredulous.

"You have to kill me," I said, more urgently. I got to my knees in front of him. "If you don't stop me, I'm going to kill someone else, please!"

Micah dropped to his knees. "What are you talking about?"

I wrapped my arms around my stomach. If I tangled myself up enough, I told myself, I wouldn't be able to stop him when he killed me. "You can't let me kill anyone besides Nathaniel," I whispered. Hot tears started to slide down my face as it really sank in that Nathaniel was dead.

"Anita, what--?" Micah turned his head to look behind him. "Nathaniel isn't dead."

"Yes, he is," I said, collapsing back onto the ground.

"Ma petite, you are wrong," Jean-Claude added, coming closer. "Nathaniel is alive. Look."

I closed my eyes. This was all a lie. They were lying to me. They were trying to get me to let down my guard, trying to distract me to forget what I needed to do.

"He's right, Anita, please look," Micah pleaded with me.

"I stabbed him," I whispered.

"Harry's got some kind of magic to heal wounds, Anita," Micah's voice floated through the air. "You stabbed Nathaniel over the heart, and the knife caught on his ribs, he's going to be okay."

I didn't believe him. I couldn't.

"Ma petite," Jean-Claude said, kneeling down beside me. "Anita."

"I don't want to hurt you," I whispered. It was almost funny. Three minutes ago, I'd been ready to shoot Jean-Claude's heart out. But I didn't want him hurt.

"You will not hurt me, ma petite." 

"Your pants are going to get grass-stains," I told him. For some reason, it seemed very important.

Jean-Claude made a sound in his throat. "What has happened to you?" he asked. "Why are you keeping me out?"

"I'm not!" I exclaimed. "You're the ones keeping me out! All of you!" I tried to push myself into a kneeling position, but my arms didn't want to cooperate. "Ever since the witch attacked me in the woods, I've been trying to reach out to you, but you're blocking me!"

It was like a dam burst. I had told myself that I wasn't going to beg, but that promise slid away like smoke on the night air.

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," I pleaded. "I'm sorry, I'll do anything, just don't leave me alone like this, please!"

I raised my voice on that last bit, and my scream echoed around the trees.

"Ma petite, we are not keeping you out," Jean-Claude said slowly. There was something in his voice, but I pressed my hands over my eyes. I didn't want to see him lie to me. "We thought you were keeping us out. We did not realize until tonight that this was happening to us all."

"He's right, Anita," Richard. "If we'd known..."

"Anita?"

I stopped breathing. That had been Nathaniel's voice. Nathaniel, who I'd killed.

It took everything I had just to open my eyes. Nathaniel was on his hands and knees in front of me, pale as hell, blood coating his chest and legs. But he looked alive.

Hope surged up in me, brighter than anything I'd ever felt before. But almost as quickly, my joy faltered and died.

I was a necromancer. It's what I did. I brought the dead back to life. That's what Nathaniel had to be, nothing more than a corpse.

I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my cheek against my knee. I was so tired of all of this. Of the wreckage I'd brought to other people's lives. It would all be so simple if I just went away.

I wanted to close my eyes, but Jean-Claude's sudden, cold words brought me back. "No, Anita, do not leave me like this."

He grabbed my wrists and yanked me up so hard I cried out. I ended up on my feet, Jean-Claude's hands on my arms. The cold pain of his touch brought tears to my eyes and I tried to fight him off.

"You cannot leave me like this!" Jean-Claude demanded, then let me go. His face was as blank as a mannequin's, but there was power in his eyes and it threatened to envelop me.

I stumbled back a few steps, but stayed on my feet. I wanted to be angry at him, but it was so much easier to let it all slide away into that big black void in my head.

"Ma petite, please don't give up!" Jean-Claude came closer, but I stood my ground. The anger rose up again in my chest, but I realized it wasn't Jean-Claude I was angry at, or myself. It was the first hint I had that something was wrong with me.

"I'm not giving up," I told him. I had to force the words out of my mouth, but I said them.

Jean-Claude held out his hand behind him, and pulled Nathaniel into view. I looked, wide-eyed, at my wereleopard. No matter what I thought, he didn't look like a zombie.

"I may be able to help you, ma petite, to figure out what it broken within you. But I cannot do it alone!"

I shook my head, hard. "There's nothing wrong with..." I wasn't able to finish the sentence. There was something wrong. I wasn't like this. I didn't give up like this.

"Anita, please," Nathaniel said softly.

I looked at him. "I killed you," I whispered.

He tried to smile at me, and almost made it. "No, you didn't. Harry made it all better."

"Ma petite, I do not know what has happened, but I do know that we must reopen the marks between us as soon as possible," Jean-Claude said urgently. "Every moment we delay, it may become harder to come back."

Something in my gut clenched, cold with fear. With us, doing anything with the marks always involved sex. Could I do that? Could I let them do that to me? What choice did I have? "Will it hurt?" I had to ask.

Jean-Claude let go to Nathaniel and took a few steps closer to me. "I am asking you to trust me, to trust that I would never do anything to hurt you."

I let out a ragged breath. They were all looking at me, everyone. Could I live with myself if I let them all down? But this wasn't about that, I told myself. "I'm scared," I said so softly the wind swallowed up the words.

I saw the worry and fear on Jean-Claude's face. The face I'd fallen in love with. "So am I," Jean-Claude whispered back at me.

I clenched my hands into tight fists at my sides. I wanted more than anything to lie down and wait to die, but I could not let that happen.

"What do we do?" I asked.

The wind blew Jean-Claude's hair across his face. "Let us go inside, Anita, and we will see what we can do."

I took a deep breath and looked at Nathaniel. He nodded encouragingly. It might have worked better if he wasn't still coated in blood.

I nodded back and turned toward the house. I tried not to look at anyone as I crossed the lawn. Climbing the porch steps seemed almost impossible; walking through the open front door was like walking through water. But I was not going to give in to this. I might not be strong, but I was still going to fight until there was nothing left in me to fight. I was not going to give up.

* * *

Harry was in the living room with what seemed like half the lycanthropes in St. Louis when the screaming started. He jumped up off the couch, not certain if he should do something, but a glare from Micah stopped him in his tracks.

"There's nothing you can do," Micah said wearily. He was sitting on the couch, and when Anita's screams reached a fevered pitch, he put his elbows on his knees and balled his hands into his hair.

Listening to Anita's cries, half-muffled by the doors and walls, was almost too much for Harry to stand. He paced the length of the room, wishing he could just start running.

Cherry, Zane, Gregory and Vivian were huddled into a giant wereleopard ball on the loveseat. Vivian was shivering violently against her pardmates. At the other end of the room stood Shang-Da and Jamil. Jason was in Anita's bedroom with Richard and Jean-Claude and Nathaniel and Damian, doing whatever it was that pommes de sang did.

The screaming reached a ragged pitch, then suddenly stopped. Harry's heart dropped somewhere down around his knees, then he heard sobbing and he could breathe again.

Jason came tearing around the corner and almost ran into Jamil. "Jean-Claude says Damian needs to feed on a wereleopard, Anita's animal to call," he said, breathing heavily.

Cherry, Zane, Gregory and Vivian all tried to stand up at once, and got tangled in themselves. Micah shot to his feet. "I'll go," he said, and his voice brooked no opposition. Without another word, he headed for the door. Jason cast a look at Harry before he followed Micah back to the bedroom.

Harry stopped pacing. How much of this was his fault? He shook his head angrily. He didn't have time for this. It wasn't getting him anywhere, and more importantly, it wasn't helping Anita.

After Anita had stabbed Nathaniel, Harry had performed the same healing charm on the wereleopard he had used on Anita the previous day. It had fixed the wound over Nathaniel's heart, but as Harry watched Nathaniel crawl over to Anita, he wasn't sure what else he could do.

After another several minutes of pacing, something caught Harry's attention, and he whirled around. Cherry was glaring at him in a very unfriendly way.

"What?" Harry demanded, an unfamiliar feeling of impatience welling up in him.

"You did this, you know," 

"Did what?" Harry asked through clenched teeth, even though he was pretty sure he knew the tall blonde wereleopard was talking about.

"This thing to Anita!" Cherry slid out from Zane's embrace and stood up.

"I didn't!" Harry said hotly.

"But your being here is the reason it happened!" Cherry continued.

"I know that!" Harry raked his hands through his hair. "You think I somehow missed this?"

Vivian stood up and tugged on Cherry's elbow. "You're not going to help Anita by doing this," Vivian murmured in a husky voice.

Cherry reluctantly let herself be pulled back to the loveseat. "I have to do something," she said weakly. "I'm supposed to be a nurse but they wouldn't let me near Anita."

"Jean-Claude knows what he's doing," Gregory said. He sounded a little doubtful.

With no one left to argue with, Harry dragged himself over to the couch and sat down. He was still exhausted and starting to feel very stupid. He'd forgotten how much energy healing spells took out of him.

 _Not that I'm sorry I did it,_ Harry thought fiercely. He wrapped his arms around himself and wondered why he felt so cold. He'd been feeling chilled ever since Nathaniel had fallen to the ground, a knife in his--

No, that wasn't it, Harry realized. He'd been feeling like this ever since Anita had pulled that gun on Jean-Claude. As if some part of his world had spun around on its axis. _Like someone told me the monsters under the bed were real while they were tucking me in._

What could Harry had done differently? Grabbed the gun? Stopped Anita going through the window at Lt. Storr's office? Jumped in front of the curse the first night with Bellatrix? 

Run a different way that first night in the woods? Was it just him that did this? Was it being Harry Potter that caused all this pain and suffering? Cedric, his parents, Sirius... His vision was suddenly blurry and he blinked hard. Maybe he should just go far away, be alone, so he wouldn't hurt anyone.

 _Never see Ron or Hermione again?_ a tiny voice in his mind wondered.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn't want to be alone. Maybe it was selfish, but he hated having to be strong all the time, not able to depend on anyone. He'd done it for the first ten years of his life, and somewhere in the last few years at Hogwarts, with Ron and Hermione and Hagrid and everyone, all of his friends, he'd forgotten how to be alone.

Jason stumbled around the entrance to the living room, blood seeping from two tiny punctures in his neck.

Cherry jumped up. "Is Anita okay?" she demanded.

Jason nodded slowly. "Jean-Claude thinks he figured out what was wrong with her, and fix it." He smiled, but it was a tired smile with none of Jason's normal sparkle. "She's going to be fine."

Zane hopped off the loveseat and swept Cherry into a hug, then picked her up and whirled her around. Vivian and Gregory joined them.

A weight lifted in Harry's chest, but he began to shake. Anita wasn't going to die, or take everyone with her. Not because of what he'd done.

Jason crossed the room and sat on the couch next to Harry. He was so close their bodies touched, way too close. But he felt so warm, and there was something else. He felt safe, and he made Harry feel safe.

When Harry tried to move away, Jason put his arm around the younger boy's shoulders. "Stop it," he ordered half-jokingly. "You may be okay, but I need the pack right now and you're all I've got."

Harry kept still, not moving, while Jason snuggled up to him. It felt extraordinarily weird, being this close to someone in this way, but as Harry slowly relaxed, he realized that his shaking had stopped and he no longer felt so cold.

"She's going to be fine," Jason said when Harry finally let go of the last bit of tension in his body.

"Really?" Harry whispered.

Jason pulled his legs up on the couch and put his head against Harry's shoulder. It was his bad shoulder, the one Richard had clawed up, and the pressure didn't hurt at all. "Yeah."

* * *

I lay on my back, unable to so much as even lift my hand.

I felt raw. Jean-Claude had managed to rip open the marks with me and him and Richard, and then had forced his way into my head to break down my barriers with Nathaniel and Damian.

The sensation of feeling them all again, after so long, was too much for me to handle. I think I'd stopped screaming and started crying when Nathaniel touched my hand. I felt everything he was feeling, worry and pain and sadness and fear, and it was too much. I could hear everything everyone was thinking, and it hurt more than being alone.

Then, on the heels of those sensations, the ardeur rushed over me. It hadn't felt like this in so long, taking over my every thought. As Nathaniel's hand slid up my arm, the anticipation of feeding, of letting someone else's pleasure run through my veins, bowed my back and almost lifted me off the bed.

 _No, no!_ something in my head screamed, and the anticipation of feeling the ardeur crashed down around me. In its place rose a choking fear, that this reprieve from pain was only temporary, and the pain would return, if not in one minute then two, three, when Nathaniel would be licking down my body, sliding between my legs, moving inside of me... then the pain would be back, but this time inside of me, and I wouldn't be able to get away.

I scrambled back and fell off the bed. Nathaniel tried to follow me, one hand outstretched, but Jean-Claude stopped him. They were all looking at me, Jean-Claude and Nathaniel from on the bed, Richard from the other side of the bed next to Micah, and Damian by the door. I wanted to hide from their searching gazes, but the ardeur still beat along my body like an extra pulse and I couldn't think.

"Ma petite, when was the last time you fed?" Jean-Claude asked softly.

I curled up on my side and pressed my hands over my face, trying to control the ardeur, trying very hard to keep it all within. If I didn't, I risked sucking the life out of Damian, then Nathaniel. I'd kill them as sure as if I had pulled the trigger on Jean-Claude tonight.

I remembered everything that had happened over the last few days, like a series of snapshots in my head. They hadn't left me. Not even I had tried to hard to drive them away in my fear.

I took a deep breath as the last image played in my mind. If they stayed by me like this, I couldn't do any less for them. I knew in that second I'd do anything to save them, no matter what it cost me.

I pushed myself into a sitting position. My mind was made up, and I knew what I needed to do.

Jean-Claude was suddenly at my side, and I flinched as he touched my arm. "Ma petite," he breathed. His face was blank, but in his eyes was all the emotion he could not let himself show.

I suddenly realized what had been happening. When I had been remembering the past week, Jean-Claude had been looking at my memories, the way a master vampire can do with his human servant. Normally it pissed me off, but I was just too tired to care.

"I have to feed the ardeur," I told him. I hated how weak my voice sounded.

"Non, ma petite, I will feed it for you," Jean-Claude murmured.

My breath caught in my throat. "So I don't have to touch anyone?" 

Jean-Claude nodded. His eyes were now as blank as his face. "Come, you will need to come back to the bed." He held out his hand.

I hesitated. There was nothing in his face, nothing to tell me that he was hiding anything. Slowly, I reached out my hand and laid it on top of his. It didn't hurt, just felt like skin on cool skin.

I tightened my grip on Jean-Claude's hand, trying to convince myself that this was real. It didn't hurt. I could touch him and it didn't hurt.

Jean-Claude put his arm around me and helped me to stand up. When I was upright, grey spots swam in front of my eyes and dizziness buzzed in my head. The next thing I knew, I was being put on the bed, the pillow cool against my cheek.

Jean-Claude and Richard were talking, arguing, but I couldn't make out the words. I felt a breath on my face, and opened my eyes. Nathaniel was so close to me I couldn't focus on him. He backed up a few inches without being asked and laid his head on the other end of the pillow. There was a fraction of space between us, but it was enough.

I swallowed hard as I looked into Nathaniel's sorrowful eyes. This close to him, his feelings rushed around in my head. He had been so scared he was losing me, so worried that I was hurting and so useless because he couldn't help me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the air barely passing my lips.

"For what?" I could feel his confusion.

I reached my hand out and carefully touched his chest, just above the drying blood, where I'd stabbed him. His skin was perfect, no trace of the damage I had tried to inflict.

A door slammed, then Micah knelt on the other side of Nathaniel. "Anita? Can you hear me?"

I tried to nod, but settled on blinking up at Micah.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked, resting his hand on Nathaniel's arm. "I need to go make sure everyone's okay."

"Yes," I whispered. I wanted to tell him that he had to take care of everyone, all the wereleopards and Harry and everyone else, but I couldn't make my mouth work.

Micah smiled at me. "I'll be back in a bit, I promise." With that, he slid off the bed and out of sight.

I heard Damian's voice, asking something about needing to stay, but by the time I turned my head in his direction, he wasn't there. Jean-Claude and Nathaniel were the only ones left with me in the room. Where had Richard gone?

Jean-Claude came over to the bed. "Ma petite, we are running short on time," he said urgently. "I am about to do something that you might object to, but this requires drastic action."

"What..." I broke off, forgetting what I was saying as Jean-Claude undid the top two buttons on his shirt and drew it over his head. He always took my breath away with his pale perfection, but this time my reaction was tinged with fear that had nothing to do with my virtue.

"Nathaniel, take off your clothes," Jean-Claude said. Nathaniel rolled into a sitting position and quickly stripped off his shorts. If he'd been wearing underwear, I never saw it.

There was something I should have been protesting here, I think, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Jean-Claude pushed the now-naked Nathaniel onto his back and straddled his thighs.

"Ma petite, you will need to be touching him," Jean-Claude instructed as he put his hand flat on Nathaniel's chest, holding him down.

Jean-Claude was still wearing his pants, which I think was the only reason I wasn't pushing him off Nathaniel. "What are you doing?" I asked weakly, going up on one elbow with a great deal of effort.

"Feeding the ardeur, ma petite," Jean-Claude said shortly. His eyes were beginning to glow with a cool midnight-blue flame. "Please, lie back and touch Nathaniel."

I would have protested, but another wave of dizziness swept over me and I crumpled onto the bed. I'd been thinking about feeding the ardeur, no matter the pain, a few minutes before. Was it really so much worse to let Jean-Claude feed off Nathaniel for me?

I carefully laid the tips of my fingers on Nathaniel's arm, feeling the muscles play under his skin. He tensed as Jean-Claude did something, then let out a short gasp of breath and closed his eyes. I realized I'd been watching his face and not what Jean-Claude was doing to him. It probably didn't matter, but I couldn't take my eyes off his face. His mouth was half-open, his eyes closed. I saw that look almost every day, when I held Nathaniel's naked body in mine, and I knew if I let my eyes travel down his body, I'd see exactly what Jean-Claude was doing.

I began to feel the waves of heat coming off Nathaniel's body, and I unconsciously tightened my grip on his arm. It was all happening so fast, I was startled when Jean-Claude grabbed Nathaniel's hair with one hand and violently yanked Nathaniel's head back so his neck was exposed. Nathaniel was making soft tiny pain noises as Jean-Claude descended on him and bit, hard, into his throat.

Nathaniel's orgasm exploded, and I fed on it, his pleasure, his pain, through our marks and the touch of his flesh under mine. I distantly heard him cry out as I pulled his heat into me. I hadn't realized how empty I was until I began to feed. Faster and faster, I fed, until I felt Nathaniel begin to falter. I hesitated one more second. I could pull everything Nathaniel was, into me, I knew. Feed on him until there was nothing left but a shell.

As quick as I could, I pulled my hand off Nathaniel's arm and rolled onto my back, to put a bit more distance between us. I turned my head and saw Nathaniel looking at me with glazed eyes, trying to catch his breath.

He was okay. I hadn't killed him.

I burst into tears and rolled onto my stomach, burying my face in the sheets. For the second time tonight, I'd almost killed Nathaniel, only this time, I'd almost done it with the ardeur rather than a knife.

Jean-Claude murmured pretty things at me in French, while Nathaniel pressed his body against mine and tried to tell me it was all right. But it wasn't all right. It wasn't going to be all right. It would have been so easy to kill Nathaniel, to take everything he offered to me. Maybe I really was a monster, no matter the magical influence on me.

They held me as I cried myself to sleep.

* * *

Harry sat, with Jason almost wrapped around him, as Richard stormed out of the house, then as Micah chased after the Ulfric, looking very angry. Damian came and went, the wereleopards drifted to an upstairs bedroom, and Harry didn't want to move.

After about an hour, Jean-Claude drifted out into the living room. He took one look at Harry and Jason on the couch, and raised an eyebrow. "Where is Richard?" he asked.

Jason jerked a thumb toward the front door. "He and Micah are out there," the werewolf said.

Jean-Claude's other eyebrow went up. "Indeed?"

Jason nodded. "Shang-Da and Jamil went along. I don't think anything bad's going to happen."

Jean-Claude steepled his fingers under his chin and was silent for a minute. "Jason, I need you to contact Asher for me," Jean-Claude finally said.

Obediently, Jason crawled off the couch. The loss of physical contact was jarring, and Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

Jason stopped at Jean-Claude's side, and the vampire bent down to whisper in the werewolf's ear. After listening for a few moments, Jason went out of the room.

That left Harry and Jean-Claude alone in the room. Harry sat up a bit nervously. He could still remember the feeling of the compulsion to obey Jean-Claude, earlier that evening, like a bruise on his chest.

The silence grew oppressive. Just when Harry thought he would need to speak, to not start yelling, Jean-Claude said, "What do you know of vampire marks?"

Harry sat up straighter. His nervousness faded a little. "Nathaniel told me a bit about them, the other night," Harry replied. "That, you know, Anita was your servant."

"So you know that I can speak to ma petite's mind?" Jean-Claude asked.

Harry nodded. "Nathaniel mentioned that, yeah."

The front door opened, and Richard stormed back into the living room. Micah trailed after him. Neither man looked happy. "You called?" Richard said angrily.

"I did," Jean-Claude replied calmly. "We need to discuss what happened to Anita, and I do not wish to have this conversation more than once."

"And Harry's going to stay for it?" Micah asked.

"Oui."

Micah pressed his lips together, but let it go. "Where's Anita?"

"She is with Nathaniel," Jean-Claude said. "He can alert us if she needs anything."

"But will he know?" Micah pressed.

"Yes." Jean-Claude leaned against a wall. Harry hadn't know a vampire could look so tired. "His marks with ma petite are wide open, as are mine. If she requires anything at all, we will know it."

Harry didn't know what to think. Micah had been so nice to him before, but now, after all the pain Anita had been through, the Nimir-Raj was acting a lot cooler toward Harry.

"Harry, first, a question about the curse," Jean-Claude said.

"What, the Cruciatus curse?" Harry asked.

"Yes. What is its basis for power?"

Harry licked his lip nervously. It was like sitting OWLs at Hogwarts, although a failing grade here would probably hurt a lot more. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Jean-Claude gestured vaguely with his hand. "The basis. Why does it hurt? What part of the body is injured?"

"Oh." Harry thought hard. "I think it's the brain. There's no real-- I mean, nothing in the body gets hurt."

"Exactly." Jean-Claude turned to Richard and Micah. "I believe that when Anita was struck by the curse, her marks with yourself and I, Richard, and Damian and Nathaniel, warped her reaction."

"Why?" Richard asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Why do you think that?"

"Because I touched her thoughts," Jean-Claude said flatly. "I felt her memories. When she was struck down in the woods, she knew we were similarly affected. Rather than fight it, she chose to spend her energy on closing the marks with us."

"God," Micah muttered. He wandered over to the fireplace and sat cross-legged on the stone hearth.

"At first, after the curse was cancelled, with her marks so tightly closed, Anita began to drain her own reserves," Jean-Claude continued. "More importantly, she was terrified that the pain would return. I suspect that this anticipation was perverted by the trauma her body suffered when she was thrown magically through the glass window at the police station."

"Should we be telling Harry this?" Micah wondered aloud.

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself, but strangely enough, Jean-Claude beat him to it. "Everybody in this room is concerned with Anita's recovery," he said. "Harry is a part of this."

Micah was silent.

"As I was saying, this anticipation remained in Anita. At the same time, she was not feeding the ardeur, and if Nathaniel is correct, she stopped eating as well."

"Fuck," Richard muttered.

"Then, she went through the glass." Jean-Claude seemed too calm about reciting these facts about Anita's injuries, and it made Harry even more nervous.

Then a horrible thought occurred to him. "Did my healing magic have anything to do with her thinking she was hurt, afterward?" Harry blurted out.

Jean-Claude shrugged. "I do not know. All that I do know is that after this all occurred, every touch felt as if someone was pushing broken glass into Anita's skin." He cast a glance at Micah. "I suspect that this, along with her body eating away at its own resources, drove her to her actions this evening."

"You mean try and kill you?" Richard asked.

Jean-Claude nodded. "She was doing what she always does. Try to protect people from the monsters." The bitterness in his voice was faint, but Harry still heard it.

"She's never been hurt bad enough to affect her mentally like this," Richard protested.

"No, but when she's low on feeding the ardeur, and can't stop to feed it, it does make her think different," Micah said. "Look at what happened with Vittorio's vampires, last Halloween."

"Oui," Jean-Claude agreed. He turned his head toward the direction of Anita's bedroom for a movement. "I can feel the touch of her mind, and the thin edge of madness recedes." He looked up as Jason came back into the living room. "Yes?"

"Asher said sure," Jason said. His blue eyes darted nervously between Micah and Richard as he made his way back to the couch and sat next to Harry, almost as close as before.

"So now what?" Richard asked. He sounded angry all of a sudden.

"Now we decide what to do with Harry," Jean-Claude told him.

A wave of adrenaline surged through Harry, and he almost stood up. What was the vampire going to do?

Jean-Claude looked amused by his reaction. "As I have no wish for ma petite to kill me in my coffin, I believe Harry should stay in St. Louis. Micah, if you want him out of the house, then he can stay at the Circus. The choice is yours."

"Wait, I thought--" Harry began.

"You did not run away and leave Anita with your mess," Jean-Claude interrupted. "You could have vanished countless times, but every time you stayed to help Anita."

"Why wouldn't I stay?" Harry demanded, standing up. "I couldn't leave!"

"Why not?" Jean-Claude asked.

"Because it wasn't her mess!" Harry tried to find the words to say what he meant, that he could never run away and leave someone defenceless, or screaming, or any of those things, but couldn't say it.

"And that is why I will not harm you," Jean-Claude said.

Micah stood up slowly. "He can stay here," the Nimir-Raj said wearily. "There's no point in making him move."

Harry didn't know what to say. It sounded like Micah really didn't want him there at all. But Harry didn't want to pack everything up and go to the Circus. He'd rather stay here with Anita and Nathaniel and Micah and his grandfather.

He sat back on the couch and let his shoulder rest against Jason's. Harry really hoped that nothing else happened that night. He was so tired, and so confused, and not a little bit guilty. But Jean-Claude said that Anita would be fine, given time. Nathaniel was okay, and Damian seemed fine. Bellatrix was dead, the American Aurors didn't know who he was, and no one was threatening to kill Harry in his sleep.

As situations went, Harry had had worse. He only hoped that nothing else went wrong for a little while.


	23. Never Find The Pieces

* * *

I was dragged out of sleep by the uneasy knowledge that something was wrong. Very wrong.

But what was it? It felt like I was dressed. I hadn't worn clothes to bed in almost a year. Usually I fell asleep pressed between Nathaniel and Micah, their skin warm and soft next to--

My eyes snapped open. Nathaniel was cuddled up to me, his head pressed against my chest, while Micah's arm was draped over my waist. I didn't know if they were touching me, skin on skin, and I didn't want to find out.

I squirmed out from between them, not caring if I woke them up. When I made it to the edge of the bed, I think I stood up too quickly, because the world got fuzzy. I blinked hard and it went away.

"Anita?" Nathaniel was saying. Even if the marks had been closed, which they weren't, I'd have been able to tell he was worried, by the tone in his panicky voice, the wideness of his eyes. As it were, the waves of alarm and guilt that buffeted me only served to remind me what I'd done.

My eyes were drawn down to the smoothness of his chest. There were still flecks of dried blood on his chest from last night, from when I'd tried to kill him.

I shook my head, over and over, and walked out of the room. I heard Micah and Nathaniel calling after me, but I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn't hear them.

By the time I made it into the hall, all the feelings inside me were churning in my stomach. I stumbled toward the bathroom, getting there more by luck that any actual plan. I barely made it to the toilet before I started throwing up.

I was still heaving and crying when someone pulled my hair back from my face, hands cool on my skin. I was too wretched to be embarrassed.

When I was done, empty, Micah pulled me onto his lap. I tensed up, but there was no pain. It was just his hand stroking down my arm, nothing hurt.

Gradually, I let myself relax into his arms.

"Here, Anita." 

I raised my eyes to see Nathaniel kneeling in front of me, holding a wet facecloth out to me.

When I didn't move, Micah took the cloth from Nathaniel and started to press it against my forehead. That got me going.

"I'm not an invalid," I muttered, my voice annoyingly weak. I pulled the cloth out of his hand and managed to wash my face without dropping the cloth or passing out. For that alone, I got at least ten brownie points.

When I was done, I dropped the cloth to the floor and cuddled back against Micah's chest, watching Nathaniel. This time, my wereleopard held out a glass of water. He didn't say anything.

I hadn't had much luck with glasses that Nathaniel gave me in the past few days, but the temptation of the water made me take the glass from him. I managed to get it to my lips without making too much of a mess. I drained the cup greedily, and came up gasping for air. God, that was so good.

"Do you want more?" Nathaniel asked,

I nodded, and waited impatiently for him to refill the cup at the sink. I went slower with this glass. The edge taken off my thirst, I let Micah put the glass down. Now that the thirst was slaked, I could make out how absolutely shitty I felt.

"What's wrong with me?" I asked Micah.

He ran his hand over my hair. "Where do you want me to start?"

"That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny." He shifted around underneath me and settled me more firmly against him. Nathaniel crawled over and leaned against Micah. "You've been through some pretty nasty stuff in the past few days," Micah said.

I let out a wavering breath. "Let's just focus on the physical, okay?"

Sure enough, Micah didn't question me. It's one of the reasons we got along so well. "You haven't really eaten in a few days, and before last night, you haven't slept hardly at all, either. Add that to your recent injuries, and it's going to take a toll on your body."

I ran my fingers over his collarbone, not sure what to say. Nothing in particular hurt; I was just an all-over ache.

"How about some breakfast?" Micah offered a minute later. "We can decide what to do after that, okay?"

It took me a minute, but I nodded against Micah's chest. Maybe some food would make me stop aching. I doubted it.

* * *

I managed to walk into the kitchen under my own power. It was early morning, and the sunlight filtered in through the windows. I sat at the table and folded my hands in front of me. Walking in here had taken more concentration than I liked. It made me feel weak and stupid, and I was already fed up with myself.

Nathaniel pulled a chair around the table and put it next to mine. When he sat down, he was only a few inches away from me. I was glad I'd insisted he return to the bedroom to put on some shorts. My eyes kept straying to his stomach as it were. I told myself it was because I was tired. Right.

Micah moved around the kitchen purposefully. He always did that, in most any situation, never hesitating, always confident. I knew now that it was the way he coped with awful situations. Was that was this was to him? An awful situation? Or maybe he was just used to it, having lived with me for over a year.

I moved my eyes back to Nathaniel. On a closer look, Nathaniel looked like I felt. There were circles under his eyes and he was paler than normal.

And it was my fault.

I swallowed past the sudden lump in my throat. I remembered everything that had happened in the past few days, all that I'd done and said to him.

Everything I had ever told myself I wasn't going to do, I'd done. I'd tried to drive Nathaniel away, I'd tried to hurt him. I had hurt him. I knew how much he valued being part of my life. It wasn't just being my animal to call or my pomme de sang. He loved being my boyfriend, doing the household stuff, making dinner, watching movies with me, baking cookies, for heaven's sake.

I'd tried to wreck all of that, to take away the only home he'd ever had since his mother died.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. The words barely passed my lips, but he heard me. He always heard me.

"Why?" Nathaniel asked.

"For treating you like I did."

Nathaniel smiled. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." I put my hands flat on the table. "I don't want you to leave. I want you to stay."

Nathaniel turned in his chair and ducked his head, but rolled his eyes up to look at me. It was submissive as hell. "You know I'll do anything you want me to," he said softly.

"I know." Carefully, I reached out and touched Nathaniel's arm. I hesitated in that last second, an irrational fear that touching him would hurt, but my fingers slid over his skin and it was wonderful. Something deep in my body recognized Nathaniel as mine, and I wanted to be closer to him. I needed to be closer to him.

I stood up and walked around Nathaniel's chair. He watched me as I moved, a bit startled when I climbed into his lap. My arms went around his neck and I pressed my cheek against the soft bend of his neck. As soon as I was still, Nathaniel wrapped his arms around my body and held me close to him.

I did something I had never tried before. I tried to make Nathaniel feel what I was feeling through the marks, how much I really wanted him to stay, to be with me, and how much I cared for him. Nathaniel let out a shivering breath and I could feel his relief.

We sat like that until Micah wordlessly put a glass of water on the table before me. Nathaniel let me untangle an arm so I could pick up the glass. I sipped at the water for a while, glad that I didn't need to do anything else.

In the back of it all was a prickly thought in my brain that the pain might return, that the feel of Nathaniel's hand on my leg might turn from comfort to agony. Jean-Claude said he'd fixed me, that it wouldn't happen again. I pushed all that to the back of my head. I wasn't going to think of that now.

There were footsteps in the hall, and I looked up. Harry came into the kitchen, pale and worried.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?" 

I made a show of rolling my eyes. "Don't bother asking. I feel like I probably look."

"You're beautiful," Nathaniel whispered in my ear.

I turned my head so I could look at him, his face just inches from mine. "I look horrible, I probably smell, and I tried to kill you last night," I said, trying to make it a joke.

"I know," Nathaniel said calmly. "And you're still beautiful."

There was something about the way he said it, so matter of factly, I couldn't find anything to say. Part of me wanted to disagree with him, but another part of me wanted to be beautiful in Nathaniel's eyes, just for a little while.

Micah stepped over and put a bowl of soup and a sandwich on the table. I raised my eyebrows. "Chicken noodle soup? At seven in the morning?" I looked closer at the bowl. "Are those ice cubes? Why not vichyssoise at this time of morning?"

Harry cracked a smile at that as he settled in across the table.

Jean-Claude had a real thing for vichyssoise. I didn't get it, but had let myself be persuaded to order it a few times when we went out. Maybe my tastes were too American and too modern, but damn it, soup was supposed to be hot. At least the chicken sandwich was normal, and it tasted heavenly.

* * *

"What's vichyssoise?" Nathaniel asked.

My mouth was full, so I couldn't answer right away. "It's a cold potato and leek soup," Harry said. He pushed his hair back with one hand and grimaced. "Aunt Petunia made it one night to celebrate Dudley not getting kicked out of primary school. He threw his video game controller through the window because his soup was cold. And somehow it was all my fault." He shook his head.

"Complaining about things isn't going to change anything," Micah said stiffly as he picked up my water glass and took it to the sink.

I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth. What the hell was that about? Harry fidgeted around in his chair and looked at his hands, avoiding Micah.

 _Anita,_ I heard in my head, and I almost dropped the spoon. I managed to recover and continued eating.

 _What?_ I asked Nathaniel. He didn't like speaking to me like this, not when there was another option. I could count the number of times he had initiated contact on one hand since we formed our triumvirate last November. What he wanted to say was either very important, or very secret. Or both.

_Do you want Harry to stay?_

_Of course I want Harry to stay,_ I shot back. _Why--_ Nathaniel tightened his grip on my leg. I could feel that he was confused, and little bit upset. _Do you not want Harry here?_

 _Yes. I mean, I want him to stay._ Nathaniel licked his lips and sighed, right next to my ear, and it startled me. _I was mad at him for a while, because of what happened to you. I was mad at me for not being able to help you._

I played with the crust on my sandwich. This was the longest speech Nathaniel had made mind to mind with me, and I didn't want to interrupt him.

 _But it wasn't his fault,_ Nathaniel continued. _Jean-Claude was right, Harry should stay here and not at the Circus._

I was too surprised to be discreet. I turned around to look at Nathaniel.

He covered it by kissing me on the cheek and drawing me in closer. I didn't fight him.

 _Jean-Claude wants him here?_ I asked, astonished. I remembered yesterday, when I'd thought that Jean-Claude was going to kill Harry, that I had to protect Harry against Jean-Claude at all costs.

I was beginning to get a headache.

 _Jean-Claude said that if Harry wanted to, he could go stay at the Circus,_ Nathaniel told me. _Jean-Claude didn't mind when Harry said he wanted to stay here. I think if Jean-Claude was worried Harry would hurt you, he wouldn't have let Harry stay here last night._

 _Why are you telling me this now?_ I put a tiny piece of chicken in my mouth. I had barely eaten anything, but I wasn't hungry anymore.

 _It's because of Micah._

I let my eyes travel over to where Micah was leaning on the counter. He had been staring at Harry with an expression on his face that I just couldn't place. _What do you mean?_ I asked Nathaniel.

_I don't think Micah wants Harry here at all. I think he blames Harry for what happened to you._

_That's ridiculous!_ I mentally snapped. I reached for my soup bowl, but I overestimated the amount of force I would need to lift the spoon, and ended up knocking it to the table.

Micah pushed off the counter, picking up a dishtowel. "Are you--" he began.

"If one more person asks me if I'm okay, someone's going to get hit," I said firmly. I stood up and put the spoon back in the bowl, then carried both it and the plate over to the sink. "I'm fine. I'm great. Give me a day, and I'll be tap-dancing."

"You don't tap-dance," Micah pointed out.

"I'll learn." I managed to put the plates down without dropping anything.

"What do you want to do now?" Micah asked.

I made a face. Before I could respond, I could hear Nathaniel in my head again. _You should have a bath with Micah,_ Nathaniel told me. His voice was firmer than I'd heard in days. _Micah's been really busy in the last few days and I just think he needs to hold you for a while._

 _He did that last night,_ I thought.

There was a hesitation in Nathaniel's thoughts, as if he knew he shouldn't be telling me this. _Micah hasn't really slept at all in the past few days. He's been worried about you, about us. About Harry._

I remembered that Micah had been there every minute for me, doing everything I needed and more, from the sounds of it. I swallowed. Was I taking him for granted again?

I made eye contact with Micah. He looked tired, but there was something deeper than that in his eyes. An exhaustion that had little to do with the body. I wanted to take that look away, even as a tiny part of me shouted that it was my fault it was there in the first place.

 _I'll be okay,_ Nathaniel added. _I'll shower upstairs and spend some time with Harry._

I held my hand out to Micah. "Doing anything for the next little while?" I asked.

Micah took my hand in his. He was so somber. "No."

"Want to come make sure I don't drown in the tub?" 

Micah let his gaze move past me for just a second, to land where I knew Harry was sitting. "Sure," he said.

I turned and gave Harry a weak smile, still holding on to Micah. "Sorry to leave you with all the dishes," I said.

"It's all right," Harry said. "I like to help."

His voice was just a tiny bit fragile, but I held back the frown I wanted to give. _If you guys need me, call,_ I told Nathaniel as I pulled Micah out of the kitchen.

* * *

Here I was, back in the bathroom, taking off gross clothing. Yet another theme running through my week. I let my shirt and shorts fall to the ground, then kicked off my panties. "Maybe we should just burn these," I suggested.

"I don't think that's necessary," Micah said. I found myself watching him a bit too closely as he began to remove his clothes, so I turned to the mirror. I swept my hair over my shoulder and looked at my shoulder and back. The tiny cuts had completely healed and the bruises were almost gone.

I heard Micah turn on the water, then he came up behind me. "Looks better," he said softly.

"Yup," I agreed, just as softly. While Micah looked at my back, I looked at him. I wanted to ask him how he was feeling, what was wrong, but I just stood there, too scared to ask.

"Tub's ready."

Right. I let my hair fall back and climbed into the water. There's nothing quite like sinking into a warm bath when you're feeling beat up. Micah got in after I did, settled back against the edge, waiting.

Normally, when we took a bath together, he spooned me in the water, cradling me in his arms. Our bodies fit together perfectly, it was like we had been made for each other.

This time, though, I hesitated.

"Do you want to take a shower instead?" Micah asked. There was more patience in his voice than I had for myself right now.

I shook my head and settled back against his body. I was afraid it was going to be awkward or tense, but I molded to his body as easily as always.

I let out a shaky breath. We sat there for a while, safe and secure. I thought about what Nathaniel had told me about Harry and Micah. I didn't know what to do about it. Micah didn't usually hide stuff like this from me; or, if he did, I never heard about it. But now that I knew, I had to do something about it.

"So," I said. "Harry."

Micah tensed against me. "What about him?"

"Do you want Harry to leave?" I pressed.

Micah stroked his thumb over my waist. "He's the one who caused all this."

That was as much a "yes" was I was going to get, I supposed. I sighed, and lifted Micah's hand to rest over my heart.

Last summer, just before I'd first met Micah, I'd ridden to Nathaniel's rescue and been attacked by a bunch of Chimera's snakemen. Chimera had been a panwere and the craziest person I'd ever met. He'd been alpha of a lot of lycanthrope groups, including Micah's pard.

Until I'd killed him.

The snakemen that attacked me had dug for my heart while they were trying to slash me up. I'd almost died.

Now, I pressed Micah's palm over the scar tissue on my chest. He froze. "Harry might have been the reason it happened, but he didn't run away, didn't leave me to fight alone. He was with me in the end."

Micah pulled his hand out of mine. I slipped away and turned around so I could face him.

"This is different," Micah said, stubbornly meeting my gaze.

"Yes, it is." He began to relax, and I almost didn't say the next bit. But I couldn't let this go. "Harry didn't know that Bellatrix was going to come after me."

Micah scrambled out of the tub, and stood dripping in the middle of the room. "Is that what this is to you?" he demanded. "Harry almost gets you killed, but it's okay because he didn't know, but after all this time with me, you've been thinking this about me?"

I shook my head. I hadn't meant for him to react this way. But what the hell had I expected him to do? "I mean that it's not about how it begins, it's about how it ends. You decided to stay with me, to fight with me, to save Cherry and me and everyone in your pard. That's what matters." I swallowed hard. "You didn't run away or leave me to deal with your mess, even when it would have been a whole lot easier."

"You never asked me to leave," Micah said, his voice pained.

I slid back into the water. I was cold inside again. "I didn't want you to leave."

"But you didn't ask me to stay."

I pushed my hair back away from my face, and dug my fingers into my hair. "I couldn't think of any reason that you'd want to."

Micah hesitated a few moments, then got back into the tub, his knees bumping against mine. "You're the reason I do a lot of things," he said. "You're the only reason I need."

He reached across the tub and pulled an unresisting me into his lap. Carefully, he cradled my face in his hands and pressed a gentle kiss against my lips.

It was a sweet, soft kiss. But when Micah moved his lips against mine, I jerked back so hard that water sloshed out of the tub.

"What is it?" Micah asked.

I was already out of the tub. "I think I should take a shower after all," I said quickly. "Nathaniel's probably wondering where I went."

"Nathaniel knows that you're with me," Micah said. He stood and wrapped a towel around his hips as he came toward me. "Did it hurt?"

I pressed my fingers to my lips. "No," I whispered. "It didn't hurt."

"Anita--"

"It didn't."

And it hadn't. That didn't explain my sudden overwhelming fear that the pain was going to come back the second I relaxed into Micah's embrace.

"Do you know what's wrong?" Micah asked quietly.

"No," I finally said.

"Can I do anything?"

"I don't know." This time, my voice was close to tears. I blinked hard, angrily.

Micah walked across the room and went to turn on the shower for me. "How about you take that shower, and then we'll figure out what to do, okay?"

"Okay." I stepped into the shower and closed the glass door, not looking at Micah. How could I explain what was happening when even I didn't understand what was happening to me?

I heard movement in the bathroom. "Are you still here?" I asked.

"Yes," Micah said. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No," I said too fast. "Can... I mean..."

"I'll stay," Micah's voice floated on the humid air.

I wanted to thank him, but the words caught in my throat.

* * *

When I finally dragged my squeaky clean self into the living room, I found myself surrounded by my half of the pard. Harry was over on the couch. Cherry, Zane, Vivian and Gregory and Nathaniel all crowded around me, not too close. I was a bit surprised to see them all. Were the rest of them here last night?

"Why are you here?" I asked.

Zane flashed me a grin, showing off his kitty-cat teeth. He'd spent a little too long in wereleopard form, and his teeth no longer went all the way back to human. "We just wanted to be around if you needed anything," he said.

"I'm okay," I said. "Really."

Vivian dropped to her knees and carefully reached for my left hand, then licked my knuckles. I let her.

"Can we stay?" she asked hopefully.

I looked at them. They were all still so worried. I was their Nimir-Ra, their protector. I was supposed to be the one who worried, not them. I was their rock. Rocks didn't cry. Rocks didn't fall apart.

"Sure thing," I told her, and smiled. She suddenly grinned back up at me, and I was slightly surprised yet again at how beautiful she was. I didn't often notice other women, but Vivian was really amazing. "What do you guys want to do?"

"Sleep," Gregory said with a yawn.

Cherry smacked him on the side of the head. "You slept all night," she hissed.

"Lying around sounds nice," I said. I was still wiped out. It had been a hard week. Or a hard life, depending on how you looked at it.

"How about outside?" Cheery asked. There was a calculating look on her face. I called it her nurse face. Before she'd become a wereleopard, Cherry had been a nurse. Someone at the hospital found out, and she lost her job due to 'budget cuts'. Illegal, because you're not supposed to discriminate against someone because of a disease, but it still happened.

Through the marks, I felt Nathaniel's delight at the thought of being outside. He quickly squashed the feelings when I looked down at him. It was for Nathaniel that I agreed to Cherry's idea. He smiled at me, content.

* * *

Harry stood up as the pard began to filter out the door. No one had said he couldn't go along. Cherry hadn't been as upset with him as she had seemed the previous night, and Nathaniel and Anita were with them, so Harry figured it was all right.

"Harry," Micah said suddenly. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Harry drew up short. He really didn't want to talk to Micah. He knew the man didn't like him. What on earth could he want to say?

Anita and Nathaniel exchanged a glance, like they had been doing during Anita's odd breakfast that morning.

"Micah?" Anita asked.

"It's fine," Micah said. Anita didn't look particularly reassured. "Harry?" Micah asked again.

"Sure," Harry said. Then, remembering his manners, "I mean, yes, sir."

Micah waited until everyone left the room, Nathaniel having to give Anita a little prod to get her moving. Then he sat down on the couch.

Harry stayed standing. What was going on? Did the man want to yell at Harry some more for letting Anita get hurt? Harry told himself he wasn't going to yell back, but couldn't the man see that it wasn't Harry's fault? That Harry had done everything he could to help Anita?

Micah looked up at Harry. "Sit down," he said. It wasn't an order, it was a request, and Harry edged over to a chair opposite the couch. The room was quiet for a few minutes. "I wanted to thank you for saving Anita and Nathaniel," Micah finally said.

What? Harry almost stood up again. "I thought you were going to yell at me!" he blurted out.

"I'm not going to yell at you," Micah said, slumping back on the couch. He looked slightly ill at ease for the first time since Harry met him. "Anita pointed out a few things out to me, and it reminded me that I hadn't thanked you for protecting my people."

"You don't need to thank me," Harry insisted. "I did what I had to do!"

"Why?"

Harry hadn't thought that far ahead, and he stumbled over his response. "Because they needed me to help them, and I knew that I could."

Micah stood up. "There are a lot of people out there, Harry, who wouldn't think that was enough reason to put themselves on the line." He walked over to Harry and held out his hand. "Let's try this again. I'm Micah Callaghan. Nice to meet you."

Harry stood slowly and took Micah's hand in his. The man's grip was firm, and Harry found himself tightening his own grip. "Harry Potter."

They shook, and then Micah smiled at Harry for the first time in days. "Come on, let's go see what the others are doing."

Harry followed Micah out of the living room, feeling strangely exhilarated. Micah wasn't mad at him anymore. More than that, he was treating Harry like an adult. The only people back in England who did that were Professor Dumbledore, and Mr. Weasley. Here, almost everyone did. _This must be like growing up,_ Harry thought as they left the house.

The pard was lying in on the grass in the sun, seemingly comatose. Anita was sitting under the shade of a tree with Nathaniel stretched out beside her. She looked up as Harry and Micah approached, and smiled.

* * *

We just lay around for a good part of the morning. I stayed in the shade. It was more not wanting a farmer's tan than worrying I'd burn. Let's hear it for vanity.

Everyone had probably picked up on my nervousness on nudity around Harry, and everyone kept some clothing covering their bits. Vivian joined the boys in the sun, but Nathaniel stayed near me, and after a while, Cherry rolled over to rest her head on his back.

Harry sat cross-legged, plucking at grass-stems for a bit, then pulled out his wand and held it flat in the palm of his hand. He began murmuring to himself, and the wand would spin around, then stop.

"What are you doing?" Nathaniel asked lazily after a few minutes.

Harry looked up. "Seeing if this spell works on lycanthropes, too."

"What spell?" Gregory asked, opening his eyes.

"Indicare." Harry held out his hand. "Indicare Zane."

Harry's wand whipped around and ending up pointing at Zane.

"Cool," Zane said. "Do it again."

Obligingly, Harry did the spell on everyone but me.

"Do you need to know the person's name?" I asked. "How far away can someone be? Does it need to be a person?"

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't need to be a person." He held out his hand. "Indicare Anita's Jeep." The wand twirled, pointing in the direction of my Jeep on the other side of the house. "And I don't know how far away it can be. I've never really tried." He held his hand out. "Indicare Circus of the Damned." The wand whipped around obligingly.

"That's pretty useful," I said.

Harry looked down. "Yeah. The only thing it doesn't work on is the dead."

"You mean vampires?" Nathaniel asked.

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. "I hadn't thought of that. I meant real dead people." He held up his hand. "Indicare Damian."

The wand spun in circles.

I frowned. "That's weird. If he wasn't okay, I'd know." I turned to Micah. "He's okay, right?"

Micah nodded. "I talked to him last night before I went to bed. He's fine."

"Good." I rubbed my stomach. I wasn't really hungry, not like normal, but I felt a bit weird.

Nathaniel stood up, disturbing Cherry, and headed back toward the house. His hair was down and swung around him as he walked, and I stared at him. I didn't realize I was doing it until Gregory made a small sound in his throat.

"You never look at me like that," he teased.

"Of course she doesn't," Vivian murmured.

Gregory rolled onto his stomach and pushed his curly hair off his face. "You never look at me like that, either."

Vivian let out a long suffering sigh. "We've been over this," she said. "Just because you look like your brother doesn't mean you are your brother." She sat up when she saw the suddenly hurt expression on Gregory's face, and wiggled over to put an arm over his shoulders. "You're a part of my life, but just not in that way. You knew that."

"I know." Gregory put out his arm and they did an awkward hug.

Vivian was dating, and living with, Gregory's twin brother Stephen. I'd never really thought about it before, what it meant to date a twin. What it would be like to have another person around you looked like your boyfriend, but was a totally different person in every other way. The three of them seemed to be okay with it, though.

After a while, Nathaniel came back out of the house, carrying an honest-to-God picnic basket. I'd bought it for him back in April, when the stores started selling summer stuff. We'd gone to get a patio chair, after Zane broke the last one, and I'd caught Nathaniel looking at the picnic set with such longing that I'd gotten it for him. He was so cute when he was like this, almost as if he was playing house. He was the same way with the tea set, and the matching flatware set. We'd eaten with six utensils at each place setting for months after that.

But it made him so happy, like he was finally living a real life, like real people did, that I let him do this. I wanted him to be happy.

The rest of the pard, my part of the pard, didn't make fun of him. They never did. The only time I'd ever seen Vivian stand up to Gina, one of Micah's wereleopards, was when Gina had started mocking Nathaniel as he lay out the tea set one February day.

As Nathaniel began spreading out the huge red and white checkered cloth, I kept a careful eye on Harry, in case Harry reacted the wrong way. Harry seemed more interested in his wand than the meal, however.

Nathaniel was just laying out paper plates when the doorbell in the house rang. Micah roused himself and said, "I'll be right back."

A few minutes later, Micah appeared in the French doors. I could see two people silhouetted behind him. "Does the Lupa have a moment?" he asked.

It took me a second to figure out what he was talking about. It sounded like some werewolves had come to see me. I stood up, groaning as my joints protested the move. I rolled my shoulders to get rid of some of the aches, and realized that Nathaniel was looking up at me. "I'll be right back," I promised. "Save me a sandwich?"

"What kind?" he asked.

"Something I'd like," I said with a smile. He seemed to know better than I did these days, what I wanted.

I was halfway across the lawn before I realized Harry was on my heels. I almost told him to go back, but I figured if it was a problem that he didn't need to get involved in, I could send him back outside later.

Going from the bright outdoors to the shadowy, air-conditioned house was a bit of an adjustment, and I had to blink a few times before my eyes adjusted. There were two werewolves sitting at my kitchen table, looking very uneasy. I wasn't too happy to see Suzanne, with all the trouble she'd caused recently, but I told myself I'd hear her out before I reacted. Paul, the pack's newest member, sat next to her.

Micah was leaning unobtrusively against the counter. I gave him a look and he seemed to melt more into the background. I had no idea what to say. I wasn't in any mood to talk to people, and really just wanted to go back outside.

The silence was broken when Paul asked Suzanne, "Do I need to greet her?"

Suzanne nodded firmly, but I held up my hands. "I'm sure we need to go through this at some point, but I've had a really bad week. I don't know you, Paul, and it's nothing about you, but let's leave this whole thing until later, okay?"

Paul nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. He was maybe my age, clean-cut, sort of tan. He could be a lawyer or a teacher. I hadn't thought to ask Richard about him. I'd do that later.

"So, Suzanne, why are you here?" I asked. I was aware that Harry was hovering behind me, but at a signal from Micah, he went to stand by my Nimir-Raj. Maybe the two of them really had sorted out their problems after all.

Suzanne must have picked up on the annoyance in my voice, because she cringed a little bit. "Actually, it was Paul who wanted to come over."

My eyebrows went up.

Paul stood and cleared his throat. "Ms. Blake, I wanted to come over and thank you for saving Suzanne and me the other night." He turned to face Harry. "And you, Harry. If you hadn't have been there, the witch would have killed Suzanne."

Harry's eyes opened wide, and he started to say something, but I cut him off. "We're Lukoi, Paul. We're family. You don't need to thank your family for stuff like this."

"Maybe not," Paul said with a self-depreciating smile. It made me like him a little bit more. "Maybe I'm new at this. But I wanted to thank you for that anyway." He went over to Suzanne and laid a hand on her shoulder. "We're getting married, over Christmas."

That explained a lot. Like why Suzanne was so worried about Paul last night. I'd need to ask Richard why she infected her fiancé. "Congratulations."

Harry had a small grin on his face, that he tried to hide from me when I glared at him.

Suzanne took a deep breath, and stood up. "We should go," she said quietly.

Harry took a step forward. "Can I-- I mean..." He looked at me, then back at Paul. "What's it like? The first month and all that?"

"Weird," Paul said right away. "Just... not being human anymore, it's not academic anymore." He gave that strange smile again. "I cut myself shaving, before the change. Almost went crazy at the blood, let me tell you."

"It does get better," Micah said confidently.

"That's what everyone tells me," Paul said. "Thank you for seeing us, Ms. Blake."

There was something about him that I liked, beyond the smile, and I couldn't be as grumpy as I wanted to be. "Call me Anita," I said grudgingly.

"Anita," Paul repeated. He let Suzanne pull him out of the kitchen.

Micah went after them, and I heard the door close. A few second later he was back. "Sorry about that," he said. "They really wanted to talk to you."

"No, it's all right." It was good, I think. Seeing the werewolves reminded me of my responsibilities.

Harry was frowning. He'd seemed fine while Suzanne and Paul were there, so I asked him what was wrong.

"That blood thing, Paul talked about." Harry licked his lips. "Is it always like that?"

"Why do you ask?" Micah said before I could speak.

Harry frowned harder. "It's just that when I did the healing spell on Anita and Nathaniel, the smell of blood helped me to focus. Is that normal for werewolves?"

"I'm not sure about werewolves," Micah said slowly. "How about you tell Richard the next time you see him?"

"Okay." Harry, lost in thought, wandered back outside.

I went over to Micah and stood next to him, not quite touching. "What's up?" I asked.

Now Micah was frowning at me. "New lycanthropes, even in the first week, don't find the smell of blood to be calming."

"Maybe he was concentrating too hard?" I suggested. "Too worried?"

Micah looked at me. "Strong emotion only causes the beast to rise faster," he said. "Even if Harry couldn't shift, he would have been fascinated with the blood to the point where he couldn't think of anything else."

I bit my lower lip. "So, what do we do?"

Micah sighed. "Tell Richard? I don't know."

I tentatively reached up and laid my hand on Micah's arm. He was warm, and safe, and I let myself lean against him. I may have been the pard's rock, but Micah was my rock, standing at the centre of the mess of my life. "We'll figure it out."

He smiled, a bit sadly. "Come on, let's go back outside. Nathaniel will be worried until you eat something."

I let Micah lead me back outside, to my pard and to Harry.


	24. Wait a Minute, Something's Wrong Here

* * *

Almost everyone had fallen asleep in the hotness of the day when the front doorbell rang again. My eyelids fluttered open in time to see Micah hauling himself to his feet. "Don't worry," he whispered to me over the sleeping pard. "I'll get it."

I watched him drowsily as he went into the house. Next to me, Nathaniel stirred and flung his hand out on the grass. His lips were moving in his sleep.

I smoothed a strand of hair off his face. He looked so young when he was asleep. He was twenty-one to my twenty-eight, but he'd seen more and lived through more than I had ever could imagine in his short years. He still tried to shield me from the harsher side of things, to a certain extent. Jean-Claude did the same thing. I hated it when people protected me, but really, I had to admit that I didn't want to see what they had seen.

Micah emerged from the house, an unusually grim look on his face. I was on my feet by the time he reached me. "What's wrong?" I demanded.

He looked a bit startled and his expression softened a bit. "Nothing's wrong," Micah said. "Richard's here to see you."

"Why?"

Micah shrugged slightly, his eyes never leaving my face. "He wouldn't say."

I let out a tiny sigh, my adrenaline rush leaving as fast as it came. Even though I hadn't done anything all day, I was so tired. Too tired to deal with any more of this shit. Still, I had responsibilities, and I made myself head toward the house.

Richard was waiting in the living room. The house was so silent that I could hear my own breathing, the rustling cotton of my shirt over my shorts. He was sitting in a beam of sunlight, his copper hair shining, his skin almost glowing. He was unbelievably beautiful. In that instant I regretted that it hadn't worked, that he hadn't been my forever guy. Then he looked up, and the spell was broken.

"Anita," he said, then stood. I could tell he was nervous, and it made him seem larger than normal. I held in another sigh and went to sit on the couch. I was exhausted by just walking into the house. What the hell was wrong with me?

"Micah said you wanted to talk to me?"

Richard frowned. "Are you okay? After last night?"

I remembered Richard looking at me, after I'd stabbed Nathaniel, as if I was a monster. It made me angry, and I did what I always did when I was angry. I reacted. "Couldn't we have had this conversation over the phone?" I asked hotly. "You drove all the way out here just to ask me stupid questions?" I stood up again, ready to storm back outside.

"Anita, wait." Richard reached out, but at the last second, I stepped just out of his reach. "I had to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Really." There was a moment of awkward silence. "Was there anything else?"

Richard stared at me, as if trying to read my mind, but I had raised my mental shields and he couldn't get in. "That was all," he said softly.

A lump formed in my throat, and I covered the sudden tears in my eyes by turning my back on Richard. I didn't understand at all why I was so emotional today. First with Nathaniel and Micah, now with Richard... Whatever happened to being as tough as nails? 

"A couple of years ago, it would have been okay that I wanted to see you," Richard continued. "I thought we were okay again, you and me. What happened?"

You saw how weak I am, I wanted to say, but caught myself in time. "Life goes on, Richard." My voice was steady, and I turned to face him, my arms crossed over my chest.

Richard stared at me for another moment, then stalked over to the door. "Do you need anything from me at all?" he demanded.

"No. Yes," I immediately contradicted myself. "Harry."

"What about him? Did something happen? I know Jean-Claude said he should stay, even if Micah didn't." There was something weird in the last bit of Richard's comment. "Did he do something?"

I shook my head. "When Paul and Suzanne were here, he said--"

"Paul and Suzanne were here?" Richard interrupted sharply. "What the hell for?"

"Paul wanted to thank Harry for saving Suzanne's life," I said. "That's not the point. Harry said that the smell of blood doesn't make his beast rise, he said it makes him focus. Micah said that's not normal for new lycanthropes."

"It's not." Richard bit his lower lip as he thought. "That's very strange." He glanced up at me. "Thanks for telling me."

"You are Ulfric."

A silence hung between us. There were countless things I wanted to say to Richard, but I wasn't sure how to say what I wanted to, and so I didn't say anything at all. Not talking to Richard seldom makes things worse between us.

"I should be going," Richard finally said. "Do you need me to send anyone over? Protection or anything?"

I shook my head. "We've got it under control."

"Okay, then." With one last look at me, Richard walked out.

My knees were weak, and I took two steps toward the couch before they gave out entirely. I ended up sitting cross-legged on the carpet, in a beam of sunlight, and I was still cold. I hadn't meant to fight with Richard, I never did. But we always ended up like this.

_Ma petite?_

_What?_ I thought dully.

_What has happened between you and Richard? I can feel his distress._

_Just normal him and me stuff,_ I replied.

_Really?_

I felt something poking at my memories, and I pushed Jean-Claude out of my head. _Stop that! You know how much I fucking hate that!_

 _My apologies._ Jean-Claude's thoughts in my head were soothing, even though I knew I should be pissed at him. Maybe I was just too tired. _You should not be so upset with yourself, ma petite. He does not think you weak._

 _I don't want to talk about this._

I felt Jean-Claude's acceptance of that. _I wanted to see how you were doing._

I didn't answer, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.

 _I have a request of you, ma petite. Asher will be awake soon._

_So?_

_Will you allow me to feed the ardeur with Asher, and feed the energy into you?_

_Sort of like last night?_ I asked.

 _Not exactly._ I had an image of Jean-Claude, alone in his bedroom. He looked up at me, his midnight blue eyes so comforting that I wanted to fall into them. _I can feel how empty you are. Can you?_

"Yes," I whispered aloud. Fuck. I knew better than this. I needed to feed the ardeur to keep Damian and Nathaniel safe, I knew that. I dug my fingers into my arms. The thought of letting someone in so close right now terrified me, and I didn't know why.

I felt a cool comforting breeze fill my mind, from Jean-Claude so far away. Then something soft and warm wrapped around my shoulders. Micah had appeared and had just put a blanket around me. He hugged me through the blanket, and I realized that I was shaking.

Between the two of them, I gradually stopped trembling. As I pressed my hands against my face, the prickly feel of wolf intruded on my mind. It was Jason, settling down next to Jean-Claude.

 _I will feed, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude told me. _First on blood, then the ardeur for us both._ My vision of him dissipated as he lowered his mouth to Jason's neck.

Micah rubbed my back. "Are you cold?" he asked.

I shook my head slightly. "What's wrong with me?" I demanded. "I thought that Jean-Claude fixed me."

"He fixed what was wrong with you physically, and he fixed the holes in your mind," Micah said. "He can't take away your reaction to that trauma, not without hurting you further."

I pulled away from Micah. "I'm not fucking traumatized," I said sharply.

Micah's face was blank. "You've been through a lot."

"I'm always going through a lot, but that doesn't turn me into a trembling scaredy-cat!"

"No one's calling you that, Anita."

I opened my mouth to respond, but a wave of heat rushed through me. Micah caught me and held me against him as the heat spread, tingling, to every part of my body.

I wondered hazily what it was, but the answer came on the next thought Jean-Claude's bite was beyond pleasurable. Not as orgasmic as Asher's bite, but it wasn't anything to laugh at. He must have fed the ardeur off Jason when he fed off his pomme de sang's blood. I knew from my conversations with Jason that Jean-Claude didn't do that, no matter how much Jason might want it. So why now?

For me. I didn't know how to feel about that. I supposed I should be angry on Jason's behalf, but the warmth was helping me focus my thoughts. I needed this, and no one was hurt. So it was okay, right?

"You're feeling warmer," Micah murmured.

"Jean-Claude fed the ardeur," I said softly 

Micah squeezed my shoulder. "Good."

After a few minutes of metaphysical afterglow, I sat up under my own power. "Why are you in here?" I asked him.

Micah smiled wryly. "Jean-Claude called to Harry."

"What?" I demanded.

"Jean-Claude called to Harry," Micah repeated. "Like he does with the werewolves. He told Harry that you needed me."

I blinked a couple of times. "But we just talked about how Harry's not reacting like a werewolf."

"I know."

"This is all very confusing."

"Yes." 

I pushed those thoughts to the side. I wasn't the werewolf expert, not in this crowd. I'd leave it for now. "I'm feeling better now."

"Good," Micah said. "I'm going to send everyone home to let you have some alone time."

Out of habit, I thought about protesting, but quite frankly, I could use a bit of time away from the pard. I always felt like I had to be Nimir-Ra when they were around, and it was more tiring than usual today.

While I was thinking, Micah stood up. "What about Nathaniel?" I asked. "Or Harry?" He wouldn't ask them to leave, right? This was Nathaniel's home, and Harry's too, for the time being.

"Nathaniel said he wanted to make a special dinner tonight, and needs to go to the grocery store. I was going to send Harry with him," Micah said. He offered me his hand, and I used it to help me stand.

"Okay," I said. I didn't let go of Micah's hand. "What about you?" I tried to make my voice sound casual. I didn't want a large crowd around, but I really didn't want to be alone.

"I'll stay with you," Micah said.

"Good," I said with a relieved smile, and squeezed Micah's hand.

* * *

Harry watched the miles of road pass by. St. Louis and its suburbs looked very different than anything in England. It was all sort of surreal, watching the modern cars and buildings. So very different than the Wizarding world.

"Do you want to listen to the radio?" Nathaniel asked.

"If you want to," Harry responded. That was the way to do things with Nathaniel, he'd found. Make it positive or the man wouldn't do it for fear of offending you.

It was really strange. The more Harry got to know Nathaniel, the more he realized that Nathaniel was different from anyone he'd ever met. He wanted people to tell him what to do. Mostly Anita, but Nathaniel would do what Micah said, too.

Nathaniel turned on the radio, then changed lanes. "We're going to go to the hardware store first, if that's okay."

"Sure." Harry shifted around in his seat. "Why?"

"I've been meaning to pick up some paint for Damian," Nathaniel said easily. "He wanted to paint his room a different colour, and he's really uncomfortable going into stores." Nathaniel snuck a sideways glance at Harry. "I'm not sure if I should have told you that."

"I won't tell him you told me," Harry said. Nathaniel seemed to relax.

The hardware store wasn't like anything Harry had ever been in. It was a huge building, with everything oversized and towering shelves everywhere. Harry wasn't surprised that Damian wouldn't like it; it made him feel weird, too.

Nathaniel seemed to know where he was going. They walked past a display in the middle of the store of shiny backyard grills, under brilliantly coloured signs that exclaimed, "Gigantic Grill Gala!" Harry winced. The alliteration was almost painful.

Nathaniel slowed as he walked past the end of the display, a wistful expression on his face.

"Are you looking for one?" Harry asked.

Nathaniel jerked his head around. "No," he said, and tried to carry on, but their path was blocked by a beaming salesperson.

"Hi there!" she chirped. "Do you have any questions about our sale?"

Nathaniel slipped into an easy smile, and the girl almost melted in her socks. "Do you still have the Australian model?" he asked.

The girl nodded and smiled blushingly at Nathaniel. "Sure thing!" As she guided Nathaniel and Harry over to a shiny grill, Harry thought that Nathaniel was awfully interested in something he said he didn't want.

The salesgirl rambled on about the grill's attributes. It all flew over Harry's head, but Nathaniel was nodding. Finally, the girl asked, "Are you interested in buying?"

Harry grabbed Nathaniel's arm before he could answer. "Can you give us a minute?" Harry asked the girl, and tried smiling at her like Nathaniel had. It must have worked, because the girl blushed again and smiled as she wandered off.

"What?" Nathaniel asked under his breath.

"Are you going to get it?" Harry asked.

"No."

"Why not? Is there one back at the house I didn't see?"

Nathaniel shook his head.

"You look like you'd like it," Harry added.

"I don't know if Anita wants one."

Harry frowned slightly. "She doesn't cook much?"

Nathaniel shook his head again, eyes fixed firmly on the grill.

"Do you want it?" Harry tried.

"Anita--"

"No, do you want it?" Harry asked again firmly.

After a long pause, Nathaniel said, in the smallest voice imaginable, "Yes."

"So get it. It's on sale."

"But I don't know if Anita would want it!" Nathaniel insisted.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "So what if she doesn't want it? She'd never use it anyway, from what you said."

"I don't want to get her mad." There was a tiny edge of an emotion Harry couldn't quite place in Nathaniel's voice.

"Why would she get mad?" Harry asked. He didn't think Anita would get mad over something like this. That didn't seem like her at all.

"I didn't ask her about it."

Harry frowned for real this time. "She wants you to ask her before you buy things like this?"

Nathaniel pressed his lips together, then said, "No. She wants me to make my own decisions."

Looking at the way Nathaniel was standing, so careful not to get his hopes up, Harry had an idea. It seemed like Nathaniel really wanted this grill, for some reason, but he wasn't sure if Anita did. What if he was worried she'd say no, so he just wouldn't bother asking for it? Harry had spent a childhood hiding his desires, not letting anyone know what he wanted, so no one could crush his dreams.

But Anita would never do anything like that to Nathaniel. Harry knew that.

"I have an idea."

Nathaniel looked up at him, curious.

"We get the grill, and if Anita doesn't like it, we'll bring it back."

Nathaniel hesitated, and Harry realized what he'd just said. Or forgotten to say.

"Only if you want to," he hastily added. "It's just an idea."

Nathaniel licked his lower lip slowly, thinking again. Harry tried not to fidget as he watched Nathaniel. "Okay," Nathaniel said after a minute. "We'll get it."

Harry grinned.

* * *

I turned off the vacuum and wiped the sweat from my forehead. After Jean-Claude and Asher had fed the ardeur, I'd been filled with a weird energy burst. I'd ended up vacuuming the stairs and the living room before my energy gave out. Now I was sweaty as well as being tired. I was so fed up with this.

"Anita, they're back," Micah called from upstairs. I kicked the rug in front of the fireplace back into place, then went to the window. I was standing there, frowning, when Micah came downstairs and joined me.

"What is that?" I asked him as I watched Harry and Nathaniel wrestle a metal contraption out of the back of my jeep.

"Hmm." Micah put his hands on my hips and I leaned back against him. "Looks like a grill."

"I thought they were going to get groceries."

"They must have made a detour."

Nathaniel and Harry stared carrying the thing around the house. I turned in Micah's grasp. "I didn't know we needed one."

Micah quirked up the edge of his mouth in a half-smile. "You know how you hate to eat raw meat."

I stuck my tongue out at him, and he chuckled. "Let's go see what Nathaniel's done," I said.

Micah and I walked hand in hand out the front door and around the house, to where Harry and Nathaniel were putting the grill against the porch. Nathaniel froze when he saw us.

"Hi," Harry said easily, as he straightened up. "How are you feeling, Anita?"

I glared at him. "Didn't I tell you not to ask me that?" I shook my head at him. "What's this?"

Nathaniel took a deep breath. "It's... um..." he said.

I waited.

"I got us a grill," he continued. "We didn't have one, and-- and I wanted one."

Hold on. Nathaniel wanted something big, for the house, and got it on his own without asking me? This was the first time he'd ever done anything like this. I snuck a glance at Harry. There was a very serious expression on his face, almost a warning.

"Cool," I said. I wanted to ask Nathaniel what caused all this, but hadn't I been telling him for years to make choices on his own? "Did you guys get any food while you were out?"

Nathaniel looked so relieved that I broke away from Micah and went over to Nathaniel's side and touched his arm. "We got everything you'd like to eat," Nathaniel told me.

"We'll get the food," Micah said, and gestured at Harry. They disappeared around the side of the house, leaving me with Nathaniel. He rested his head against mine for a minute.

"I was worried you'd be mad," he whispered.

"Why?" I asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. He let out a wavering sigh.

"Because I didn't ask."

I nudged his head away from mine so I could look in his eyes. "This is your house, too," I said firmly. "You know that."

"I know," Nathaniel said.

I heard Micah and Harry's voices in the kitchen. I squeezed Nathaniel's arm and went up on my tip-toes to quickly kiss him on the forehead. "And if you're happy, I'm happy. That works both ways."

The smile on Nathaniel's face was so brilliant that my breath caught in my throat. How could I ever had tried to drive him away? How could I ever have thought that he'd be better off away from me?

Hot anger churned up in my chest, anger at Bellatrix and her magic, and at myself. I wasn't going to let anything like that happen to us. Ever again.

* * *

I was sitting on the porch, watching as Nathaniel and Harry and Micah tried to hook up the propane tank to the grill. Even though Nathaniel was really good with his hands, he was terrible at assembling things. Luckily for us all, Micah seemed more willing to follow directions. Harry wasn't getting in their way much, either. They seemed to be working together so well, it made me smile.

I felt a brush against my mind, feather-light. Damian was awake.

I stood up. "I'm going to see Damian," I called to the boys. Micah waved a wrench at me as I headed into the house.

The basement was cool after being outside, the steps hollow under my feet. Even though he knew I was there, I waited after I knocked on Damian's door.

"Come in."

I turned the knob and went into the room, closing the door firmly behind me. Damian sat on his bed, his coffin lid already closed. His green eyes were dark in the flat yellow light from the lamp.

"Hey," I said.

He nodded. "You seem better."

"Yeah." I sat next to him on the edge of the bed, close but not touching. "Good as gold."

A ghost of a smile crossed Damian's lips. "I am very glad to hear that," he said.

I touched the back of his hand with my fingertips. He hadn't fed yet, and he was room temperature. I'd been around vampires long enough that I didn't find it disconcerting. It was just another part of Damian.

"How is everyone?" he asked when I didn't run off.

"They're all fine," I said. "Harry's fine. He's not fighting with Micah anymore."

Damian nodded as if he expected to hear something like that. "Power struggles between alphas can always be difficult."

I stared at him. "What? Harry, an alpha? We don't even know if he's going to change yet."

"Micah would not have been as upset at him if the boy was not an alpha," Damian explained. "He does not get as upset when a submissive lycanthrope endangers you, like Stephen, or Nathaniel."

I didn't know what to say. Harry? An alpha? But what if he didn't change? What if he did? There was so much going for Harry shifting into a werewolf, and so much against. We had a little less than three weeks to see what happened, but it didn't seem like nearly long enough.

Damian picked up my hand and kissed it. "The sun awaits you, Anita," he said. "Go. Enjoy the warmth and the company of the living."

Obediently, still thinking about what he'd said before, I stood up. "You'll be okay?"

Damian also stood. "I will read. Harry has allowed me to look at his book on magic. It is a fascinating window into his world."

"How so?" I asked.

"Humans use guns or knives for defence, but the weapons can be turned outward to control, to dominate, to kill." This coming from an ex-Viking raider?

Damian walked over to his desk and picked up the large battered book while I nodded, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cool basement.

"It seems that Harry's wizards are not exempt from this most basic of lessons on human nature," Damian said. He sat back on his bed, opening the book in his lap. I wandered back to his side and leaned against his shoulder. "Where you would use a gun, or I use my sword or teeth, they use magic."

He turned to a page with some gruesome illustrations, then another. He guided me through the book, which showed "The Gentleman Wizard" how to protect himself from curses and spells. Some of the descriptions were quite lurid, like how a spell could eviscerate someone, or explode someone's eyeballs, or roast the victim's guts while they were still inside.

I was queasy by the time Damian was done. "They teach seventeen-year-olds about shit like this?" I asked.

"Harry said the book was loaned to him by a good friend, one who has worked with other wizards for years. This friend said that the information in the book would be useful."

"To protect Harry?"

Damian shrugged. "To be aware. From the descriptions, most of these spells and the protections are a recent development, over the last two hundred years. As the protections got better, then the spells needed to become more powerful, more vicious."

"You're talking about a magical arms race," I breathed. "How could this happen and the rest of the world not even know?"

Damian touched my hand, and it made me look down at him. "The rest of the world has done it too, even without magic," he said.

"But that doesn't mean it doesn't freak me out that they can use magic to do this," I told him. "I need a gun to kill someone from ten feet away." I stopped and reconsidered that. "Okay, maybe not me, but humans aren't supposed to be able to wish someone dead like that!"

Damian took my hand in his, and I felt his calm seep into me. I breathed out slowly, letting go of the tension in my body.

"Thanks," I said softly after a few minutes.

"It is no problem," Damian said, releasing my hand. "You know that I will do anything you ask." Then he smiled a tiny bit. "And even things you do not ask."

He'd made his point, and distracted me from my anger. Oh, I was still angry at this, but it was a colder anger now. Something I could stew over, not simply react. I was more dangerous that way.

"Go," he prodded. "I will treasure that you came down for me, when you felt me wake."

I leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "See you later."

As I was closing the door behind me, I thought I heard Damian whisper, "As always."

* * *

"Did you enjoy dinner?" Nathaniel asked as he and Harry cleared the table.

"Yeah," I said, folding my arms on the table. "Thanks for making it."

Nathaniel's eyes were dancing with excitement. "It was fun."

"I didn't even know you could grill apples like that," Harry added as he stacked plates into the dishwasher.

"I think I read it in a book once," Nathaniel said. "But it was pretty cool."

I smiled distractedly, but I wasn't really paying attention. Now that my stomach was full, I could feel how hungry I was for other things. Other things that I didn't want to think about.

As I looked at Nathaniel and Micah, cleaning up after dinner, I didn't feel the fire I usually did when I watched them move. It was like that part inside me was in a cold, deep sleep.

Micah came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I hated how careful he was being with me. "Did you get enough to eat?" he asked.

"For the third time, yes." I stood up. "Lots of food from all sorts of food groups. Just what the doctor ordered."

Micah was looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see how cold I was inside?

My Nimir-Raj closed the step between us and hugged me gently. I resisted for a moment, then gave up and laid my head on his shoulder, wishing it would all go away.

"Sorry about the strange dessert," Nathaniel was telling Harry.

"It's fine. I'm used to no pudding in the summer," Harry replied. "Ice cream and stuff," he added when Nathaniel looked confused.

"Is that another one of those British sayings?" Nathaniel asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Like how I really shouldn't ask you to come knock me up in the morning, I know."

Nathaniel burst into surprised laughter, and even I cracked a smile. A hint of a blush crept into Harry's cheeks, but he was laughing too.

"Why don't you take Harry out for some ice cream, Nathaniel?" Micah said suddenly.

I lifted my head off Micah's shoulder. "Don't we have ice cream in the freezer?" I asked.

Harry looked at me, then at Micah. "If you want me to leave, I can just go," he said. His voice was devoid of the humour it had held just a few minutes ago.

Micah stepped away from me, but kept one hand on my waist. "It's not that I want you to leave," he said to Harry.

"But you'd rather not have me here?" Harry asked hotly. His gaze traveled down to where Micah's hand was on my side, and he blushed as red as a fire engine. "Oh. Oh," he said.

Nathaniel gave Micah a look. "We could go see what Jason's doing, Harry," he offered tentatively.

Harry swallowed, avoiding my gaze "Okay."

Oh, for heaven's sake. "You don't have to go if you don't want to," I pointed out.

"No, it's okay," Harry said quickly. "I like Jason, and he's somewhere else, so we won't interrupt-- I mean, get in your way--"

Nathaniel shook his head and pulled Harry out of the kitchen. "Let's get you dressed in something a little less threadbare," he said. "Jason's never going to let you live it down otherwise."

I wait until I heard them on the stairs before I whirled on Micah. "What the hell are you thinking?" I hissed. "Why not just take out an ad in the classifieds? 'Oh look, Anita's having sex again!'"

Micah frowned at me. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I thought it would make you uncomfortable to have Harry in the house when you were feeding the ardeur."

I stalked across the kitchen, suddenly needing some space. "So you tell him he has to leave so we can have sex?"

"Are you mad at me?" Micah asked slowly.

I turned around and went to the glass door. There were a couple of hours until sunset, and everything looked so clean and fresh. Not like I felt at all.

"What's wrong, Anita?" Micah quietly asked.

"Nothing's wrong!" I said in a hurry.

I could hear Harry and Nathaniel talking upstairs, and out of nowhere, I started shaking again. I didn't protest when Micah came up behind me and hugged me tightly.

"I'm so cold," I whispered. "What if I can't ever get warm again?"

"You will."

"But what if I don't?"

Micah kissed me on the cheek, and I didn't feel a thing. No warmth, no lust. Nothing. "We'll work through it, I promise."

I wished I could believe him.

* * *

Harry and Nathaniel were gone, driving to the Circus in my Jeep. I'd had yet another shower, the house was as clean as it was ever going to get, and now I was sitting on my bed, as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night.

Micah was sitting at the other end of the bed, watching me. "We don't have to do this."

"Yes, we do," I insisted. "What will happen to Nathaniel and Damian if I don't?"

"We can find another way."

I shook my head. "No, I need to get back into this," I said. There was a fluttering panic in my stomach. Most of it had to do with me being terrified that I would hurt Nathaniel or Damian, or even Jean-Claude or Richard.

There was a deeper fear, however. What would it feel like when Micah touched me?

I took some deep calming breaths. You can do this, I repeated silently as I stood up to take off my clothes. Micah watched me from the bed, but didn't say anything as I stripped, or when I pulled back the sheets and climbed onto the bed. I couldn't figure out how I wanted to sit, and it took me a few tries to come up with a position that didn't make me feel too ridiculous, with my knees pulled up to my chest.

When I was settled, Micah crawled up the bed and laid down bedside me. His eyes were yellow in the light from the beside lamp, no condemnation or anything in those eyes. Why did I trust him so much? Trusting Micah was like breathing, it was just something I did. Question it and it all falls apart, but here I was. And here he was. Like always.

I unfolded myself and leaned down to lay a light kiss on Micah's lips. It felt all right for a few seconds, even when Micah moved his lips against mine.

It's a kiss, just a kiss, I told myself, trying not to tense up.

Then Micah slid his tongue into my mouth, and I jerked back so hard I almost fell off the bed.

"What's wrong?" Micah said, putting his hand on my hip.

My heart was pounding in my chest so fast I almost couldn't breathe.

"Did it hurt?" Micah asked.

I shook my head. It hadn't hurt, but when Micah had deepened the kiss, everything in me had screamed that the feel of his body was going to turn to broken glass against my lips.

It took me a few long seconds, but I tried to lean back down to Micah. He put his hand on my chest to stop me and sat up.

"What?" I asked.

Micah moved back a little bit, so he could look at me. "I want you to do something for me," he said.

I bit my lower lip. What was he going to want me to do? Undress him? Turn off the light? "Sure, I guess."

"I want you to think about what just happened, okay?" He leaned forward a little. I nodded. "Now thing about what it's going to be like when we're having sex."

I couldn't stop the shudder that ran through my body. Without thinking, I pulled my legs up to my chest again.

"We are so not doing this," Micah muttered. He slipped off the bed and went to the closet.

"We have to!" I protested. This couldn't be happening. I needed to feed the ardeur, or I was going to hurt everyone. I couldn't let that happen.

Micah pulled a thin blanket of the top shelf in the closet and brought it over to the bed. He wrapped it around me as he spoke. "Anita, I can't even kiss you without you reacting badly. I am not going to do anything that you can't handle."

"But I need to do this! You know what's going to happen if I don't!"

Micah settled back against the pillows and held out his hand to me. After a minute, I moved over to cuddle against him, resting my head on his shoulder. His arm went around my back, steadying me.

"It's not right, Anita. We need to work this through right, and that doesn't involve me touching you when you don't really want me."

I played with the edge of my blanket, unable to look at Micah. "I don't not want you," I whispered.

"I know."

"But I need to feed," I added.

Micah caught my restless fingers in his grasp. "We will find another way."

I buried my face in the crook of his shoulder. He smelled like sunshine and pard and home and Micah. It should have been comforting, but it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," I said in a very small voice.

"Do not be sorry," Micah said with feeling. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He hugged me a little tighter. "What happened to you was a horrible, terrible thing. You've been doing everything you can to come back to us. If I hadn't already known it, this would have proven to me without a doubt that you are the strongest person I have ever known."

"Then why don't I feel like it?" I demanded, going up on one elbow.

"Because you never see what you can do, only what you think you can't," Micah said.

"But I still need to feed," I said, dropping back onto the bed. It all felt so hopeless.

"What did you do yesterday?" Micah asked.

"Jean-Claude did Nathaniel while I was touching him." I didn't feel any embarrassment over it. Just a tiny bit of knowledge that I should have done better.

Micah was quiet for a minute. "Define 'did'."

Okay, now I was blushing. "Not, like, _did_ , but did."

"By hand?"

I blushed harder.

"I'll take that as a yes." Micah rolled onto his side, facing me. "I could do that, if you think it will help."

"Really?"

Micah nodded. "If you want, you can feed off me like that, and we can work on the rest of this later, when you're not so hungry."

"But how are we going to fix this? How am I going to fix me?" I asked.

Micah sat up and began to unbutton his shorts. "We'll figure something out, but it may take time."

"What if we can't?"

Micah kicked his shorts to the floor and lay back down. "You know I'm going to be here no matter what, right?"

I squeezed Micah's arm, and put my head on his shoulder again. I let out a low sigh. I was just so tired. "I know."


	25. Baby's Got Something To Prove

* * *

Harry tried to pay attention to the road, or think of something useful to say, but all he could think about was Anita.

There had been a slowness to her movements all day. Harry knew because he'd been watching her. She touched things carefully, watched as people approached her. It was just a little bit different, and all so wrong.

"What's wrong?" Nathaniel asked. Harry must have said that last bit out loud. Or else Nathaniel was developing telepathic powers, and all of Harry's divination textbooks said that wasn't possible so long after puberty.

"Nothing."

Nathaniel looked at him briefly before returning his attention to the road. "If you don't want to tell me, it's fine."

The wereleopard's voice was soft, blameless, but Harry felt bad. "It's not that I don't want to tell you, it's just that I'm..." His voice trailed off.

"Yes?"

Harry blinked hard, willing his eyes to focus. "Do you think it'd be better if I left?"

Nathaniel was quiet for so long that Harry was sure he was going to say yes. "I think that Anita wants you to stay. That's what's important, right now. She's more important than what I think."

"That was a yes," Harry muttered. Even though he'd only known Nathaniel for little over a week, it still felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach.

"That wasn't a yes," Nathaniel argued. "I like you. But right now, it's important that Anita likes you and she wants you here and so you have to stay."

Harry shook his head. Nathaniel continued.

"It's never about other people with Anita, even when it is," he said. "In her head, it's about her and how she's not strong enough or smart enough. It's always about how she's not enough."

"That's crazy!" Harry exclaimed. "She saved my life, more than once!"

"I know." There was an undercurrent of deep pain in Nathaniel's voice "I've been hers since I was eighteen, and for so long she told me she didn't want me, not really. It took so long for that to change."

"What happened?"

"She changed." Nathaniel took an exit off the freeway, and the car slowed as they entered the flow of traffic. "She stopped fighting, and she finally let me in."

Harry knew he was missing something important, but what could it be? "Sounds like it was hard."

"It was." Nathaniel stopped at a red light and flashed Harry a quick smile. "But it all worked out, and that's what matters."

When the Jeep started moving again, Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He'd had a headache developing behind his eyes since that morning, and the half-light twilight as the sun set wasn't making his head any better.

He wondered yet again what Ron and Hermione were doing. Was Hermione with the Weasleys right now? Or was she trying to get things done before school started? What did the Head Girl need to do, anyway?

Hermione Granger, Head Girl. Harry almost giggled at the initials, but it was probably just nerves and it would make Nathaniel ask him what he was laughing at.

He should probably get Hermione a gift of some sort. No matter how he tried to ignore the social lessons he'd learned largely by osmosis at the Dursleys' house, Harry knew he should get Hermione something. One wasn't named Head Girl every day.

However, this led to a question that had been simmering in Harry's head for days. Money.

All of Harry's money was nicely tucked away in his vault in Gringotts, the Wizarding bank, miles below London. Since getting to St. Louis, Harry had been eating Anita's food, staying in Anita's house... Anita had even bought him all of those new clothes.

Harry didn't feel right about that. He had money, and so he should be paying for his own way, right? 

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asked Nathaniel.

"Yes."

"Anita's been paying for me since I left the Dursleys," Harry began. He hoped he didn't sound as stupid as he felt. "I don't think-- I mean, I shouldn't be doing this."

"Doing what?" Nathaniel sounded confused.

"Letting her do that!" Harry exclaimed. His face was burning. "I've got money, I just can't keep not doing anything to earn my way!"

Nathaniel frowned at Harry. "But you don't have to," he said. "Anita doesn't mind paying for you, and she doesn't expect anything at all in return. That's just the way she is."

"But that's not how I am," Harry insisted. "There's got to be something I can do."

"You help out around the house," Nathaniel pointed out. "You're not taking advantage of Anita's money. Everyone's okay with the way things are."

"You don't understand," Harry muttered as he flopped back onto the seat. "It's just wrong."

"You're right," Nathaniel said. "I don't understand. Maybe Jason will?"

"Maybe." Harry stared out the window, wondering why he was even so upset. Nathaniel seemed to think he was overreacting.

"Why did you start talking about money?" Nathaniel asked cautiously.

Harry pushed his hair back from his face. The landmarks were beginning to look familiar, and he knew they were nearing the Circus. "Girls like presents, right?"

"Yes," Nathaniel said. Conviction returned to his voice. "They do. Is there a girl in particular?"

"Hermione."

"Your friend? Who's dating your other friend?"

It wasn't exactly correct, but Harry spared Nathaniel the three-hour explanation. "She's Head Girl this year. It's a big deal."

"Hmm." Nathaniel turned the Jeep into the parking lot behind the Circus of the Damned. "Jewellery's probably out. What does she like?"

"Books." Harry tried to think, but his mind was a blank. He'd known Hermione for more than six years, he should know her better than this. "And her cat."

Nathaniel shrugged as he parked the Jeep close to the back wall. "So get her a book."

~~ 

"Don't get her a book," Jason said.

"Then what the hell am I going to do?" Harry asked, slightly desperate. Why couldn't Hermione just have been a boy? Then Harry wouldn't have had to worry about this.

"She's a girl," Jason pointed out. "Get her something that makes her feel pretty."

"But she's got a boyfriend," Nathaniel said.

Jason let out a long-suffering sigh. "So no rings or necklaces. How about a bracelet?"

"She doesn't like anything on her wrists, it interferes with her writing." Harry caught the glare Jason was giving him. "What?"

"A true geek," Jason muttered as they settled down onto the walkway on the side of the building, high above the crowds. Jason had let Harry get a hot dog and a soda first, thankfully. Harry wasn't usually this hungry, but he wasn't going to pass up the offer of available food. Even if Nathaniel had to pay for it.

"Here's the deal," Jason continued. "In a couple of days, you and me are going shopping for Hermione. We'll get her something that's not going to make her hit you when you get home."

Nathaniel moved a fraction closer to Jason, and the werewolf turned his head. "Can I come?" Nathaniel asked softly. "Sounds like I need to learn more about girls."

Jason laughed. "If you're trying to figure out Anita, give it up. There's no figuring her out."

"Hermione's kind of like Anita," Harry said between slurps on his soda. "She's got crazy hair, and she's really very smart."

"Is she scary?" Jason teased.

Harry thought for a moment. "She knows all the spells, and knows which ones she shouldn't use. But she will, if she needs to."

"So she's protective?" Jason said, teasing gone. "Good." He looked over the railing to the circus floor below. "How did the two of you start talking about this?"

"Harry doesn't like it that Anita's paying for everything," Nathaniel said.

"Nathaniel!"

"I thought you wanted to talk to Jason about this," Nathaniel said, confused.

Harry's ears were burning. "I did, but--"

"It's got to be better than starving, right?" Jason said.

"But I've got money! I just can't get at it over here."

Jason pulled Harry's soda out of his hand and took a sip. "Your bank not have an ATM?"

"An eh-tee-what? I don't think the goblins do trans-Atlantic deliveries," Harry said.

Nathaniel leaned around Jason, who was gaping at Harry. "Your bank has goblins?"

"And I thought the tellers at my bank were creepy," Jason said, then grinned. "You should totally write a book."

Harry took back his soda. "Yeah, who's going to buy a book about a boy wizard from England?" he asked.

"Good point." Jason leaned against the railing. "So, Anita. Just offer to pay her back if it's really bothering you."

"She's not going to like that," Nathaniel cautioned.

"I don't want her mad, but I can't let her pay for it all, you know?" Harry said. He looked out at the people below them. The Circus was packed, even so soon after sunset.

Jason nodded sagely. "You need to pay your own way, I get it."

"What do you mean?" Nathaniel asked, his voice defensive.

Jason turned to Nathaniel. "That's not what I mean," he said. "Anita's never going to get what's bugging Harry, because she's a girl. But you're not doing that, anyway." Jason shifted around until he could put an arm over Nathaniel's shoulders. "You have money, and you pay for things all the time."

"Like the grill today," Harry added.

"While Harry needs to depend on the kindness of strangers," Jason finished.

Harry glared at Jason. "Was that necessary?"

"I'm making Nathaniel feel better. You'll live."

Harry shook his head as he finished the last of his soda. Nathaniel muttered something to Jason, but Harry wasn't listening. A slow, creeping cold feeling was seeping into Harry's head. He turned his head, hand going to the pocket where he was keeping his wand, and saw Her.

There was a woman standing a few feet down on the walkway, the most beautiful woman that Harry had ever seen. She was tiny, dainty, with straight ebony hair and brilliant almond-shaped eyes. Those eyes took in Harry, and then she smiled.

Harry forgot how to breathe for a moment. The woman got closer, and Harry had some vague idea that he was supposed to be worried, but he pushed it out of his mind. What mattered was the woman smiling at him.

"You must be Harry," she said, kneeling down beside him. Harry nodded, and her smile grew. Her smile was amazing, just a hint of mystery behind those delicate, closed lips. "I've heard all about you."

Harry straightened his back and tried to look interesting.

"Meng Die--" Jason said, but she looked past Harry for a moment and Jason fell silent.

The woman, Meng Die, held out her hand to Harry. "Come, let us get to know each other better," she said. Her voice flowed like warm liquid over Harry's mind.

Harry was halfway to his feet, his own hand out, before some part of his head began screaming that this was not right, that something was very, very wrong.

 _Could someone like this be interested in someone like me?_ Harry wondered. _Maybe it's not so far-fetched..._

The contradictory voice in his brain screamed at him that it was indeed very far-fetched, that no one that amazing would be interested in Harry Potter and had he forgotten exactly where he was, anyway?

Feel as though he was swimming through sand, Harry tried to concentrate. His hand stopped mid-air.

Meng Die's eyes bled to a solid, glowing brown, and Harry almost fell at her feet. It was like he was under the Imperius curse, and even as he wanted to go to Meng Die, let her touch him however she wanted, take whatever she wanted, he tried to push it away.

"Meng Die, he's only seventeen!" Jason said, his voice faint and desperate.

The woman's attention faltered for a moment, and Harry was able to yank his mind free.

She glared at him, her face blank, but Harry knew that she was so angry. How could he have ever thought she was beautiful?

"It's illegal to use mind tricks against kids," Jason continued. "Jean-Claude'd never stand for it."

Meng Die shot to her feet. "He won't be seventeen forever," she hissed, and Harry saw the delicate point of her fangs behind her lips. Then she vanished into the darkness.

Harry's knees collapsed under him. He was breathing hard, as if he'd just run a mile.

Jason grabbed his arm and hauled him roughly to his feet. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he shouted at Harry. "She can call the wolves, you idiot! She could have had you ripping your own heart out!"

"I pushed her out, I was fine!" Harry yelled back, jerking his arm out of Jason's grip.

"The fuck you were!" Harry had never seen Jason so angry before. "I thought you were supposed to be smart, not going around falling into the eyes of every pretty vampire you meet!"

"I didn't fall into her eyes!" Anger at himself for not realizing what Meng Die was, coupled with irritation that Jason was treating him like a kid, was not making Harry think very rationally. "I pushed her out of my head when you started distracting me!"

Jason shook his head. "Meng Die's one of the most powerful vamps here, plus she has power over the wolves like Jean-Claude does. If you think you pulled free, you're on crack. She let you go!"

"Why don't you believe me?" Harry demanded.

"It's just that you're so new and Meng Die's so powerful," Nathaniel said softly from where he was curled up by Jason's feet. "She likes to be able to say she's more powerful than powerful people. If she'd gotten to you, it'd be a big thing to her."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said.

"You're Damian's grandson and Richard's new werewolf," Nathaniel said. "Plus Byron's been telling everyone who will listen about the wonderful Harry Potter."

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. His fingers touched the smooth wood of his wand, and it made him feel a whole lot better. "Just perfect."

Jason helped Nathaniel to his feet. "Come one, we're leaving."

"What? Why?" Harry asked.

"Because Meng Die will probably come back," Jason said as he began to make his way toward the stairs. "What are you going to do then?"

"I can keep her out of my head!" Harry protested.

"You don't know until you try, and that is a very stupid idea," Jason told him.

Harry followed Jason unhappily. He couldn't believe he let Meng Die into his head like that. Sure, she hadn't looked like a vampire at first, but that wasn't any excuse. _I am never telling Ron or Hermione about this,_ he swore. Ron would never let him live it down.

But it would have been so easy to fall into her eyes. It would have felt so good, he knew.

"Jean-Claude," he said suddenly, coming to a halt.

"What?" Jason asked, turning around.

"Jean-Claude calls wolves too, right?" Harry didn't wait for Jason to respond. "If I could keep him out of my head, I'd be able to keep Meng Die out."

Jason stared at him. "You really have lost your fucking mind."

"But I'm right, aren't I?" Harry pushed past Jason on the way to the stairs. "Is he here? At the Circus? Can we ask him?"

"He's downstairs, but--"

"Jason, please." Harry took a deep breath. "Look, you were right, I was stupid, okay? But I need to know if I can keep vampires out of my head or if Meng Die just let me go. If I don't know, I'll make a stupid mistake or something when I can't afford it!"

Jason shook his head again. "Jean-Claude's downstairs," he said. "We can ask him, but if he says no, that's it."

"Anita's not going to like this," Nathaniel said unhappily.

Harry didn't like it either, but what choice did he have? What if he was wrong, and a vampire could just flatten him at any time? He needed to know.

* * *

After a creepy walk down the stone stairs under the Circus of the Damned, Jason had told Harry and Nathaniel to wait while he went to find Jean-Claude. He disappeared through the curtained walls, and a silence fell over the room.

Harry paced back and forth over the smooth stone floor, his trainers not making any noise as he moved. Nathaniel curled up on the couch, watching Harry with unnerving intensity.

"What?" Harry finally asked.

Nathaniel rested his head against his hand. "You don't have to do this, Jason won't think you're a coward or anything."

"That's not why I'm doing this," Harry retorted.

"Isn't it?"

"No." Then, after a few more circuits around the room, Harry said, "Not really." How long would it take for Jason to find Jean-Claude, anyway? The next time he passed Nathaniel's couch, he sat down next to the wereleopard and rested his elbows on his knees. "It's just that I know how powerful I am. Unless I know for sure I can't do something, I might try it when it's dangerous, and it might fail."

"You mean you might try and bluff a vampire?" 

Harry nodded. "I know it's stupid, but it's how I am."

"You're right," Nathaniel said. "It is pretty stupid."

Harry's retort was cut off as Jason came back into the room. Jean-Claude glided in behind him. Surprisingly, Richard was right behind Jean-Claude.

Harry was on his feet in an instant. Now that Jean-Claude was here, all Harry wanted to do was bolt.

The Master Vampire had a small, enigmatic smile on his face. "Jason tells me you have an... idea?"

Refusing to be baited, Harry explained briefly what had happened upstairs, and what he wanted to do. Jean-Claude's amusement seemed to falter slightly when Harry told him what Meng Die had done, or at least tried to do.

When Harry was finished, Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow and said, "Indeed."

"Now, hold on," Richard cut in. "You can't be thinking of agreeing to this."

"He has valid points," Jean-Claude said. "If he can fight off a vampire's thrall, it would be a wise thing to know it. However," he added, looking back over at Harry, "I am curious as to why you are asking me."

"Because... because you're the Master," Harry stuttered.

"True, but that is not the reason," Jean-Claude said. "Do you trust me not to harm you?"

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. _The hell with it,_ he thought. "No. But you're the most powerful vampire in the city and you can call wolves. And Anita trusts you."

"You trust him because Anita trusts him?" Richard asked.

"Non, he trusts me not to harm him too badly for fear of what Anita would do to me," Jean-Claude said, sounding very amused by the whole thing. "Very well, monsieur. I agree."

Harry nodded, mouth suddenly dry.

"Jean-Claude," Richard said. The two men looked at each other for a few moments, silent, then Richard crossed his arms over his chest, glowering slightly.

For all that he had said he was prepared for it, Harry didn't have his guard up when Jean-Claude turned back to look at him. He didn't even have a chance to think about it before his mind fell apart before midnight blue eyes.

* * *

It seemed to be his lot in life, Harry thought bitterly, to end up on his arse on cold stone floors in front of dark-haired men who were messing with his mind. He'd stopped keeping track after the fourth time Jean-Claude had released his hold on Harry's mind. His tailbone hurt from the number of times he'd fallen on his butt, and his head felt like it was going to explode. But he wasn't going to give up.

Jean-Claude's faint mask of amusement was long gone. He waited until Harry climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Much better," he murmured.

"What's better?" Richard asked.

"He has not been able to cast me out completely, but he can block me from making him do things," Jean-Claude said. "And he is able to respond much quicker."

Harry took a few deep breaths and tried to centre himself again. He had tried to use Occlumency at first, but it hadn't really worked to push Jean-Claude away. Then he remembered the cold feeling of magic that Anita had used the other night in the graveyard, to raise the zombie. He hadn't been able to duplicate it, but by concentrating on that cold memory, he'd been able to keep Jean-Claude from making him slap himself in the face.

"Once more," Jean-Claude said.

Harry almost told him no, that he was sick of all this. He held his tongue. If it was a real fight, the vampire wasn't going to stop just because Harry wasn't feeling up to it.

Blinking a few times, Harry looked into Jean-Claude's eyes again. The midnight-blue glow of power rushed over him, trying to take away his will. Harry concentrated on the coldness of the power and tried to shake himself free. The top of his head felt like it was going to fall off.

Suddenly, in a rush, the power was gone and Harry was lying on his back. It didn't feel like Jean-Claude had stopped; it felt as if Harry had almost ripped himself to pieces.

"He did it," Jean-Claude said, surprised.

Harry hurt too much to be pleased with himself. It took him two tries to sit up, and even then the room wouldn't stop spinning.

There were hands on his arms, helping him stand. Richard held Harry upright until he wasn't in any more danger of collapsing, then let him go. "What do you mean, he did it?" Richard asked.

"I mean he pushed me out of his mind," Jean-Claude explained. "Most interesting. Shall we try again?"

"No fucking way," Richard said before Harry could say anything. "Harry, you're going home."

Nathaniel quickly climbed to his feet. "The Jeep's outside," he said.

"I'll come too," Jason chimed in.

Harry blinked, and the two Jean-Claudes in his vision melted back into one. "I really did it?"

"Oui."

Harry nodded. "Did you let me?" 

"Non," Jean-Claude said. "You did it all on your own."

"Good." Harry forgot to thank Jean-Claude as Richard steered him toward the large wooden door.

They made it up the first few stairs without incident, but then Richard grabbed Harry to stop him from walking into a wall that he hadn't even seen. "Are you going to be okay?" Richard demanded.

"Sure," Harry said automatically. It wasn't a complete lie. The pain in his head was slowly going from excruciating to tolerable, and if he concentrated, Harry could see where he was going.

Richard muttered something to himself as he pushed Harry in the right direction. The four of them made it up the rest of the stairs without Harry falling down or anything equally embarrassing.

In the little storage room at the top of the stairs, Richard put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Hold on a sec," he said.

Harry turned, wincing as the light from the overhead bulb shone in his eyes. Richard glared down at him, and Harry had to fight the urge to ask what he could do to make Richard not so unhappy.

"You aren't to do anything like that again unless I'm there, got it?" Richard demanded.

"But Anita--"

Richard gave Harry a shake. "Not even if Anita's there."

"Why not?" Didn't Richard see how hard he'd worked that night? What he had accomplished?

"She doesn't understand." He took a step back, out of the light, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up as the shadows cast on the wall looked like a wolf towering over him. "I'm Ulfric, and your safety is my responsibility. You are not to do that on your own."

"Fine," Harry muttered.

"Fine, what?"

Ignoring the splitting pain in his head, Harry glared back at Richard. "Fine, _sir_."

"Don't be smart," Richard snapped.

"Fine, I'm not going to do this again without you there," Harry spat back.

Richard shook his head. "Why did you do it?"

Harry put his hands against the sides of his head, wishing he had a Pepper-up potion or something, anything, to make his headache go away. "I had to know if I could do it."

"I don't think so," Richard said. "I think that you think you've got something to prove to everyone." He looked past Harry to Nathaniel. "Take him home, make sure he gets some sleep."

Harry didn't know what do say, and so he let Nathaniel pull him past Jason and out into the humid night.

By the time they were back at the Jeep, Harry was feeling slightly ill. Was it because of the Circus food? Or what Jean-Claude had been doing in his head? The air conditioning in the car helped, as did watching the road very closely as Nathaniel drove toward Anita's house.

"I don't have anything to prove," Harry muttered as Nathaniel pulled onto the freeway.

"Yes, you do," Nathaniel said. "But it's okay. We all do."

Harry stared at the pavement rushing by, the pain in his head settling into an ache behind his eyes.

Had he done the right thing? More importantly, if he needed to, could he push another vampire out of his head?


	26. Why Is No One Listening To Me?

* * *

"Harry, wake up."

"G'way, Ron, I've almost got the Snitch," Harry mumbled, still mostly asleep.

"Harry, come on. We're going running."

The last word fragmented Harry's dream, and he opened his eyes. Nathaniel was leaning over him. "Running?"

Nathaniel poked Harry in the shoulder. "I need some exercise, and I don't want to go alone," he said.

"What about Anita or Micah?" Harry muttered as he slipped his glasses on.

"Still sleeping," Nathaniel said. "Micah hasn't slept in a few days, so he's not going to be up for hours."

Harry peered at the clock. "Is the sun even up yet?"

"I know it's early but... " Nathaniel sat back on the bed. "I couldn't sleep and I hate running alone."

The young wereleopard looked so despondent that Harry sat up. "Okay, but on one condition," Harry said. "You're not allowed to laugh at me if I fall headfirst into a flowerbed, all right?"

Nathaniel grinned "Deal."

* * *

"This... wasn't such a... good... idea," Harry wheezed, stumbling to a stop near a fire hydrant.

Nathaniel didn't even look winded. "You're doing fine," he said encouragingly. "Just keep going, you'll get into it."

"Just a minute," Harry said. They had only been running for twenty minutes, but Harry felt absolutely horrible. "It was easier to run in the woods."

Nathaniel patted Harry on the shoulder. "It's because we're surrounded by cars and pavement. It's harder to get your beast to recognize that it needs to run. It will be easier on the way back."

"Uh huh." Harry wiped the sweat out of his eyes and straightened up. "How much farther are we going?"

"Usually me and Micah run for another half hour, then cut back through the woods to home."

Harry felt like passing out at the mere thought, but manfully managed to stay upright.

"We can head back now if you'd like," Nathaniel offered.

Harry took a few deep breaths. "No, I'll keep going," he said. _If Nathaniel can do it, I can do it,_ he thought grimly.

* * *

Harry had never been so happy to see Anita's house in his entire life. Trying to dash across the grass in one final burst of energy, he tripped over his own feet and rolled, ending up on his back and staring up at the bright blue sky.

"Are you going to be okay?" Nathaniel asked, dropping to the ground beside Harry.

Harry tried to nod, but ended up blinking at Nathaniel. "Yeah," he finally said.

Nathaniel began to stretch. "You should probably stretch it out or else you'll cramp up."

Harry wanted nothing more than to lie still forever, but he managed to haul himself up. "How?"

Patiently, Nathaniel showed Harry how to stretch his legs so his leg muscles didn't get wrecked after running. After he was done, Harry laid back on the grass, basking in a sense of contentment in the sun.

"How do you feel?" Nathaniel asked, lying beside Harry.

"Mellow," Harry said. "Like, it hurt when I was running, but now it's mellow."

"Don't you guys run in gym class at school?"

"No gym class," Harry said. "There's Quidditch, but that's on brooms. The most exercise I get is running for my life." 

"Do you do that a lot?" Nathaniel asked, rolling onto his stomach to look at Harry.

"Seems like every year," Harry said. He shook his head. His life had been so weird for so long that it didn't even feel strange anymore, to say that his life was threatened on an annual basis.

Nathaniel nodded. "Hey, thanks for going running with me," he said.

"It was fun," Harry said. "If the feeling ever comes back to my legs."

Nathaniel ran his braid through his hands. "Life's strange, isn't it?" he said tentatively.

Harry frowned and propped himself up onto his elbows. "Sure, I guess." He didn't like the way Nathaniel was staring at the ground. "Why do you say that?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "You know, how really shitty things can make really good things happen." He glanced up at Harry. "Like you getting attacked by Richard, and now you've found Damian and you're here."

Harry sat up and absently brushed grass off his knees. "I suppose--" he started, but Nathaniel wasn't really listening.

"Or how we got Micah as Nimir-Raj, or how I got Anita," Nathaniel continued quietly.

"What happened?" Harry asked. He knew a little about Nathaniel, but he'd never spoken about the things he was now telling Harry about.

Nathaniel looked back at his braid, pulling his hair tight between his hands like a rope. "A bad man came to town, and he wanted Anita really badly." Nathaniel shuddered and let go of his hair. "Micah was around, and made the decision to help Anita, and he almost died, but Anita killed the bad guy and Micah helped and he stayed with us."

That didn't sound so bad, Harry thought. Unless Nathaniel wasn't telling Harry everything.

"Did anyone ever tell you anything about Gabriel?" Nathaniel continued.

Harry shook his head.

"Gabriel was our old alpha." There was a grim sense of satisfaction when Nathaniel spoke of the man in the past tense. "He used to pimp us out. Especially me."

Harry wasn't sure what to say, so he kept his mouth firmly shut.

"After Gabriel died, Zane tried to keep on going, but he couldn't do it right, and there was this client who--"

Nathaniel's voice broke off, and he sat up, putting his head on his pulled-up knees. Everything about him radiated distress. Without thinking, Harry crawled around and put his arm over Nathaniel's shoulders. The other man gave a shudder and relaxed against Harry. They sat, silently, for a very long time.

"I ended up in the hospital," Nathaniel eventually said. "I almost died. But Zane came to get me, and Stephen tried to stop him, and Stephen got hurt too, and Anita showed up and shot Zane and she didn't even know me, but she still saved me."

"What happened then?" Harry asked softly, trying with all his might to keep the horror he was feeling out of his voice.

"Anita told us all she'd protect us, that she'd be our Nimir-Ra." Nathaniel sounded happier. "And she does, and we're all safe now. We're happy."

Harry tightened his grip on Nathaniel's shoulder. Every time he thought he'd heard the worst thing Nathaniel had gone through, the young man surprised him with an even more terrible story.

 _That's it,_ Harry told himself. _No more whinging about my lot in life, no matter what._

Gradually, it occurred to Harry that he was all but cradling another man on a front lawn in suburban house, and self-consciously he pulled his arm back.

Nathaniel shook himself all over, like a cat, and rose gracefully to his feet. "We should probably get cleaned up before Anita wakes up," he said.

Harry dragged himself into a standing position and followed Nathaniel into the cool, dim house. He hesitated at the bottom of the carpeted stairs. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to act now, if he was supposed to acknowledge what had just happened.

Nathaniel began to undo his braid. "I can make some breakfast when I'm out of the shower, if we can ever wake up Micah and Anita," he said with a smile as he walked down the hall.

Harry stared at his retreating back for a few moment before heading upstairs. How could someone be so matter-of-fact about so many bad things in his past? How could he talk about so many horrible things so easily?

* * *

Harry was in his bedroom, shower completed, when he heard a knock on his door. "Just a sec," he said as he buttoned his shorts and scooped his t-shirt up off the bed.

He opened the door to find Micah standing in the hallway, his hair messy from sleep. "Are you done with the shower up here?" he asked. "Nathaniel's washing his hair and he's going to take forever."

"Yeah, I'm done." Harry pushed the door open a little wider. "Is Anita awake yet?"

"Not yet. She's got a lot of sleep to catch up on." Micah smiled tiredly and padded down the hall.

"Should I make coffee?" Harry asked.

"If you want," Micah said as he vanished into the bathroom.

Harry tossed his shirt onto a chair and went back to straightening the sheets on his bed. The room was still a mess. Harry hadn't found the time to clean up the mess Nathaniel and Anita had made a few days before. Maybe there would be a spare hour or two during the day.

Harry had just finished tucking in the last corner of the bedspread when his stomach growled loudly. He picked up his shirt again and walked barefoot down the hall, too hungry to wait for Nathaniel to finish his shower to get some breakfast.

 _Eggs?_ Harry mused as he pounded quietly down the stairs. _Maybe some sausages and some bacon... I wonder what's in the refrigerator?_

Passing the downstairs bathroom, Harry heard someone singing off-key over the shower. Nathaniel. Harry had to bite back a grin.

The front doorbell rang just as Harry reached the kitchen. He turned on his heel and ran back down the hall. Catching sight of a flash of blond hair through the glass made Harry think that it was Cherry, and he swung the door open without another thought.

It wasn't Cherry. The woman at the front door was tall, Harry's height, with curly blonde hair just above her shoulders. She looked at Harry, startled.

Painfully aware that he was half-naked, Harry quickly pulled his t-shirt over his head. "Hello," he said sheepishly.

The woman's eyebrows went up. "Is Anita here?" 

"Yes," Harry said. "She's still in bed, through."

The woman looked Harry up and down, a quick flick of the eyes that he almost missed. "Can you go see if she's up? I really need to talk to her. I'm Ronnie Sims."

Harry had heard the name before. It was Anita's friend, the one she had talked to on the phone a couple of days ago. "Sure thing," Harry said, then hesitated, holding the door. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sure..."

Ms. Simms nodded and stepped back to the edge of the porch. "I'll wait out here," she said, stepping down the porch steps.

Harry closed the door and walked down the hall to Anita's room, where he knocked gently on the door.

"Who's there?" Anita asked sleepily, her voice muffled by the door.

"It's Harry. There's someone here to see you."

There was a moment of silence, then Anita opened the door a crack. She had wrapped a sheet around her body, and her hair was half-covering her face. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Your friend, Ronnie Simms. She's waiting outside."

Anita blinked, surprise driving the last of the sleep from her eyes. "Why is Ronnie here?"

"She didn't say, just that she needed to talk to you," Harry said.

Anita pushed the hair out of her face. "God damn it, it's probably about Louie," she muttered. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Do you want me to go tell Ms. Simms that?" 

"No, don't bother," Anita said, shutting the door in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the door for a minute, then headed to the kitchen. Anita hadn't seemed too excited to see Ronnie. If it had been Hermione or Ron, Harry would have been happy to see either of them, no matter when.

 _And I answered the door half-naked,_ Harry thought, mortified. If he had done that back at the Dursleys' house, he'd have been facing a week without meals. As for doing it at school? He could just imagine the shrieks of the girls if he appeared in the Gryffindor common room without a shirt.

 _Hermione would probably give me detention with Snape,_ Harry imagined as he started to make coffee.

The weird thing was that until he'd seen Ms. Simms, it had felt perfectly natural to walk around half-clothed.

 _This is probably another one of those weird lycanthrope things._ He should probably asked Richard, or maybe Nathaniel. The wereleopard seemed content to walk around in as little clothing as possible. _Of course, if I looked like that, I probably wouldn't wear a shirt either._

As if summoned by the thought, Nathaniel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wearing only a damp towel around his hips. He looked around the kitchen anxiously. "Is Anita upstairs?"

Harry shook his head as he pressed the button on the coffee maker. "No, Micah's upstairs. Anita's outside, talking to her friend."

Nathaniel's eyes went wide. "What friend?" he demanded.

"Ronnie Simms," Harry said. "Is something wrong?"

Some of Nathaniel's anxiety bled away, to be replaced with what appeared to be unease. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just worried."

"About Anita?"

"Yeah." Nathaniel made sure his towel was secure around his hips, then swept his still-dripping hair over his shoulder. "Some of Anita's friends aren't nice. If she's talking to Ronnie, maybe I should--"

Whatever Nathaniel was going to say was interrupted by the sound of the front door slamming. A few seconds later, Anita stormed into the kitchen, looking both lost and extremely upset.

"What's wrong?" Nathaniel asked immediately.

Anita came to a sudden halt. "Nothing's wrong," she said with an obviously false calm. "Nothing."

Nathaniel looked past Anita toward the front of the house. "Did Ronnie leave?"

"Yes." Anita went over to the fridge and yanked the door open. "Who wants breakfast?"

Nathaniel and Harry exchanged glances. "Why don't you let me make breakfast?" Harry asked. "Whatever you'd like."

Anita's hand tightened on the fridge door. "Why not?" she asked tonelessly after a minute. She let the fridge door close softly. Turning around, she seemed to see Nathaniel in his towel for the first time. "You should probably go get dressed," she said.

Nathaniel crossed the kitchen and touched the back of Anita's hand with his fingertips. "Can I do anything?"

Anita turned her hand in Nathaniel's and squeezed his hand. "No."

Nathaniel cast a meaningful glance at Harry, then quickly left the kitchen. The problem was, Harry had no idea what Nathaniel wanted him to do.

Anita walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. She didn't say anything to Harry. She didn't even look at him.

To fill the silence, Harry started getting out the frying pan and various bowls. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Whatever," Anita said, pulling her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. Harry managed to stop himself before he frowned. He wasn't sure if the mannerism was unusual, but he'd only seen Anita sit like after they'd had the encounter with Bellatrix in the woods.

"I could make eggs," Harry offered. "Or pancakes. Nathaniel showed me the recipe for those."

Anita didn't respond. Getting more worried, Harry went to the cupboard and pulled out the first mug he could reach. He filled it with coffee and put it in front of Anita.

She looked up at that. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Do you want cream? Or sugar?"

Anita shook her head. "You don't have to do all this. You're the guest, remember?"

"Yes, but I want to help out," Harry said, going back to the counter. He flipped open the cookbook to the pancake recipe. "You've all done so much for me."

As he spoke, Harry squinted down at the letters on the page, trying to make out the fuzzy letters. Trying to read the tiny print brought back an echo of his headache from the previous night, and he took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

"What's up?" Anita asked, sipping at her coffee.

Harry blinked a couple of times, then put his glasses back on. "I'm just wondering if this is what a hangover is supposed to feel like." 

He said it as a joke, but Anita put her mug down so hard that coffee sloshed onto the table top. Nathaniel chose that moment to walk back into the kitchen, and Anita whirled on him. "You took him out drinking last night?" she exclaimed, standing up.

Nathaniel froze under the weight of her anger. "No, I didn't," he protested in a small voice.

"He didn't," Harry chimed in. "We went to the Circus to see Jason, and, well... Things got a little weird. That's why the headache."

Those were definitely not the words to calm Anita down. "Define weird," she demanded as Micah came into the kitchen, his hair still wet.

Harry didn't want to get Nathaniel in trouble, but what else could he do? He didn't know enough about why Anita would be upset, and so he couldn't figure a way around it.

Haltingly, he told Anita the story, leaving out only a few little bits, like the money talk he'd had with Nathaniel and Jason, and how beautiful he'd thought Meng Die was.

"Let me get this straight," Anita said when Harry stopped talking. "You went to the Circus, where Meng Die used illegal mind tricks on you. So you ran to Jean-Claude, not to get him to deal with Meng Die, but to have him do the same thing to you?"

Her voice had risen while she was speaking, and with it Harry's temper. "It wasn't like that!" Harry protested.

"Then what the hell was it like?" Anita yelled. Micah moved toward Anita, but she pulled back out of his reach.

"Stop doing this!" Harry shouted. "Why are you still treating me like a little kid? Richard was there, Jason and Nathaniel were there, and Jean-Claude wouldn't do anything to hurt me!"

"So you've got the vamps all figured out, huh?" Anita said, her eyes flashing in anger. Harry couldn't understand why she was so mad. "You think because Jean-Claude is nice to you that he's safe to let mess with your fucking mind?"

Harry glared at Anita. "When has Jean-Claude even been nice to me?" he demanded. "First, he tried to get you to ditch me, then he threatened my life a few times! That's not nice!"

"Then why did you let him do it?"

"Because I had to know if I could keep the vampires out of my head!" Harry yelled, and the anger and frustration bubbled up hot in his chest. Why was she treating him like a child? "If Meng Die's like the rest of them, then other vampires might try to roll me just because of who I am, or because it would hurt you! I had to know if I could protect myself!"

"Because I can't?" Anita asked, so pale now. "Is that what you mean?"

"Anita--" Micah tried, but she wasn't listening to him.

"Look, I tried, okay? With Bellatrix, with the Aurors, all of it. I tried," Anita pleaded. She took a few steps back, wrapping her arms around herself. She had gone even paler, and Harry thought she might faint. "I did all I could and it wasn't enough."

Micah went over to Anita and wrapped his arms around her. "It's okay, Anita. It's going to be okay."

Anita closed her eyes and shook her head. "If I can't protect anyone, who's going to need me for anything?" she asked in a tiny, lost voice.

Micah hugged her even tighter, and Harry could see that she was shaking. "I need you," Micah said firmly. "Not to protect me, not for anything, just for you."

"That's not what I mean," Anita argued. She tried to push his hands off her body, but he held on.

"What do you mean?" Micah asked, his voice blending into a low purr.

Anita stopped struggling and sagged against Micah. "I tried to protect Harry and it didn't work. I tried again and it didn't work, and Clay died." She gripped Micah's arms so tightly that her fingers were white. "I tried to kill Jean-Claude and Nathaniel."

At the sound of his name, Nathaniel crept across the floor and put his arms around Anita and Micah in a three-way hug. "I was hurting you," Nathaniel said.

"That's not supposed to matter," Anita told him, burying her face in Micah's hair.

Nathaniel rubbed his cheek against Anita's shoulder. "It matters," he said. "What happened to you matters."

The kitchen fell into a silence so deep that Harry was afraid to breathe. Even so, he almost missed Anita's next words.

"If I can't protect everyone, then what good am I?" she whispered, pleading.

Micah brought his hand up to stroke her hair. "You're Anita, and that's enough."

Anita started shaking again, and it took Harry a minute to realize that she was crying silently in Micah's arms.

Harry was at a total loss. He started this, setting Anita off, but how could he have known how upset she would get? He didn't know what to do with crying women, and seeing Anita cry was a whole lot worse than watching Cho cry.

Micah raised his head and caught Harry's eye. The Nimir-Raj looked toward the stove, then he turned his attention back to Anita.

Hoping that Micah meant for him to start breakfast and not to go set himself on fire, Harry went about making the morning meal. By the time the eggs and bacon were on the table, and Harry slipped the last pancake onto the platter, Anita was sitting quietly at the table behind a fresh cup of coffee. She looked much more like herself, very calm. The only indication that things weren't right was that Anita was very carefully not looking at Harry.

Nathaniel helped Harry carry the last plate over to the table, and they sat down. Micah was already seated next to Anita. Anita put down her coffee cup and carefully looked at Harry. "Thanks for making breakfast," she said.

"You're welcome," Harry said automatically. Nathaniel and Micah began dishing the food onto their plates. Anita just picked up her coffee cup again and stared into its depths.

Harry was so hungry that his insides were churning, but he couldn't eat before he'd cleared this up with Anita, one way or another. "I can protect myself," he said quietly.

Anita looked up at him, while Micah put down his fork with a sigh.

"I know it may not look like it, sometimes, but I can handle myself," Harry continued earnestly. "I've been doing it for years. You don't need to protect me like a little kid."

"You are a kid," Anita said. "You're only seventeen."

Harry swallowed his immediate retort. "Maybe if I was someone else, you might be right. But I'm not someone else." Harry leaned forward, almost putting his elbow in the eggs. "I've been fighting Voldemort since I was eleven. I've had most of the bad wizards in England after me for almost as long. I may not be the smartest guy around, but I've managed to stay alive this long and not just by luck."

Anita shook her head. "Then what the hell was with last night?" she asked. "Asking Jean-Claude to roll you?" She absently picked up the eggs plate as she spoke, scooping half the scrambled eggs onto her own plate.

"It wasn't such a stupid idea," Micah said. "No, really," he added at Anita's glare. "Think about it. If Harry can really block some vampires' mind tricks, it's best to know how, now, in case he comes across some vampires later on who aren't as friendly."

Anita didn't seem to notice as Nathaniel slipped three pancakes onto her plate. "I don't know..." she said.

"Last night was only the first try," Harry said. "I think I got Jean-Claude out of my head once. I wanted to go again, but Richard wouldn't let me."

Anita raised her eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Something about protecting me," Harry grumbled. Richard's restrictions still rankled. "But I think I'm going to try again, in a couple of days, if they're not busy."

Anita opened her mouth to say something, but Micah laid his hand on her shoulder, cutting her off. "From the sounds of things, he needs this," Micah said to Anita.

She sighed, then pulled his hand off her shoulder. "I know." She looked at Harry. "Here's the deal. I will try to not treat you like a kid. However, I'm still your Lupa, at least probably, and so if you're doing stupid shit, I'm going to come down on you like a ton of bricks, okay?"

Harry nodded, surprised to even get this far. It had been what he was after, but after the week they'd had, he was still a little bit stunned to have gotten anywhere. He didn't want to question it, unless Anita changed her mind.

Anita went back to eating. Harry shoveled the rest of the food on the table onto his plate and dove in. He hadn't realized how hungry running, and then worrying, could make him.

After a few minutes, Micah asked, "Why did Ronnie come by?"

Anita froze with her fork halfway to her mouth, then put her fork down. "I don't want to talk about it," she said.

She didn't eat any more.

* * *

Micah was waiting for me in the bedroom when I got out of the shower.

I gave him a weak smile as I pulled off my bathrobe and threw it onto a pile of dirty clothes. Usually Nathaniel did the laundry, but I decided then and there that I was going to deal with these clothes. I needed to do something, to put some little bit of order back into my life. Everyone else was making choices that didn't seem to need me. Nathaniel had bought a grill for the house. Richard and Jean-Claude were obviously meeting behind my back again. Harry didn't seem to even want me to protect him, and who was I to argue? He was probably right. He didn't need me.

I already had the shirt over my head before I realized it was one of Micah's. I hesitated, running my hands over the hem. We always shared t-shirts and stuff like that, because we were both the same size. So why did I feel like I needed to ask today?

"It looks good on you." 

I turned around, focusing on Micah. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, looking at me so solemnly.

"The colour, it looks good against your skin."

I went back to rummage for a pair of shorts. I didn't have any luck. Everything that fit me was probably lying in that pile of dirty stuff on the floor. I gave up and slipped into an old skirt, something I was pretty sure Micah would never wear. He just didn't have the hips for it.

"Did you mean what you said about Harry in there?" Micah asked.

I crossed the room and picked up my brush. "Yeah, I did," I said after a minute. I concentrated on brushing out the knots in my wet hair. After a few minutes, Micah stood up, pulled the brush out of my hand and guided me over to the bed. I sat down in front of him and let him brush my hair. It was silly, but it made me feel safe when he did this.

"I know it's probably hard, but you're doing the right thing," Micah said. "He really is able to take care of himself. He's almost a man."

My breath caught in my throat. Micah's hands stilled on my hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

I swallowed. "Nothing," I lied.

After a minute, Micah started brushing my hair again. "Does this have anything to do with why Ronnie was here this morning?"

Sometimes I hated how perceptive Micah was. "She wanted to see if I was okay. She said she was worried after I hung up on her the other day."

Micah put the brush down and separated a section of my hair, then began brushing again. "Was that all?"

I looked down at my hands. "No." Micah waited while I tried to collect myself. "Harry answered the door, and I think Ronnie wasn't expecting it, and she asked me if I got them that young for the stamina or for the recovery time."

Micah's hands stopped moving.

I rushed on, hoping Micah would understand. "You know I'd never do anything like that, right? I didn't even start anything with Nathaniel until he was twenty, I'd never do anything like that to Harry, ever."

Micah dropped the brush onto the ground and put his arms around me. "I know," he said firmly. "You'd never take advantage of someone that young, or who was under your protection, I know that."

I turned around in Micah's grasp so I could hug him back. Right now, it was about the only place I felt safe, and I needed all the safety I could get. "She's supposed to be my friend," I whispered. "Why would she say stuff like that? Is that what everyone thinks of me?"

"No," Micah said. He brushed a strand of hair off my forehead and cradled my face in his hands. "Everyone who knows you, knows you would never do anything like that to Harry, or anyone."

I sniffled. "It's just been such a horrible week, and I just wasn't expecting to get blindsided by Ronnie like that."

Micah pulled me back against him, and I cuddled against his chest. "I know." He stroked my hair, a low purr in his chest, and my beast reacted. She felt warm, she felt safe, and because of that I let myself relax against Micah.

I know Ronnie and I had our troubles, and that she had been having problems with me being so happily polyandrous, but that hadn't been any reason for her to do what she did when I saw her that morning. After she realized what she said, she told me that she'd been worried about me. I'd been worried about her many times in the past, but I'd never accused her of molesting her neighbour's teenage son because of it.

"Do you think you'll ever talk to her again?" Micah asked after a while.

"I don't know." I traced my fingers along his arm. "We've just grown so far apart, and I don't think she even wants to understand me anymore. I just... I don't make friends easily."

"I know." Micah lifted me easily, so I was sitting in his lap. "If she came back and said sorry, what would you do?"

I shrugged. "I don't think it'll ever come to that. Maybe she's sick of me."

Micah kissed my cheek softly. "I'm sorry."

I let out a long sigh. I hated how I just seemed to drive people away from me. First my fiancée in college, then Richard, then Ronnie. I was really bad with people, I guess.

The phone rang. Before I could answer it, the ring cut off, and from a distant part of the house, I heard Nathaniel answer it. Then there were soft footsteps down the hall. My heart sank. Now what?

Nathaniel opened the door of the bedroom and came in, holding out the portable phone. "It's Jason."

I frowned. What the hell was Jason doing up so early? Still in Micah's lap, I reached for the phone. Nathaniel gave it to me and sat down beside Micah on the bed.

"Hello?"

"Anita, hi," Jason said easily.

I frowned at the phone. "I'm not happy with you, you know," I said before he could say anymore.

Jason swore softly. "Did Harry talk to you?" he asked. "Look, I told him you wouldn't understand, but it really is perfectly reasonable when you think about it."

"Reasonable?" I demanded. "It was the exact opposite of reasonable, not to mention the fact that it was dangerous!"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "Are we talking about Harry wanting to pay you back the money you've spent on him here?"

"What? No! I'm talking about the fact that you let Jean-Claude roll Harry last night," I snapped. "And what the hell are you talking about, pay me back?"

"Never mind," Jason said in a rush. "Harry's like a little force of nature in sneakers, Anita. I couldn't talk him out of going to see Jean-Claude any more than I'd be able to talk you out of doing it."

"You're older than he is."

"And Richard is older than you, but how often do you listen to him? I didn't call to chat, Anita. Jean-Claude wanted me to call."

"About what?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Are you still on for your date tonight?" 

Shit. I'd forgotten all about that. Jean-Claude had wanted to take me out for dinner at a swank new restaurant in town. We'd made the date weeks ago, long before this mess with Harry had started.

Nathaniel stirred at my side. "You should go," he said. I'd forgotten how sensitive lycanthropic hearing can be. "It would be nice."

"Hold on," I said into the phone. "What do you mean?" I asked Nathaniel.

"You said last week that you were looking forward to your date," Nathaniel said. "That it would be nice to spend some time, just you and Jean-Claude."

He was right, but that did nothing for the tiny fluttering of panic in my chest. "I don't know if that's such a good idea," I said.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Micah said calmly. "If you're not comfortable doing it, you can stay home."

It was so tempting to say yes to that, to just hide here until the whole world went away. But the world has a bad habit of finding you wherever you're hiding. I did a lot of things, but hiding wasn't one of them.

I lifted the phone back to my ear. "I'm still on for the date," I told Jason grumpily.

"Great!" he said, sounding like a bouncy puppy. "See you at nine."

"My date is with Jean-Claude, not you," I told him.

"You're forgetting, Jean-Claude wanted me to play limo driver tonight so you don't have to drive."

"You are so not driving the limo. Bring something a little less Master of the City."

"Come on, Anita, I love the limo," Jason whined.

"If you bring the limo to my house, I'll be driving my Jeep," I warned him.

I could almost hear Jason pouting on the other end of the line. "How about the Porsche?" 

I sighed. "As long as it's not the limo, I don't care."

Jason chuckled. "See you tonight," he said, and hung up.

I glared at the phone, then tossed it on the bed as I stood up carefully. I stretched, and nothing really hurt. Yay for preternatural healing.

Nathaniel smiled up at me. "What?" I asked him.

He stood up, and somehow made it feel as if he was looking up to me when he was three inches taller than I was. "It's good that you're going on this date," he said.

"Probably," I said, though I wasn't convinced. "I guess that leaves you guys alone for the night."

"I'll probably invite whoever wants to come over for videos," Micah said. "Maybe we can get a couple of the wolves to come over for Harry."

"Sounds nice." It sounded a lot less threatening than going out to a restaurant and playing the Master's girlfriend, I thought privately. Especially when I was mad at the Master.

Nathaniel stretched like a cat, long and lazy. Micah shook his head and stood. "It's ten now. We've got hours until Jean-Claude gets here. What do you want to do in the meantime?"

I reached down and started gathering up the clothes for the laundry. "After I do this, Harry and I are going to have a long chat about the preternatural creepy-crawlies," I said. "He wants to be independent, fine. But at least I want him to know what he's up against."

* * *

I had always thought I'd be a bad teacher. After the several hours I spent with Harry, trying to drill all the info I had on the preternatural into his head, I had to admit I wasn't horrible. At first, Harry just glowered at me. He probably thought I was lecturing him. After the first ten minutes, he started asking questions. An hour after that, he was arguing loudly with me about the liability a werewolf had about infecting someone.

When we weren't fighting for our lives, Harry was an interesting person to talk to. He knew a lot about some stuff, but seemed clueless in others areas. Micah wandered in and out of the living room where Harry and I had set up shop, offering some suggestions. Nathaniel moved through the room, doing various chores, but after lunch he parked himself beside me on the couch and just listened.

The pard started arriving around five, but no one really interrupted us. At around seven, Nathaniel put his hand on my arm, interrupting something I was saying.

"What?" I asked. Nathaniel was giving me huge eyes, and I was instantly suspicious.

"You need to start getting ready for your date," he said.

"That's in two hours, and I've already showered," I pointed out.

Nathaniel stuck out his lower lip in a tiny pout. "Please?"

God, my resolve always went out the window when he gave me those wide eyes.

From across the room, Gregory snorted, then tried to look innocent when I glared at him.

I let Nathaniel pull me up, as I gave Harry a smile. "We're not done with this," I warned him.

Harry collapsed back into his chair, a playful look of exhaustion on his face. "I hope there's not going to be a test on this," he said dramatically.

I shook my head as Nathaniel pulled me toward the bedroom. Laughter floated down the hall after us.

Nathaniel let go of my hand once we were in the room and headed for the closet. "Do you want to wear a dress?" he asked, his voice muffled.

"I guess so," I said. Now that the date was getting closer, I was getting nervous again, a stomach-churning nervousness that didn't seem to have any basis in reality.

Nathaniel emerged from the closet holding a dress. "You should wear this one that Jean-Claude bought for you," he said, slipping it off the hanger and handing it to me.

He went over to the wardrobe, still talking, but I stopped listening. The dress in my hands was really very nice, a good cut, and a light material. It was a midnight blue, and as I watched the fabric slide through my fingers, I realized it was the same colour as Jean-Claude's eyes.

I balled the fabric up in my hands and threw it at the bed. Nathaniel looked startled.

"I'm not his fucking accessory!" I exclaimed, trying to push back these sudden feelings of panic and fear out of my head. "He can't just dress me up like a doll and take me out places!"

Nathaniel picked up the outfit and smoothed out the wrinkles. He looked at it, then at me. "We can get you something else to wear," he offered.

I whirled around and paced to the end of the room. I just wanted to hit something, to make these feelings in me go away. When I turned around again, Nathaniel had laid the dress on the bed and was approaching me, his hand out.

"Anita, come on. Come sit down."

I didn't want to take his hand, because then I would have to explain myself, and I didn't even know what the hell was wrong with me. But he just stood there so calmly that finally I let myself take his hand, and he guided me to the bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress, while Nathaniel knelt in front of me, stroking my palm.

After a few minutes, the fear inside of me calmed down. As if he sensed a change in me, Nathaniel said, "You can cancel the date if you'd like."

I played with his fingers so I could avoid looking at his eyes. "No, I said I'd go."

"You can still change your mind."

"No, I can't," I insisted.

Nathaniel put his fingers under my chin, made me look at him. "No one's going to think you're scared."

"I will," I said. "I have to go."

Nathaniel stroked my cheek, and I tried to relax into his touch, but there was a hesitation in my head, like I suspected that the softness of his touch would turn into pain at any minute.

"Is it the dinner you don't want?" Nathaniel pressed. "I'm sure Jean-Claude would like to just have you over for a while, to spend some time with you."

Usually, when I spent time alone with Jean-Claude, we ended up having sex. The thought of letting him so close to me made me momentarily hold my breath, and I tightened my grip on Nathaniel's hand.

Nathaniel took his other hand off my face and covered my hands. "Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked.

I knew that if I said no, Nathaniel would accept that and not be angry, or upset. I looked down at our joined hands. "You know how you had to feed the ardeur for me the other night?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes."

"I... I mean, we tried, me and Micah, last night, but..." I let my voice trail off. I couldn't say it, couldn't admit out loud that I was terrified of being intimate with anyone.

"You can just tell Jean-Claude that," Nathaniel suggested. "He's not going to be mad."

"I know," I whispered. That wasn't what was bothering me, but I couldn't put my feelings into words.

Nathaniel shifted around and laid his head on my knees, so I had no choice but to look at him. "I know that every touch felt like broken glass, Anita," he said. "I know how it feels, and that--"

"What?" I interrupted. Somehow, I didn't think he was talking about feelings I remembered from a few days ago. "What are you talking about?"

Nathaniel lifted his head. "When I was working for Gabriel, there was a client." I watched Nathaniel, horrified that I knew exactly where this was going. "The client used broken glass on me."

My beast growled in echo of my anger, my protectiveness over Nathaniel as his Nimir-Ra bursting out. He was mine and no one hurt what was mine, no one. "Who was it?" I demanded.

"Why does it matter?" Nathaniel asked.

I stood up, still holding Nathaniel's hands. "It matters because you got hurt!" I exclaimed.

"I never saw his face," Nathaniel said steadily, looking up at me. "Anita, that's not my point."

I knelt down, facing Nathaniel. I pulled my hands out of his and cupped his face in my hands. My anger faded into sorrow, that I hadn't been there to protect him always. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Nathaniel whispered.

"For being so selfish about this," I replied.

Nathaniel shook his head violently. "No, that's not what I mean!" he said urgently. "You felt it, it was real, and the memory's not going to go away if you ignore it!" He put his hands on my waist, holding me in place. "Just tell Jean-Claude, you know he'll listen. You have to know that he'll do anything for you."

The look in those lavender eyes was so sad, and all because me, that I had to try and make him feel better. "I know."

The pain in Nathaniel's eyes eased a bit. "Talk to Jean-Claude, if anyone can help you, he can."

I nodded again. Nathaniel kissed me gently on the forehead, then helped me stand up. We both looked at the dress on the bed at the same time.

"Do you want to wear something else?" Nathaniel asked again.

I sighed. "No, it's alright," I admitted grudgingly.

Nathaniel let go of my hands. I went to the closet to find a nice shiny bra, while Nathaniel rummaged around in the drawer where I kept my jewellery. "What do you want to wear with the dress?"

I shrugged as I slipped out of my clothes. "Whatever goes with the colour, I suppose."

"How about the diamond necklace?" he suggested, then shook his head. "No, the sapphire."

"Whatever you like," I said. He loved dressing me up for dates with other men. I was always weirded out about it, but he thought it was fun. At least he had a better sense of fashion and jewellery than I did. Between him and Jean-Claude, I was almost presentable.

I got into the underwear, a dark navy satin with lace trimings, and the thigh-high stockings. I stepped into the dress while Nathaniel searched for a pair of shoes. When he emerged from the closet, I was frowning at myself in the mirror. "Is this the right dress?" I asked him.

"What do you mean?" he replied, dropping the shoes on the bed. He stepped behind me to do up the zipper.

"It doesn't fit right," I said.

Nathaniel hesitated, then slowly folded the cloth over at my back, which pulled the dress back into shape.

I stared at myself in the mirror. "There is no way I lost that much weight," I protested weakly.

Nathaniel let the dress fall back into place. "It was a few pounds. You didn't eat for three days."

I looked down. Somehow, the physical changes in my body hit home like nothing else how close I'd come to trying to kill Jean-Claude, to make the pain in my body and in my head stop.

I let Nathaniel guide me into the bathroom so he could do my makeup. This whole day had shaken me, badly, and I needed to get myself together before I could face the world. Or even face Jean-Claude.


	27. That's Not What Love Is To Me

* * *

I stood before the mirrors in the bathroom as Nathaniel put the finishing touches on my makeup, not entirely convinced that this was a good idea. Nathaniel put down the eye shadow brush and turned me around to look at him. He was frowning slightly.

"Think I'll do?" I asked, trying to fight down the butterflies in my stomach.

Nathaniel nodded. "You'll more than do." He flashed me a quick smile. "You're amazing."

I looked back in the mirror. I did look pretty spiffy, I had to admit. Nathaniel must have been taking makeup lessons from Stephen, because he'd made my eyes look amazing, bigger than normal, in a way that matched the blue of my outfit. It was more than I would ever do on my own, but Nathaniel had convinced me it made me look exotic.

Nathaniel adjusted the sapphire teardrop pendant on its chain around my neck and stepped back. I was wearing another necklace as well, but that one wasn't decorative. Jean-Claude tended to get paranoid when my silver cross was out. It didn't glow at him anymore, but to avoid annoying him, I'd put it on a silver chain so it hung down between my breasts under the dress. That way, no glowing at Jean-Claude, but I could still whip it out if I needed to. Just in case.

"You're all ready, and just in time," Nathaniel said. "I can hear Jason."

"Okay." I took a deep breath. In these shoes, I was the same height as Nathaniel, and it was just a little bit strange.

I was distracting myself. I picked up the little useless purse that only had enough room for my driver's licence, my federal marshal's badge and my Derringer and prepared myself to leave the bathroom. Nathaniel had tried to argue that I should fit in my lipstick as well, but a girl needs to have her priorities.

Nathaniel went to the bathroom door, but hesitated before turning the handle. "Promise me that you'll talk to Jean-Claude?" he asked.

Shit. He'd used the "P" word. "Fine," I said. Nathaniel smiled again, happy that I was going to handle everything, and opened the door.

I wish I had his confidence in my ability to deal with the situation. I took another deep breath and walked out into the hallway.

Micah was the first one to spot me when I got to the living room, a slow, appreciative smile on his face. Silence spread out over the room like ripples. Stephen was looking at me with a critical eye, but since he always did the makeup for Guilty Pleasures' strippers and for all Jean-Claude's people when we had our little preternatural fiascos, it didn't bother me. Most of my leopards looked very happy to see me.

Harry, on the other hand, looked as if he had just been pole axed. Jason was smirking at me, no change there. But where the hell was Jean-Claude?

"What?" I asked them. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"I think you've finally done it," Jason said. "You're prettier than Jean-Claude." Now I knew he was teasing me. Jason looked at Harry and said, "What do you think? They got girls as nice as these back home?"

Harry blinked a few times. "You look very nice, Anita," he stammered.

"Thank you," I told him. Jason kept on smirking.

Micah stood up and came over to me. "As always, you are beautiful," he said quietly.

I smiled at him. "Thanks," I said, my nervousness returning.

Micah took both my hands in his and kissed my knuckles. "Jean-Claude is outside," he said, almost as if he could read my mind.

"Great." I'd said I would talk to Jean-Claude, and it made more sense to do it before dinner, in case I got pissed off enough to cancel the date. "Jason, can you give us a few minutes?"

"Sure thing," Jason said, leaning against the wall. "Just tell him to give me a call when you're ready to go."

I pulled my hands out of Micah's and smiled at my pard. "I'll see you guys later," I said. I heard a chorus of good-byes as I got to the front door and stepped out onto the porch.

I didn't see Jean-Claude at first as I walked down the steps and onto the lawn. Then I caught sight of him over by the trees, watching the moon, and I forgot what I was doing. He was beautiful, an other-worldly grace about him, like sin and seduction in one well-dressed package.

He slowly turned his head toward me, even though he'd known the second I stepped outside, and I felt a little thrill through our marks. He thought I looked beautiful, and knowing that I'd done this just for him touched him deeper than he'd ever say out loud.

I blushed, but managed to keep walking across the lawn to him.

He was the first to speak. "Ma petite, you look--"

I made a show of rolling my eyes. "Beautiful, I get it," I interrupted.

Jean-Claude smiled slightly, his fangs hidden behind his lips, as he glided toward me. "Non, ma petite, not only beautiful. Also radiant, astonishing, ravishing, magnificent..."

I put up my hands. "Stop it." My blush faded. "I'm not very happy with you right now."

Jean-Claude put on his innocent face, which was a little bit like bows on a lady of the evening. "Whatever for?"

"Last night, for starters." I put my hands on my hips. "Your illegal foray into mind control over a minor? And let's not forget about Meng Die."

"Ma petite, Harry asked me to assist him in learning about his abilities as they relate to vampires," Jean-Claude said, the humour gone from his voice. "Surely you of all people must recognize the advantage of being able to ward off vampires?"

"That is not the point," I insisted.

"Then what is your point?"

"That you shouldn't have done it!" 

"Why not?"

That pulled me up short. "Because it's illegal," I stammered.

"Among his people, Harry is considered an adult," Jean-Claude said. "Richard was there. I caused the young man no lasting damage. He is exploring his powers. Why is this so objectionable to you?"

I shook my head. I wanted to explain, but the damned words weren't coming to mind and it was making me look like an idiot.

Jean-Claude crept a step closer to me before I glared at him. "Is it because you were not there?" he asked.

"That is so not it," I argued, but my voice didn't hold much conviction.

"Will it make you feel better if we include you next time?"

"There isn't going to be a next time," I snapped.

I felt the brush of Jean-Claude's mind against mine, and it surprised me into closing my mouth, which is what he wanted. "Harry told you what Meng Die did," Jean-Claude said. "She will not be the only one. Not my vampires," he said, holding up his hand to stop the protest he knew was coming, "But others. In England, in any other city in North America. To prevent Harry from exploring the limitations of his power is foolish and, in the long run, dangerous to him and to all of us."

He was right, and I hated it. Hated that my emotions were running roughshod over my brain, and that Jean-Claude was the one to point it out to me. I turned my head and took a few steps across the lawn, trying to sort out what I was feeling. In the end, I decided to see if Jean-Claude would just let me drop it.

"There's still Meng Die," I said after a minute.

"Oui," Jean-Claude said. He walked around me so I could look at him, but he gave me a bit of space. Good. I didn't feel like cuddling. "After Harry left last night, I had a talk with her."

I frowned. "Define talk."

Jean-Claude gave that lovely Gallic shrug. "I reminded her that she is in this city under my sufferance, and that she will either obey my rules, leave, or challenge her Sourde de Sang for the title of Master."

"Shit, you didn't!" I exclaimed. "What did she say?"

Jean-Claude smiled, this time coldly. "Eventually, she agreed to obey my rules." He shrugged again. "That gives Harry a year."

"What do you mean, a year?" I demanded. "Rolling someone against their will is always illegal."

Jean-Claude gave me a look that told me I was being naive again. "That is true, ma petite, but did Harry not describe last night for you?"

"Yes."

"Did you read between the lines to hear how he was not adverse to her attention to him as a man, only in that she was a vampire who sought to gain an advantage over him?"

"That's not what he told me." I shivered and rubbed my hands over my bare arms. The night was still warm, but I'd been shivering on and off all day.

In one smooth move, Jean-Claude slipped his jacket off and put it over my shoulders. I didn't protest. Jean-Claude put one of his hands on my shoulder and used the other to tilt my chin up to look at him. "I am not surprised, ma petite."

"What are you talking about?" My voice was softer now, with Jean-Claude so close.

He smiled again, a masculine smile that meant I was never going to understand what he was about to say. "Only that Harry might describe things to you differently, as a woman, than he would to other men."

"What are you-- No, you know what? I don't want to know." I shook my head. "Back to Meng Die."

"Back to Meng Die," Jean-Claude echoed.

"Does she mean it? Will she obey the rules? You know how power hungry she is."

"She will obey me, ma petite, or she will be banished." Jean-Claude sighed. "There are some cities that might do well with her as Master, but I am not sure that I yet wish to send her forward with my blessing."

"You mean there's no place that she might be able to hold?"

"That too." Jean-Claude ran his thumb over my cheek. "But if you like, we can go and threaten her together after dinner."

I sighed. "No, if she won't listen to you, God knows she won't listen to me. I'm not dressed to threaten anyone tonight, not even Meng Die." I paused. "But thanks for the offer."

The warm breeze drifted over us, and I caught the scent of Jean-Claude's cologne. Usually I loved that smell, loved it on my sheets and on my skin, but all it did tonight was scare me.

I stepped away from Jean-Claude and moved over to one of the trees. I rested my hands on its trunk and willed myself to calm down, repeating Nathaniel's words in my head, that Jean-Claude would do anything for me.

Even without moving my head, I knew Jean-Claude was close behind me. "Is there anything I can do, ma petite?" he asked.

I turned around, trailing my fingers over the tree bark as I moved. "No. I, ah... we need to talk to about something before we go anywhere." 

"Anything you wish."

And suddenly I was sick of it all, sick of not being able to be me, not be strong, and I wanted to scream my frustration out. Then the feeling passed, and I was just tired.

"I don't know if I can do this," I said softly.

I half-expected Jean-Claude to ask what I was talking about, but he stayed silent. I gripped the bark of the tree with my nails, just a gentle pressure, then let go.

"I figured you should know, before we go out, in case you want to reschedule," I said, trying to make it into a joke, but feeling miserable. "I can probably do dinner, but I'm not sure about afterwards." I lowered my eyes to the ground, not sure how he would take that.

The next thing I knew, Jean-Claude was kneeling at my feet. "Do you remember our first date?" he asked.

I nodded wordlessly. We'd gone to a very nice restaurant, I'd eaten, he'd talked, I'd driven myself home. The end.

"If you wish, after dinner, I can bring you home. I will treasure any moment you gift to me with your presence, ma petite." Jean-Claude rested his chin on my stomach and looked into my eyes. There was no anger or frustration in his eyes; only love and worry and understanding.

I had to blink back sudden tears as I pulled Jean-Claude up to his feet and carefully put my arms around him. It didn't hurt. It felt wonderful, safe, and I made myself pull back before I was ready.

"How about we see how it goes?" I said. My voice was firm and I felt a whole lot better.

"As you wish." Jean-Claude kissed the top of my head. "Shall I call Jason?"

"Sure." 

As Jean-Claude guided me to the car, I slipped his jacket off my shoulders and handed it back to him. He put it back on and buttoned it, then opened the car door for me.

I glared at him. "I can still get my own damned door," I said sharply, and walked around car to get in the other side.

As I yanked the door open, I thought I heard Jean-Claude said, "You will be just fine," but I wasn't sure.

* * *

"Thanks for dinner," I said as I waited for Jean-Claude to unlock the door at the bottom of the stairs at the Circus.

Jean-Claude swung the door open and held out his hand. "It was my pleasure, ma petite."

I took his hand and twined my fingers through his as we walked through the big room. "It's too bad I couldn't finish everything, though."

Jean-Claude held the curtains at the far end of the room open for me, and I walked through them into the stone corridor beyond. "We will simply have to go another time, so you can give it another try."

That generated a ghost of a smile in me. Truthfully, the restaurant had been very nice. I wouldn't mind going there again. Especially if Jean-Claude was as charming as he was tonight. He had regaled me with stories, witty anecdotes. It was all very light and cheerful, and I think I had smiled more in the last few hours than I had in the last week.

We stopped in front of the door to his bedroom. "If you wish, I can go and get Jason to take you home," Jean-Claude offered.

I shook my head firmly. "No, I'm staying here tonight."

"Whatever you would like," Jean-Claude said as he opened the door. The room looked like it always did. The bed sheets were a light cool blue, almost the colour of Asher's eyes.

What was new, however, was the riotous bouquet of wildflowers on the side table. "Why no roses?" I asked, going over to breathe in the sweet perfume of the flowers.

Jean-Claude came up behind me and ran his hands down my arms. "For some reason, the chaos of the flowers reminded me of you."

I looked at him over my shoulder, my eyebrows up. Jean-Claude smiled, and I think he was laughing at me.

"Anyway, they do smell nice," I said.

Jean-Claude squeezed my arms gently and let go, then walked over to the bed and sat down, watching me.

I slowly dismembered a daisy and tried to figure out why I was feeling like I was on a runaway train, and I was going to need to either jump or crash. My biggest problem was that I was too stubborn for my own good. I couldn't stand how my inability to be close to anyone was putting the people I loved in danger. Soon or later, if I couldn't feed the ardeur, I'd start sucking energy off Nathaniel and Damian. I would not let that happen.

On the other hand, I didn't want it to hurt, didn't want my memories of closeness with anyone to be tainted with that pain. Added to that was the lack of heat I felt when any of them touched me. I'd felt warm when Micah held me, comforting me, but that wasn't what I needed right now.

"Ma petite, are you thinking too hard?" Jean-Claude's voice penetrated my thoughts.

I sighed. "Probably." I walked across the room and joined Jean-Claude on the bed. He put his arm over my shoulders and it felt as though we were made to sit like this. It used to piss me off that he could hold me so effortlessly. But gradually, it became safe, right. I sighed again.

"I will listen to anything you wish to tell me, ma petite."

"I know." On some level, I knew that Nathaniel was right, that Jean-Claude would probably be able to help me. Haltingly, I told Jean-Claude how I wasn't able to feed the ardeur, how I was scared that any touch would turn into pain.

After I was done, Jean-Claude said, "Perhaps you are expecting too much too soon?" He was using the calm, reasonable voice, that he only used when he was trying to handle me. I stood up and whirled on him.

"We haven't got time for slow!" I said. "I need to keep my energy level up so I don't hurt Damian and Nathaniel, or you and Richard!"

"I simply mean that you may find that you need a little more time," Jean-Claude said.

I shook my head hard. "It happened, it's over, and I need to get over it!"

Jean-Claude made an exasperated sound in his throat. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met in over four hundred years." He stood up. "Why do you think you need to do this alone?"

"What else am I going to do?" I demanded.

"You could have let us help you! Not shut us out!" he exclaimed. "You could have had us take some of the pain so you did not have to deal with it all on your own!"

"But I knew how much you guys were hurting!" There was something on his face that told me that was exactly what he meant. "God, how could I do that to you?" I said, horrified.

"You should have let us help you, ma petite." He had gone back to trying to sound reasonable, but I couldn't deal with that from him right now.

"I would never do that to you," I said, a shiver of revulsion running down my spine. "You want to know something? If it happened again, right now, and I knew what would happen, I'd still do the same fucking thing, only I'd shut out Nathaniel and Damian faster!" I was shouting now, but it didn't matter. "I love you, how could I ever do anything to hurt you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to breathe. How could he ask that of me?

"You should not have taken it all upon yourself," Jean-Claude said, again trying for patience.

"So, what, if one of these wizards comes around tomorrow and puts the curse on you, I can expect you to let me and Richard take all of the pain?" I asked sharply.

Jean-Claude wasn't able to block the look of horror on his face. "No!" he exclaimed. "I would never--" He broke off, realizing what I had done.

I shook my head. "Our relationship does not work like that," I said. "We are in this together. Don't expect me to hurt the people I love because it would make my life easier!"

Jean-Claude took several unnecessary breaths. "I was trying to offer you an alternative, ma petite."

I walked across the room to stand right in front of Jean-Claude. "I love you," I said again, the beginning of tears burning behind my eyes. "I will not do anything to hurt you."

"You have to know that I would do anything to keep you safe and shield you from pain," Jean-Claude said softly.

"I do. But you have to understand that I'm not going to let you do that if it means you getting hurt in my place. Would you love me if I did? If I was that kind of person?"

The look in his eyes was so sad, so lonely, that I closed the gap between us and put my arms around him, pressing my cheek against his chest.

Jean-Claude held me gently and whispered softly to me in French. I knew he was saying that he loved me, but that was all I understood. His words loosened the hard knot of tension in my chest.

After he was done whispering, Jean-Claude pulled back enough to be able to meet my eyes. The lonely look was gone, and I smiled because of it.

"You have closed the marks between us tightly," he said. "Are you still determined to try and feed the ardeur this evening?" I nodded. Jean-Claude put his arm around me and held me securely. "In that case, might I offer a suggestion?" 

"You are the expert," I said.

The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smile. "I suggest that we open the marks and I give you my... I am not sure if it is the correct word, but my passion, to help you release your anxiety."

I frowned at his chest as I absently undid the button on his jacket. "How wide open are you talking?"

"We will not know until we try, but I suspect that we will need to be completely open with each other. No shielding."

Right. In over a year since we'd married the marks, we'd never done that before. I sometimes let him take blood during sex, but I hadn't been able to go that last step and open the marks all the way.

I'd always needed to hold a little piece of me back, keep it just for me. Looking up into Jean-Claude's eyes, there was no scheming, no plotting. He wanted to help. I wanted him to help.

That was the point at which it occurred to me that Jean-Claude wasn't going to run away if I gave myself to him all out, not holding back. Somehow, before now, I hadn't realized that while I had been holding back, he had been offering me everything he was, the entire time.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Yes, what?" Jean-Claude asked, too cautious to assume anything when dealing with me.

"Yes, let's open the marks."

Jean-Claude ran his fingers over my cheek. "I have done my part, ma petite," he said after a moment. "Your turn."

I concentrated very hard on my mental shielding, and willed it to go away. The sudden rush of noise in my head of Jean-Claude's thoughts almost startled me into putting my shields back up. I took a deep breath and let the noise flow over me, until the thoughts felt like my own.

I opened eyes that I hadn't realized I'd closed and found Jean-Claude was cradling me in his arms, holding me tight to him. When I found my voice, I said, "I didn't do anything embarrassing like faint, did I?"

"Non, ma petite." Jean-Claude's voice echoed in my head, as I heard both his words and his thoughts laid on top of each other.

"Oh, good." I felt strange, a cold warmth tingling through my body. "Are you doing that?"

"Yes." 

"It's nice." It was a hell of a lot more than nice, but trying to take in all these new sensations was taking more of my concentration that I'd have liked. Finally I got myself under control. I went up on tiptoe, intent on kissing Jean-Claude. He brushed my lips with his, softly, and I almost melted. The tingling in my body turned hot as we kissed. The kiss had that same strange echo, and I moaned against Jean-Claude's mouth as I pressed my body against his, trying to deepen the kiss.

When I moved against Jean-Claude, I felt a strange sensation low in my body and I jerked back.

"What is it?" Jean-Claude asked, momentarily disoriented.

I was breathing too hard. "What the hell was that?" I demanded.

"What was what?"

I looked down at myself, but somehow I knew that the feeling hadn't come from me at all. My eyes drifted upward to Jean-Claude. At least part of Jean-Claude. "No. Oh, no."

"Ma petite, what is wrong?" Jean-Claude asked.

"If it took us this long to figure this out, I'm going to be very upset," I said. Deliberately, I stepped back against Jean-Claude and pressed my body against his.

The sensation drew almost simultaneous moans from Jean-Claude and me. "You felt that as well?" he asked with a hint of breathless delight.

I nodded. "Is it going to work for you too?"

Jean-Claude cupped my breast in his hand and ran his thumb across it through the silky material of the dress. His touch sent a shiver through me, and his smile widened. He looked like a kid who had just been handed the keys to the candy store. Only this time, I was the candy.

"This is most interesting," Jean-Claude said with what I thought was great restraint. I started pulling Jean-Claude toward the bed. "Ma petite, are you sure you are up to this?"

"You know what they say," I said as we started to remove his clothes.

He raised a perfect eyebrow at me. "Do not run with scissors? Do not cry over spilled milk?"

I unbuckled his belt and went to work at undoing his pants. "No." I got the buttons undone and ran my hands under his shirt up over his stomach. The ghostly sensation of hands running over my own stomach made me bite my lip. "I was thinking more like shut up and kiss me."

Jean-Claude pushed me back onto the bed and straddled me as he pulled off his shirt. "Anything you desire, ma petite."


	28. A Wolf in Wizard's Clothing

* * *

This waking up early thing was giving me jet-lag. I opened my eyes, somewhat disoriented from the short sleep and from voluntary blood loss. It was too early even for the automatic lights in Jean-Claude's bedroom to be on, and the room was pitch-black.

The warm body that was curled up along my back shifted softly. The sun had risen, so it wasn't a vampire, I knew that. I turned over and touched my sleeping companion. My fingers met short soft hair and a masculine jaw. Jason.

Idly, I kept touching him, my hand drifting down to his chest. I was a bit worried about how much I wanted to touch someone, anyone just to prove to myself that I could, but I told myself that it was fine, doing this, as I let my hand run over Jason's chest and along his arm, relaxed in sleep.

Last night, Jean-Claude and I... well, let's just sat that we managed to get over my mental block against physical intimacy. Several times. All I needed to do now was to repeat the feat with Nathaniel and Micah and I'd be all good. I'd worry about Richard later.

Jason's breathing changed as my hand slid back over his chest. "I know you're awake," I whispered to him.

"If I stay still, can you keep doing that?" Jason asked lazily. His voice was quiet and almost intimate in the dark.

I poked my finger against his flat belly and cuddled against him. I was still naked, but Jason was wearing a pair of boxer shorts. "What are you doing here? I don't remember you being here when I fell asleep."

Jason put his arm around my shoulders and snuggled closer to me. "Jean-Claude wanted me to be here when you woke up so you wouldn't be alone, or in case you needed anything." 

His tone was heavy with innuendo. I raised my eyebrows. "He did not say that."

"He did," Jason insisted. "Word for word."

"Then he didn't say it like that," I said.

Jason shrugged. "That's true." His hand slid carefully over my arm. For all his talk, he was behaving himself quite nicely. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

I sighed. My throat was feeling scratchy, not nearly as bad as a few days ago, but still enough for me to notice. "Um, Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Jean-Claude really told you to be here in case I needed anything?" I felt him nod. "Would it be too much trouble for you to go get me a drink of water?"

I normally wouldn't ask Jason to go get me water when I could get it on my own, but I was still sore from last night's rambunctious activities, and I was a bit worried about tripping over my own feet in the dark.

"No trouble at all," Jason said. He moved away from me, and I felt the bed dip, but then he was back beside me. He groped for my hand and pressed a plastic water bottle into it. "See? Anticipation of my Lupa's needs."

"I'll be sure to put it on your next job review," I said dryly as I sat up. By sense of touch alone, I unscrewed the lid and sipped at the water. I was more thirsty that I realized, and soon the bottle was empty.

"Do you want any more?" Jason asked.

I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see it. "That was good, thanks." I stayed sitting up, crossing my legs and drawing the sheets over my knees. "How did you know I was going to want a drink?"

Jason let out a breath, and it was almost a sigh. "When I came in here, I saw the bite marks on your neck. I'm always really thirsty after Jean-Claude feeds on me."

Oh. Normally, Jean-Claude only took a bit of blood when we had sex, only a nip, but last night I'd let him take more. A lot more.

Jason's hand settled on my knee. "It's okay, Anita."

I screwed the lid back onto the bottle. "Is it?"

The bed moved against as Jason sat up. "What do you think?" he asked. He was so close in the darkness that I could feel his breath on my skin.

I thought about Jean-Claude, and me, and what we were to each other. Last night, when the marks were down, I'd finally realized what it meant for him to be able to take my blood while we had sex. "It's good," I whispered.

Jason slid back to the bed and put his head in my lap. I touched his hair, so different than I was used to feeling, but so Jason. "Good."

I don't know how long we sat there in the dark. It was nice, just having Jason near me. We were friends, among other things. We'd been lovers only a handful of times, and all but one of those was because of the ardeur. The other time... for a long time, I'd wanted to say I was just lonely, or horny, or something, but any of that wouldn't have been fair to Jason. The reason was simple: I liked Jason, he liked me, and it happened. Sometimes, just being close to a friend is enough.

"Did I ever tell you about the time the automatic light timer didn't work?" Jason asked. "I was here when Jean-Claude woke up, and he was cranky it was broken. He even told Asher about it later." Jason chuckled. "I suggested that Jean-Claude get a Clapper in here."

My hands stop moving. "You didn't," I said.

"I did. And Asher didn't know what the Clapper was, and so Jean-Claude had to explain."

As much as I loved Asher, he wasn't very technologically adept. I guess living in a castle in Europe for centuries will do that to a vampire. "How did that go?"

Jason laughed. "Let's just say it is a memory I will take to my grave with great amusement." I shook my head as Jason sat up. "Do you mind if I go turn on the light?" he asked.

Of course I didn't, and I waited while Jason padded across the room. The sudden glare from the bathroom light made me blink fiercely. Jason shut the door so only a tiny crack of light shone on the bed, then came back to join me.

I lay back down. It was easier to cover my breasts with the sheet when lying down, and even though Jason had seen them before, I was always sort of prudish before breakfast.

Jason traced a finger over my neck, where Jean-Claude had bit me. "How's that doing?" he asked.

"Doesn't hurt."

Jason turned my head and examined my neck with a detached professionalism. "It's a clean bite. It'll heal nicely," he said.

"So, while we're on the topic of vampires," I said, propping myself up on one elbow so I could see Jason's face, "Let's talk about Harry and Meng Die."

Jason stared at me for a few seconds before trying to pull the sheet up over his head. I caught it and yanked it back down.

"Anita, I've already gone over this with Richard," Jason said.

I glared at him. He was making puppy dog eyes at me and I wasn't buying it. "Do I look like Richard? You've been around here forever, Jason. You know what Meng Die is like!"

"I tried! She's got power over the wolves, remember? She pushed me back and wouldn't let me speak." Jason propped himself up on his elbow. "But you should have seen Harry, really. He wouldn't let her do that, and later, facing Jean-Claude? It's crazy hard to try and push Jean-Claude out of your head if you're a wolf, Anita. But Harry kept trying, and I know he hated it, but he did it."

I bit my lip for a moment. "He was really good?" 

Jason nodded earnestly. "He just kept going. It was pretty intense." He paused, ran his tongue over his lower lip. "I need you to do something for me."

"What?"

Jason looked at me, very serious. "Pretend Harry's your age, and not seventeen."

"But--"

"Take away the teenager, Anita, and you've got a very dangerous man.. You saw what he did to Bellatrix. He didn't just stop her, he destroyed her. Like you would have." 

Jason ran his hands though his short hair. He was so serious, so un-Jason-like, that I didn't say anything.

"He risked his life to get the magic off Suzanne, remember? He told me and Nathaniel about those magic cops, how he disarmed two of them. He may act like a kid most of the time, but when it's life or death, he's not a kid anymore." Jason stood up and pulled on a robe draped over the end of the bed. "He reminds me of someone I know."

"Who?" I asked, tired of this conversation, because Jason was right and I didn't like it.

"You."

I met Jason's eyes. He wasn't joking.

"Besides," Jason said, smiling to lighten the mood, "Harry's good for Nathaniel."

He tossed me a lacy black robe. I'd never seen it before, but unless Jean-Claude had taken to buying Jason women's lingerie, it was meant for me. "What do you mean?"

"Harry is the first real friend Nathaniel's made since he got stable."

"You mean off drugs?"

"No, I mean moving in with you."

I stopped fiddling with the ties of the robe. "Moving in with me didn't make Nathaniel stable," I protested.

Jason gave me a look. "You gave him a home, Anita. You gave the first solid thing he'd had in his life." He came over and put his hands on my shoulders. "You know that Nathaniel's not like us. He needs to belong to someone, and he's got you. It's the best thing that could have happened to him." Then Jason's expression changed to pure mischief. "Now, if I can only convince you to take me home with you..."

I swatted Jason's hands away. "Jean-Claude keeps you in nicer digs than I ever could," I said as I walked to the bathroom.

"Yeah, but the benefits package--"

"Jason!"

"I'm just--"

"Stop it!"

* * *

After my quick bath, I entered the bedroom to find Jason, fully clothed, lying on the bed. He had my federal marshal badge in his hands and he was examining it closely.

"This is so cool," he said when he spotted me.

"Give me that." I snatched it out of his hand.

He rolled onto his back and stared at me. "So now what?"

"First, clothes. Then you are driving me home."

"Can I stay for breakfast?" he asked hopefully.

I shrugged. It seemed like the least I could do, after waking him up early and making him chauffer me all over St. Louis.

While I was thinking, Jason bounded to his feet. "Wait here."

Slightly amused at his early-morning enthusiasm, I sat on the edge of the bed as Jason ducked out of the room. He was back in a couple of minutes, a pile of clothing on his arm.

"Where did you get these?" I asked as he dumped his armful on the bed. It was all women's clothing, in what looked like my size. I raised my eyebrows. "Do you have a hobby that you haven't been telling me about?"

Jason let out a surprised laugh, his clear blue eyes lighting up. "No, these are from the closet." I gave him blank eyes. "Of stuff Jean-Claude's bought for you?"

I picked up the dress on the top of the pile. "Do you mean to tell me that he's got a stockpile?" I asked, indignant.

"Yeah. In case of nuclear attack, we'll have some well-dressed cockroaches down here." Jason rummaged through the pile and emerged with something. "Here."

I took the outfit gingerly, as if it was going to bite me. "Why this?"

"Because you'll look hot," Jason said matter-of-factly. He handed me a long flimsy scarf. "For the bite."

"You think I should cover the bite?" Odd words, coming from someone who donated to the vampires on a daily basis.

"It'll make going to the bakery easier," Jason said as he picked up something off the floor. He handed me my bra and panties with a smirk on his face.

I grabbed them out of his hand and glared. "Get out so I can change."

Jason laughed and turned to face the wall. I'd probably spend more time trying to get him to leave than getting dressed, so I let it go.

"What are you talking about, bakery?" I asked as I pulled on my underwear.

"If we're going to have breakfast at your place, we need cinnamon buns," Jason said.

"I guess." I slipped the dress over my head and went to look at myself in the full-length mirror. How the hell could Jean-Claude pick out perfect clothing for me? Even I couldn't do it, and I'd had years more experience in shopping for me.

"Come on. Teenage boys need cinnamon buns. It's a rule."

Having never been a teenage boy, I didn't feel qualified to comment. "What else do teenager boys like to eat for breakfast?" I asked as I tied the scarf around my neck. It hid the bite and looked sort of neat against my hair.

Jason was so quiet I looked at him.

"Jason?"

He turned around. "Sorry, I was just trying to think of an answer that wouldn't make you shoot me."

"You are such a pervert."

He grinned. "What else do you expect?"

* * *

The house felt empty. I put the box of cinnamon buns on the kitchen counter and went to the coffee maker. "I wonder where they went?"

Jason tossed his keys onto the counter and picked up a piece of paper I hadn't seen. "They went running," he said, flipping the note around. "Micah says they should be back when they're done."

"Good." I checked to make sure the machine was ready, and pressed the button.

Jason grinned at me. "Do you think we should start breakfast now or when they get back?"

"When they get back." I leaned against the counter. "No one likes cold eggs."

Jason handed me the note, and I looked at Micah's messy handwriting. At least they were all getting along these days, I thought. Nathaniel did like having Harry around, and he seemed to be opening up to the teenager.

The doorbell rang. I looked at Jason. "Do you think they forgot their keys?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I'll get it." I slung my purse with its gun over my shoulder, just in case, and walked down the hallway. If it was Ronnie, I wasn't going to open the door at all. I'd had enough to Ronnie and her inability to handle my life.

I looked out the little peephole in the door, and smiled in spite of myself. Opening the door, I said, "Hi Sylvie."

The werewolf returned my smile, although hers was more professional. "Hi, Anita." She looked past me into the house. "I wondered if I can come in."

"Sure." I stood aside and let Sylvie into the house, then closed the door. She was dressed in shorts and a blouse with no sleeves. Everything was ironed and neat, like she usually wore in the summer. "No work today?"

Sylvie took off her sandals and placed them by the closet. "Slow insurance market in the summer," she explained. "We don't work today."

Jason was putting the cinnamon buns into the oven when we came through the doorway. He looked up at Sylvie with a smile on his face. They got along well, these two. "Hi."

"Hey, you." Sylvie walked across the kitchen and laid her hand on Jason's shoulder. His smile grew bigger. Among werewolves, when a higher ranking person in the pack touches a subordinate like that, it's an indication of protection. The gesture also has a more benign meaning, like now, of a simple greeting.

The more formal greeting was for the lower wolf to lick the lip of the alpha, but Sylvie knew Jason too well to have him try that unless necessary. Even though Jason knew Sylvie likes girls as much as he did, he'd probably enjoy it too much.

"Do you want some coffee?" I asked as I put the purse back on the counter and removed a mug from the cupboard.

Sylvie nodded. "Is Harry here?"

"No, they're running," Jason said before I could respond.

"Good." Sylvie sat at my kitchen table. "Can we talk about him?"

I frowned slightly as I took the cream out of the fridge. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Sylvie traced the pattern on the wood with her finger, an absent gesture. "Richard was going to be here, but he's got a teacher's conference for a bit."

I put Sylvie's mug in front of her and sat across the table. "What do you want to talk about?"

Sylvie smiled faintly. She and I never did the small talk thing. "Richard has suggested that Harry be the pack's vargamour, our magical protector."

"I remembered talking with him about this," I said. Jason hopped up on the counter to watch us talk. "What about it?"

Sylvie's hazel eyes were steady as she looked at me. "I know you like the kid, but I'm going to be blunt. Can we trust him to act in the best interests of the pack?"

My answer was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and noisy feet coming down the hall. Nathaniel was laughing at something Harry had just said, and Micah was shaking his head at the both of them. They were all dressed in jogging clothes. All were sweaty, but only Harry looked as if he wanted to fall over.

He drew up short when he saw Sylvie at the kitchen table. "Hello," he said cautiously.

Sylvie stood. "Hello, Harry."

Nathaniel pushed past Harry and went to the fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water and threw one to Micah.

Why was Harry just standing there looking so nervous? Jason helped with his usual tact. "You can just ask Sylvie if you need to greet her," he said blandly.

Harry blinked at Jason. The kid looked so awkward I was tempted to roll my eyes, but this was new to him, so I restrained myself.

"It's fine, Harry," Sylvie said. "How was your jog?"

Harry smiled at her shyly, then went to rest against the island counter. "Fine. I only fell over once."

"Fell over?" I repeated. I looked at Micah. "Where did you guys go?"

"Through the woods, past the dam." He drained his water and put the bottle in the sink.

"So when did Harry fall?"

Harry blushed, but kept smiling. "Nathaniel and Micah jumped over a guardrail. I tried."

Nathaniel shook his head. "You'd have made it if you weren't so tired," he said, coming up behind me.

I felt a hand unexpectedly grip my shoulder and I just jerked away and stood up, trying to get away.

The chair clattered to the floor, loud in the sudden silence. My heart was pounding from an irrational fear, that touch was going to hurt.

Everyone was staring at me, except for Nathaniel. My wereleopard tucked his hand under his arm and hunched over, as if he expected me to hit him.

I don't think. I closed the distance between us and pressed my body against his side, resting my forehead on his cheek. He tried to move away. "You'll get your dress sweaty," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"Fuck the dress," I said softly. I gripped his arm with my hands, so hard I knew it might bruise. "You didn't hurt me, I just freaked out."

Nathaniel let out a wavering breath. "You're okay?"

I nodded against his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Nathaniel whispered, turning his head the tiniest bit. He looked at me with huge eyes, and I couldn't tell what he was feeling.

Micah broke the stillness by righting my chair. "How about we get cleaned up, then we have something to eat?" he said. "Harry, why don't you and Nathaniel go shower first?"

Harry nodded solemnly and backed out of the room. I gave Nathaniel a quick kiss on the cheek and he wordlessly headed toward the shower.

Once Nathaniel was gone, I felt the strength in me evaporate. Micah helped me sit down, then knelt by my side. "What happened?" 

I shook my head and buried my face in my hands. "I don't know, I just--" I stopped and let out a long breath, trying to calm myself. "When he touched me, I just didn't think."

"I thought you had dealt with that," Jason said. I threw him a very unfriendly glare.

"Jason," Sylvie said sharply, and he shut up.

"Anita?" Micah said, his hand on my knee.

I shook my head. "I'll be fine," I said, pushing my hair back.

Micah must have seen something in my eyes, because he stood up. He didn't say anything, but I knew he'd be watching me, just in case. If it had been anybody else, I'm sure I'd have been pissed, but with Micah it seemed okay.

Sylvie was eyeing me warily. "Is anything wrong?" she asked.

"No." I picked up my coffee cup and took a long, steadying drink. "We were talking about Harry."

"Yes, we were." At Micah's inquiring expression, Sylvie explained what we had been talking about when the boys got back from their run. "And Anita didn't have a chance to answer my question," she concluded.

I put my mug down, trying to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to say. "From what I've seen, he'll do what he thinks is right, no matter what. I think that if he sees it like that, he'll have no problem."

Sylvie's eyebrows went up. "You mean make sure we tell him what he needs to hear?"

"No, no." I looked over at Jason. "As someone recently reminded me, Harry's a bit like me. If he thinks we're jerking him around, he'll flip. What I mean is that we should tell him everything, and make sure we explain to him exactly what we need him to do, and why we need him to do it."

Jason made a tentative motion, just enough to draw Sylvie's attention. "All right," she said, beckoning him over.

Jason slipped off the counter. "He's really smart, so I think Anita's right. The biggest problem for me when I became a wolf was that no one told me how a healthy pack was supposed to run."

Sylvie's expression grew cold. She'd hated Raina, the old pack Lupa, with a great deal of passion. "Your sponsor was Raina, it's surprising she told you anything you could use."

Jason paled, but he met her eyes. It was a very aggressive thing to do and it surprised me. "But she's dead, and so Harry won't get-- won't have happen to him what happened to me."

Sylvie shook her head, her hair falling in front of her eyes. It was a very animal-like movement that some of the lycanthropes did when they were scared, or confused. Hiding behind their hair was a way for them to feel a little more of their beast. I'd never seen Sylvie do it before.

I leaned forward and placed my hands flat on the table. "Sylvie." She looked at me. "You know me. Would I ever do anything to put the pack at risk?"

She didn't say anything, but in that moment, we came to a bit of an understanding. She and I had been through some serious shit, and I knew that she knew I wouldn't endanger the pack, no matter what. That included saying Harry was able to be a part of us if I wasn't sure.

Sylvie nodded, and I sat back.

"Of course, this is all assuming that Harry does change," Micah said into the quiet.

"Richard told me what's been going on," Sylvie said. "I still think it's better to be prepared for any eventuality, in case."

"There's another problem," Jason said. "Is Harry even going to stay?"

"Yet another conversation I've had with Richard." Sylvie sounded faintly exasperated. "He thinks that Harry should stay and we can all be one happy pack, but from what I've heard, I wonder if Harry's people will let him go that easy."

"Why don't we just ask Harry what he's going to do?" I heard the shower down the hall turn off, and I stood up. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sylvie stood gracefully and took her coffee mug over to the pot, touching Jason on the way past. I followed Micah down the hall, then I went into my bedroom while Micah carried on to the bathroom.

I was sitting on the bed when Nathaniel came in. He paused when he saw me, then lowered his eyes and went to the dresser.

"How was your shower?" I asked.

He pulled a pair of shorts and a tank top from the drawers. "Fine," he said softly. As he spoke, he reached up and undid the elastic in his hair, which was only slightly damp in places. I could never figure out how he could keep such long hair dry during a shower. His auburn hair fell over his shoulders and down to his knees, hiding his body from my view.

While Nathaniel stepped into his shorts, I slowly pushed myself off the bed and walked across the room. He froze when I laid my hand on his wrist.

"I wanted to see you for a few minutes," I said as I pulled the tank top out of his hands.

"Why?" Nathaniel asked, his eyes on my hand.

"Because we haven't had any 'us' time in the past week." I touched his face and he finally looked at me. "Maybe I just wanted to see you alone for a bit."

He smiled carefully. "Did everything go okay with you and Jean-Claude last night?"

I nodded. "It was good." I paused as something occurred to me. "I'd like to try something with you."

"Okay." Nathaniel waited for me to tell him what to do with that wide-eyed acceptance I'd always found so alarming.

This wasn't the time for my insecurities. "I want to kiss you."

Nathaniel's eyes flickered down for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I dropped the tank top to the floor and moved so I was facing him. "But first, you need to open your marks so we can do this right."

"They are," he said. I paused, my hands on his waist. "They're always open. In case you need me."

I had to look down at Nathaniel's chest, not sure what to do with my face. The marks were always open? How could he open himself up to me like that? Wasn't he worried what I might do?

No, I told myself firmly. Nathaniel was not me, with my fears of being consumed by Jean-Claude. That's what Nathaniel wanted, to be consumed completely by someone. Even if I didn't understand it, he'd placed himself in my hands. I wasn't going to belittle that, or make light of it.

I looked up, into that beautiful face with ancient lilac eyes, and I lowered my mental shields. I could feel Nathaniel's heart beating under my hands and inside my head when I leaned against him, pressing my body to his. "Kiss me," I whispered.

He leaned down and let me touch my lips to his. The sensation of his kiss drew a small moan from me, and Nathaniel wrapped his arms around me, holding me to him.

My tongue slid over his lower lip, tasting, then I bit down on that lip as hard as I dared.

Nathaniel convulsed against me as I bit him. Slowly, I let him go, then kissed him again softly. He gave another shudder and relaxed against me, resting his head on my shoulder.

I traced my hands up his back, feeling the muscles under his skin. "See? All better," I said.

Nathaniel's breath was hot against my neck. "Oh yes."

With our marks open, I could feel the faint tendrils of Nathaniel's worry and fears, but above it all was a great sense of contentment. I smiled against his hair and kissed his ear. "Are you working tonight?"

"Yes." Nathaniel lifted his head, kissed my cheek, and stood up. "Do you need me to cancel?"

"No," I said, not able to stop the prickling feeling of disappointment. "You've missed enough work because of me." I toyed with the top button of his shorts. "How about tomorrow morning?"

He nodded. "I'll be here when you wake up." Then he smiled. "For whatever chores you may need me for."

I slapped him on the ass and he ducked away, laughing. "You are such a troublemaker," I told him.

He quickly pulled his tank top over his head. "You like that about me."

"Don't get technical." I held out my hand to him. "Come on, time for breakfast."

"Is Sylvie here about Harry?" Nathaniel asked just before I opened the door. I nodded. "Can we be there in case he needs us?"

"Of course," I said. "He's part of the family now."

* * *

As Harry hurriedly turned off the shower, he wished he'd taken the Weasley twins up on their offer of a summer care package from their shop, including a packet of Extendable Ears. He was almost certain that Sylvie was there to talk about him, if not to him.

 _Why isn't Richard here?_ Harry wondered as he rubbed the towel roughly over his body. _Is he mad at me? He seemed okay at the Circus... but I didn't really listen to him at all, did I?_

Harry wrapped another towel around his waist, jammed his glasses back on his face and scooped up his clothing and wand before ducking out into the hall. Once in his bedroom, he banged his door shut, tossed his belongings onto the floor and hastily dug some clean clothes out of the closet.

The more he thought about Richard's absence, the more worried he became. By the time he was dressed and headed for the stairs, Harry had imagined that he'd broken almost every werewolf rule there was. He ran down the stairs on bare feet, through the living room and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sylvie and Jason were alone in the kitchen. They looked so calm, so normal, that Harry felt like a bit of an idiot for worrying so much.

Jason grinned at him. "So," he said conversationally. "You tripped over a rail?"

Sylvie watched them with amused eyes.

"It was high," Harry protested. He looked around. "Where is everyone else?"

"Micah's in the shower, and Anita and Nathaniel are talking," Sylvie said.

"Oh." Harry was starting to feel a bit silly, just standing there, so he went to the fridge and began getting the breakfast things out.

"Is Anita making you work for your food?" Jason asked.

"No," Harry said. "I just want to be useful." He picked up the coffee pot and held it out to Sylvie. "Would you like some more coffee?"

Sylvie put down her mug and stood up. "Come here," she ordered.

Harry put the coffee pot back on the counter. "Pardon me?"

"I said, come here," Sylvie repeated.

What had he done wrong now? Harry squared his shoulders and walked toward Sylvie. He had to look down at her, as she wasn't much taller than Anita, but he still felt very small next to her.

She pointed at an empty chair. "Sit."

Obediently, Harry sat on the edge of the seat, fingers gripping the wood of the chair.

Sylvie sat back in her chair and picked up her coffee mug. "Now, how are you doing?" she asked conversationally.

Harry stared at her. "I'm... fine?"

Sylvie sighed. "I'm not going to bite you," she said, ignoring Jason's muttered protests. "You don't have to play happy homemaker. That's why Anita has Nathaniel."

"It is?" Anita asked, walking into the kitchen, Nathaniel in tow.

"It's one of the reasons," Nathaniel murmured as he went to the stove.

Anita smiled at him, then turned to Harry. "How many times do I have to tell you? You're on vacation. Act like it."

Harry pried his fingers off the chair and attempted to appear relaxed. "Okay."

"But is it?" Sylvie asked.

"Is it what?" Anita said.

"Vacation." Sylvie looked at Harry, her hazel eyes very serious. "If you change, become one of us, a werewolf, are you staying?"

"I, uh..." Harry didn't know what to say. He'd thought about it idly, just staying in St. Louis and hanging out with his new friends, not going back to England to deal with Death Eaters and Voldemort, letting the real Aurors and other witches and wizards deal with it all.

 _Can you do that?_ Harry asked himself. _Let Ron and Hermione and everyone else do something that you won't? Keep fighting?_

Maybe it was cowardly, but Harry didn't want to go back to England. He knew that he was almost out of time. The prophecy, about him and Voldemort, wasn't going to go away. That left him as the sole person who could kill Voldemort, if Professor Dumbledore was to be believed.

Of course, Voldemort could just as easily kill Harry first. With dozens of Death Eaters on his side, and more dark magic behind him that anyone had ever dreamed of, it was more than likely Harry would die at Voldemort's hand, and die soon. Harry didn't want to die, but he couldn't abandon his friends, not when there was a chance, however slim, that he might be able to stop the most evil wizard his world had seen in a very long time.

"I can't stay," Harry finally said, the words almost impossible to speak out loud. "I have to go home."

"Want to, or have to?" Anita asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Harry swallowed. "Have to."

Sylvie reached across the table and put her hand on Harry's arm. He felt her werewolf energy rise up and flow around him like a blanket, and it was exactly what he needed to make him not feel so very alone, even in a room full of friends. "Is there something you're not telling us?" she asked.

Harry drew his hand away. "Probably," he muttered, and stood up a bit too quickly. He planned on getting a drink out of the fridge, but Anita stopped him with a glare. She wasn't smiling any more.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"I can't tell you that, can I?" Harry snapped back, feeling the familiar desperation that always came over him when he thought of his inevitable death, and an unfamiliar hot anger.

"Oh, yes you can," Anita said, stepping into his personal space. Her arms were crossed over her chest. "It's simple. You keeping things to yourself never ends well, so tell us so we can help you."

Someone sucked in a breath in a surprised gasp, but Harry wasn't paying attention. He focused everything he had on the woman in front of him. "I have done nothing but tell you the truth since I met you!" he said sharply. "I told everyone about the wizards after me, but you didn't listen!"

Anita had gone pale as a sheet. "Let's consider that a lesson well learned, then." Her voice was as cold as her stare. "Now tell me why you can't even consider staying here!"

"I've got people depending on me!" Harry said, casting around to find a reason she'd accept that he had to go back to England.

"Write them a note, they'll understand," Anita snapped back.

"No, they won't!" Harry balled his hands up into fists as his anger grew hotter. He wanted to lash out more than verbally, to strike at something as hard as he could. Not the woman standing in front of him, even though she was so close, but the distant forces in England that had brought his life to this.

"Why not? What's so life and death that a kid like you can't let the adults handle things?" Anita shouted, staring up at him.

The unfamiliar emotions and the not-so-innocent jibes pushed Harry into doing something he wouldn't have done under calmer circumstances. "I have to kill Voldemort!" he yelled.

Anita's eyes went wide. "What?" 

Harry took a step back, realizing what he'd just said. But it was too late, he couldn't take the words back out of the air, couldn't have everyone in the kitchen unhear what he'd shouted at Anita.

"Answer me!" Anita demanded when Harry was silent.

Harry looked around. Maybe he was imagining it, but it seemed as if everyone was staring at him with mixed looks of horror and disgust on their faces. He must have been imagining it. He shook his head. "This isn't me being a teenager and thinking the world revolves around me," Harry said, quieter. "This is me having to kill him before he kills me. If I die first, no one's going to be able to stop Voldemort."

"Why the fuck do you have to kill him?"

Harry kept backing away, until he hit the wall near the stairs, then he slid down the wall with his knees tight to his chest. "I just do."

Anita knelt down in front of him, angry now, but Harry wasn't sure if she was angry at him. "No, why do you have to be the one?"

Wishing desperately that the floor would open and swallow him whole, Harry tried to think of what to say. "I... there's a prophecy," he finally whispered. "It says I have to kill Voldemort, or he kills me."

"Oh God," Jason muttered.

Anita's anger faded to horror. "Who told you that?"

Harry couldn't meet her eyes and looked away. He couldn't tell her without giving away the secret that Professor Dumbledore heard the prophecy. It would only put the Headmaster in more danger. "I can't say."

The next thing he knew, Jason was sitting down beside him. The closeness of the werewolf was almost too much, and Harry had to push back the overwhelming feelings. He could not, would not, lose control of himself right then.

"Harry..." Anita shuffled closer and put her hands on his knees. "This may sound strange, coming from me, but you don't have to kill anyone. There are other ways."

Harry let his head fall back onto the wall. "Then why hasn't it happened yet?" he asked miserably. "Why hasn't someone else done it yet?"

"I don't know," Anita said. "I thought you told me that you don't believe in fate."

"I don't."

"Then why this?"

Harry shook his head. He had tried to explain it to himself the previous year, but whatever he came up with always sounded so weak and stupid that he'd stopped. He couldn't explain his absolute surety that this prophecy was right, that this was how it was going to be.

"Harry--"

"Anita," Micah said, cutting Anita off. Harry hadn't even seen the man enter the kitchen. "We can do this later."

Anita looked at her Nimir-Raj, then back at Harry. She squeezed his knees gently, then stood up and offered him a hand. After a brief hesitation, he took it and let her help him stand up. "We'll figure out another way," she said reassuringly. "I promise."

Harry nodded, still feeling wretched. Anita frowned slightly, then did something Harry totally didn't expect. She hugged him.

Automatically, Harry's arms went around Anita's back, returning the hug. He could remember every single hug he'd ever gotten. There had been the ones from Mrs. Weasley, all motherly and safe. There had been a few from Hermione, and Harry had always thought that was what a sister's hugs must feel like. Then there had been the various hugs from Cho, and Susan Bones, all faintly awkward, like he was doing something wrong.

He didn't feel like he was doing anything wrong now. Anita felt safe, strong, and as he breathed in the scent of her hair, Harry let himself believe, just a little, that maybe he might survive this whole thing after all.

* * *

"Now what?" Harry asked. Jason had hauled him and Nathaniel outside after the breakfast dishes were away and now they were standing on the lawn.

"You know, for a marked man, you're amazingly impatient," Jason said.

"If he annoys you too much, just hit him!" Sylvie called from the porch. Jason blew her a kiss.

"I need some exercise," Jason said. "Let's play catch."

"Sure," Harry said. He wasn't going anywhere. "How?"

Jason's smile slid off his face. "How? To play catch?" He looked at Nathaniel.

The wereleopard shrugged. "Don't look at me, I didn't know how."

Jason shook his head. "Do you believe this?" he asked Anita and Micah, beside Sylvie on the porch. "I've got the only two guys between the ages of fourteen to thirty-five in the Midwest who don't know how to play catch."

Anita raised her eyebrows. "Harry, Nathaniel, I second Sylvie's suggestion," she said.

Jason turned back to Harry and Nathaniel. "It's simple. I throw the ball and you, um, catch it."

"We don't have any balls," Nathaniel said.

Jason closed his eyes as if in great pain. "You're not making this easy on me, are you?"

"No, wait, we have some golf balls in the shed," Nathaniel said, perking up. "I'll get them."

He ran around the side of the house. Harry just looked at Jason. "Who plays golf?"

"Zane does," Micah said.

Anita twisted around in his arms to give him a questioning look. "Zane who?"

Micah poked her shoulder. "Our Zane." Anita continued to look at him in disbelief. "Ask him yourself the next time he's over."

"I'll do that," Anita said.

Harry smiled. After he'd calmed down from his little fit in the kitchen, Nathaniel made breakfast for everyone while Sylvie asked a series of prying questions about Harry's life. She left the topic of Voldemort alone, thankfully, and he tried to limit the amount of magic talk in the conversation. He didn't want to press his luck by telling even more muggles about magic.

Nathaniel ran back up to them, tossing Jason a golf ball. The werewolf looked at it, askance. "I can't throw this at Harry, I'll kill him."

"Oh yeah?" Harry shot back. "I doubt that."

Jason threw the ball up in the air and caught it easily. "You're on." He jogged backwards to the edge of the lawn. "Catch!"

He whipped the golf ball at Harry's head. Years of Quidditch expertise kicked in, and Harry's hand whipped out to snatch the ball from the air.

"Jesus!" Anita exclaimed. "What are you doing?"

Jason gave her an innocent stare. "Playing catch?"

Anita glared at Jason. "Don't break any bones," she said menacingly. "Or windows."

Jason flashed her a big smile, then ducked as the golf ball sailed past his head and collided with a tree.

Harry danced back a few steps. "You're not paying attention," he taunted lightly. The game continued, with Harry and Jason ribbing each other mercilessly, and Nathaniel joining in on the taunts to a lesser extent.

Jason reared back for another throw. Harry was already moving into the catch when the air rippled in a small sonic boom. The sky flashed amethyst purple, then crackled back to normal a split second later.

Harry threw himself to the side to avoid the golf ball. He rolled on his shoulder and came to his feet with his wand in his hand. The noise in the air coalesced into a crackling shot, the sound of a wizard apparating.

A figure appeared on the edge of the lawn. Tired blue eyes looked at Harry and his pointed wand over familiar half-moon glasses. "It is good to see you so well protected, Harry, and in such obvious good health," Professor Dumbledore said gravely.


	29. Raspberry Jam

* * *

"Professor Dumbledore!"

Harry almost lowered his wand, but caught himself. What on earth was Dumbledore doing here? Was it even him at all? It looked like him, with the pointy hat and the travelling cloak. But it was just as likely that it was someone else, pretending to be Dumbledore. Who would be crazy enough to pretend that?

The headmaster's face relaxed into a slight smile. "Excellent anti-apparation wards, Harry," he said, looking past the teenager. Anita, Sylvie and Micah were fast approaching, with Nathaniel and Jason not far behind. Anita's gun was out, although Harry had no idea where she would have been hiding it, and held smartly by her side.

Harry looked back at Dumbledore, his own wand steady. "Sir, if I'm wrong, I'll apologize, but how do I know that you are you?"

A sparkle of humour appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. Anita stopped right beside Harry. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"There are ways to make yourself look like someone else," Harry told her.

Dumbledore nodded. "I supposed you could ask me what my favourite type of jam is, and I could tell you that it was raspberry." 

Harry almost screamed. It had to be Dumbledore, no one else was this cool under such a barmy exterior. "I don't know your breakfast habits, sir," he said, trying to be ready for action. He cast his mind around for something that only he and Dumbledore would know. He could ask about the prophecy... but he couldn't run the risk that this was a Death Eater in disguise. So he pulled another memory out of his head, this one only a little less painful. "Why didn't you make me a prefect in fifth year?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore's face lost its smile, and Harry was almost startled by how old the man appeared. "I thought you had enough responsibility on your shoulders," he said quietly.

Harry lowered his wand. "I had to be sure, sir."

"Do not fret, Harry. Vigilance is second only to a good sense of smell. But perhaps you can ask this young woman to put away her weapon."

Dumbledore looked steadily at Anita, who stared back coldly. "Anita, it's him, Professor Dumbledore. My headmaster from school," Harry said. "Really."

Anita let out a slow breath, and the tension in her shoulders eased. "Why is he here?"

"A very good question," Sylvie said from behind Anita with a hint of a growl in her voice.

Harry had the impression that Dumbledore was somehow watching everyone on the lawn, even though he continued to make eye contact with Anita. "The exceedingly brief answer is that I came to see how Mr. Potter was doing. For the longer explanation, perhaps we should move to move comfortable surroundings, away from the prying eyes of your neighbours."

"They're used to it," Anita said dismissively. She shook her head. "Fine, we'll go inside."

Dumbledore stepped neatly onto the lawn. "I must say, Harry, those are excellent wards," he said as they walked toward the house. "May I ask why you erected them?"

Harry almost tripped over the grass, thinking frantically. What did Dumbledore know? Did he know that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead? That she had killed a wizard hiding in St. Louis? That Harry had disarmed two American aurors in an muggle police station?

"That also requires a long explanation," Anita said from behind them, saving Harry from having to figure out what to say.

Harry opened the front door and led Dumbledore into the living room. Dumbledore seemed delighted with the neat room with all its bright colours and muggle gadgets. The headmaster seemed terribly out of place, with his black wizarding traveling cloak and bright blue wizard's hat.

"Why don't you sit down," Anita said, coming in behind Harry. It was in no way a request.

Nathaniel touched Anita's waist. "Would you like me to make tea?" he asked.

Dumbledore removed his travelling cloak and draped it over the arm of the couch before he removing his hat. "Tea would be lovely," he said pleasantly as he sat down.

Anita flicked her eyes at Nathaniel and gave a tiny nod.

"Jason," Sylvie said, sitting carefully on the loveseat, "Why don't you go help Nathaniel?"

Jason looked as if he wanted to protest, but he followed Nathaniel into the kitchen. It occurred to Harry that Sylvie had gotten the two submissive lycanthropes out of the room, so casually that if Harry hadn't been hyper aware of everything, he may have missed it.

Micah took the other end of the loveseat, his yellow eyes steady on Dumbledore. Anita stayed standing by the fireplace, while Harry hovered awkwardly by the television.

Harry took a deep breath. He would be okay. He'd figure this all out, and learn why Dumbledore was there, and what it meant, and what was going to happen next.

Anita crossed her arms, drawing Harry's attention. Her gun was gone again, and Harry had no idea where she had put it.

"You have a lovely home," Dumbledore told her politely.

"Yes, I do." Anita's glare grew a few degrees sharper. "I'm having a lovely summer, enjoying the weather greatly, and I don't like jam. Let's skip to the part of the conversation where you tell me why you tried to evaporate into my home."

"Appar--" Harry snapped his mouth shut when Anita turned her glare onto him.

"Yes, well, it has been a series of coincident events," Dumbledore said, settling himself onto the couch. "I assume that Harry has told you about his phone call to his friend, Hermione Granger, Miss...?"

Belatedly, Harry realized that he had forgotten to make introductions. "Professor, this is Anita Blake," Harry said quickly. "Anita, this is Headmaster Albus Dumbledore." He turned slightly, indicating the people on the loveseat. "And this is Micah Callahan, and Sylvie Barker."

"How do you do?" Dumbledore said politely.

"Peachy," Anita said sharply. "So, Harry called Hermione."

"He did." Dumbledore's eyes were steady, with none of his usual humour. "Do you know what he asked her?"

"He made the phone call in my office, I was right there," Anita said.

"Miss Granger set about her task with her usual zeal," Dumbledore explained. "Several inquiries were made, and she found out the information she required. I believe this was when she telephoned you."

Harry nodded vigorously. "Yeah, she told me about Mr. Spencer."

"Indeed." Dumbledore let out a small sigh. "I have to say I was surprised to hear of Nigel Spencer's death."

"You knew him?" Micah asked.

"He was at school with Harry's parents, when I was Headmaster." Dumbledore removed his glasses and polished them with the end of his beard. "Miss Granger appeared unsatisfied with your answers, Harry, and so she set out to dig further."

"What did she find out?" Harry asked, berating himself for not calling Hermione back to apologize, to ask what else she knew. But he knew why he didn't. Because he couldn't lie to her, and he also couldn't tell her the truth.

"Nothing." Dumbledore put his glasses back on his face and regarded Harry with a very serious expression. "She spoke to me, and I told her to stop her search."

Dumbledore paused while Nathaniel came back into the room carrying a tea set on a tray. Jason was on his heels, holding a glass and metal carafe that looked as if it held coffee. Nathaniel set the tray on the coffee table, tossing his braid behind him. "Would you like some tea?" Nathaniel asked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, please. Milk and one sugar, if you will."

While Nathaniel put the sugar into the cup, Anita walked over to the window and stared out at the summer day. Her shoulders were tense, and the scars on her back peeking out from under the straps on her dress were white against her pale skin.

Dumbledore took the cup from Nathaniel with a murmur of thanks. Sylvie took her tea black, while Harry loaded up his own cup with four sugars to fortify himself. Jason poured himself some of coffee. Neither Anita or Micah wanted anything.

While Harry sipped at his scalding sweet tea, Anita moved back to her place in front of the fireplace, stepping around Jason, who had settled on the hearth, his coffee cup balanced on his knee.

Dumbledore took a sip from his cup and smiled at Nathaniel. "Just what I needed after such a long journey," he said. "Now, where were we?"

"You shut Hermione down." Anita said flatly.

"Indeed." Dumbledore took another sip of tea. "After so many years, I have developed a number of contacts in America. I knew, of course, that Harry's guardians were vacationing in St. Louis, thanks to your letter, Harry. I quickly discovered that Nigel Spencer had also settled in St. Louis, and that he was killed in what appeared to be an... attack, a day or two before you called Miss Granger."

"Death Eaters." Anita took a step toward Dumbledore. "We know it was a Death Eater. She sent up the green skull thing over the house and everything."

Dumbledore set his cup down on the side table. 'May I ask how you knew that it was Death Eaters?" he asked.

Harry felt his heart sink into his shoes. He was surprised to hear Anita say, "One of the witches with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Taskforce recognized the symbol as belonging to a British magical terrorist cell. Harry just backed her up."

Dumbledore didn't move, but Harry sensed a chill coming from the headmaster. "I also learned that a young wizard fitting Harry's description disarmed two aurors in a police station, who were attempting to modify the memories of several policemen who attended to Mr. Spencer's death scene," the headmaster said,

Anita, who had been staring at the sugar bowl on the table, brought her head up. There was a dangerous gleam in her eyes. "They were fucking with people's heads using magic!" she exclaimed. "That's a damned felony for the rest of us, who don't have your secret handshakes and magic wands!"

"I assume that you were the one who took Harry to Mr. Spencer's house in the first place, putting him at risk of a Death Eater's attention?" Dumbledore said, rising to his feet.

Micah and Sylvie stood warily, but stayed out of Anita's way.

Anita smiled coldly. "Yes, let's talk about putting Harry in harm's way." She sauntered forward. "How about putting an eleven-year-old child in a situation where he has to face off against an adult sorcerer? Or how about a handful of fifteen year olds being thrown into a fight with a bunch of dark wizards!" Anita's voice rose. Her hands started to tremble slightly.

"Do not lecture me about Voldemort, Miss Blake," Dumbledore said.

Anita laughed, a shrill and high sound that Harry had never heard before. "Why not? Because I'm just another one of your stupid little muggles, to be treated worse than a child? Or is it because I'm a necromancer and so automatically evil in your books?"

"That is not--"

"Because let me tell you what I think is evil," Anita continued, not letting Dumbledore finish. "I think wizards killing people for fun is evil. I think mind-raping policemen who are only trying to do their job is evil. I think having curses that torture people for no reason is evil!"

Her voice was getting less steady as she spoke. Nathaniel tried to move close to her, but she pushed him off. "Anita, please..."

"Leave me alone!" She put her hand up. She looked back at Dumbledore. "So don't come in here and say I'm evil when I'm not!"

Micah took another step toward Anita. She backed up, trying to stay away from Micah as well as Nathaniel. "Anita, you need to calm down," Micah said forcefully.

Anita shook her head fiercely. "I'm not going to calm down until he tells me why he made Harry face Voldemort when he won't do it himself!"

Nathaniel's eyes widened, and he turned around and tore out of the room. Harry didn't have a chance to wonder why, because the coolness in the room suddenly changed to a sensation of ice pressing into his chest. It was so similar to what he had felt in the graveyard, when Anita had animated that zombie, that Harry automatically went for his wand.

Dumbledore was staring at Anita with a dawning look of dread on his face. "What makes you think I have not faced Voldemort myself?" he asked, his voice not reflecting his apprehension.

"Because he's still alive!" Anita exclaimed. "I know Harry's supposed to kill him, but what the hell kind of protector are you if you're willing to sacrifice a kid in your place?"

A chill wind swept through the room. A few of the picture frames on the mantle trembled, and the lamp on the side table fell over.

"Anita, please!" Micah said, trying to take her arm.

Her whole body shaking now, Anita looked at Harry. The painful, raw emotion he had seen in her eyes, right after she'd stopped screaming that night in the woods, was back.

Before Harry could do anything, Nathaniel ran back into the room. To Harry's shock, he was followed very closely by Damian. His grandfather moved so swiftly he could barely be seen, ducking behind Anita and wrapping his long arms around her. He put his hands on the bare skin of her neck and shoulders. "Anita, please, calm down," Damian said soothingly.

Nathaniel took hold of Anita's hands and dropped to his knees in front of her. "Anita, it's okay, you're safe," he said.

Anita tried to pull away, but Damian and Nathaniel hung on until she stopped fighting. She sagged against Damian, letting him whisper soft words of safety to her.

Harry swung around and looked out the window at the sunlight, then back to his grandfather. "How...."

"Damian's a day-walker now," Micah muttered. He faced Dumbledore. "I appreciate that you came to check on Harry, but if you keep upsetting Anita, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"And if I refuse?" Dumbledore said.

Micah's eyes narrowed. "Then I'm going to make you leave," he said with more than a hint of a growl in his voice.

"Stop it!" Harry exclaimed, stepping between Micah and Dumbledore. His world was spinning apart, with Anita acting like this and Dumbledore pushing and Micah about a minute away from doing something stupid. "Please, just stop it!"

Dumbledore hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish," he said, and sat back down.

Micah eyed Dumbledore for a moment before approaching Anita. Her eyes were closed and her lips were moving soundlessly, and Harry knew she was still very distressed.

Jason stared at Anita, his arms wrapped around himself as he crouched on the ground. Sylvie put her hand on his head, and fixed a very unfriendly gaze on Dumbledore. "This happened because of your kind," she said, 

Dumbledore took his eyes off Anita. "What do you mean?" he asked Sylvie.

"Your people did this, made her like this," Sylvie jerked her chin in Anita's direction. At her feet, Jason shifted so he was leaning against her leg.

"No, it wasn't!" Harry exclaimed. "Bellatrix was a Death Eater, Professor Dumbledore's been fighting them since forever! He never would have done anything like this!"

There was so much anger in Sylvie that Harry almost quailed before her, but he managed to keep his back straight. Everything was spiraling out of control, and Harry didn't know how to slow it down.

Damian carefully swept Anita up into his arms. She looked so small, so fragile, Harry thought. Damian walked toward the loveseat, placing his bare feet very carefully on the carpet to avoid a patch of sunlight streaming in the windows.

"Jason, can you get the curtains?" Micah asked. Jason jumped up and closed the curtains as Damian sat on the loveseat, Anita in his lap. Nathaniel climbed onto the cushions beside them and touched Anita carefully.

Micah righted the lamp and turned it on to illuminate the sudden twilight. He sat on the arm of the loveseat beside Nathaniel, placing his hand on the younger man's back.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Harry, perhaps you should tell me what you meant when you referred to Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry froze. That was the second time in a few hours he'd said stuff he shouldn't have. He turned to face Dumbledore. The headmaster didn't appear angry, just very serious, concentration on every feature.

"Tell him." Anita looked up at Harry, the darkness in her eyes fading. She gave Harry a small nod, then rested her head against Nathaniel's shoulder.

Harry let out a shaky breath. The memories of that night were a haze of fear and screaming, and he had to think for a moment before he found a place to start.

He told the story haltingly, leaving out only that he was with werewolves. He tried to make it sound as if he was out in the woods that night for a pleasant stroll.

"... and then Richard showed up and I don't know what happened, I must have said the right counter-curse because the pain stopped and--"

Dumbledore's head shot up, his eyes flashing. "What did you say?"

Harry frowned. "I said then Richard showed up--"

"No, about ending the curse."

"I thought I must have said the right counter-curse, because..." Harry's voice trailed off at the expression on Dumbledore's face. "What is it?"

"There is no counter-curse, Harry," Dumbledore said wearily. "The Ministry has been working around the clock for weeks to try and find something to counter it." He sat forward on the edge of the couch cushions. The room was silent. "Think about it. An Unforgivable that kills its victim, not by the usual Aveda Kedavra, a sudden death, but a drawn-out death in screaming agony."

Harry felt sick. "Who's died?" he demanded.

"There have been three deaths," Dumbledore said steadily. "Mundungus Fletcher was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The Death Eaters also got two Aurors, Dawlish and Cornley."

Harry's head whirled. He'd known Mundungus Fletcher. The man had been a crook and a con, but he was part of the Order of the Phoenix.

Sylvie was suddenly at Harry's side. "Sit down," she ordered.

"I am sitting down," Harry protested weakly.

"No, you're not." Sylvie pulled him over to where Jason was sitting, and pushed on Harry's shoulder until his legs crumpled under him.

Harry swallowed hard, trying not to throw up on the carpet. It was what had almost happened to Anita, dying in agony, screaming until you couldn't scream any more..."

"You understand why I ask you this, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry made himself concentrate. "I didn't know what I was doing, I was just trying everything I could think of, sir." He swallowed again. "Nothing worked, then Richard was there and he told me I had to save Anita, and he grabbed me and I was holding her arm and it just sort of stopped." 

The front door opened, unseen behind the wall, and closed again. Footsteps sounded down the hall.

Dumbledore looked at Anita, who was staring steadily back at him. "Who is Richard?" he asked.

"I am." Richard had just come in the front door, visibly upset as he rounded the corner into the living room. "What the hell is going on?"

Harry climbed to his feet. "This is my headmaster from school, Richard" he said. "Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Dumbledore rose to his feet and regarded Richard silently.

Richard glowered at the man. Harry felt a brush of something against his mind, a flash of sensation, like running in the woods, but then it was gone.

"Anita, what's going on?" Richard said.

Anita pushed herself up off Damian's lap, standing on unsteady feet. Nathaniel had his hands on her leg, and the red-headed vampire held Anita's left hand. "Remember that curse in the woods?"

She stopped talking, and Richard waited a few moments before slowly saying, "Yes."

Anita licked her lips, letting her tongue linger over the corner of her mouth. "Apparently there's no way to stop it," she said softly. She squeezed Damian's hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white, but the vampire didn't make any sign that it hurt.

"But it did stop," Richard said, confused.

"Did it?" Anita had stopped trembling, wasn't hardly moving at all, but Harry had the sense that she was about to fall apart. "I can't stop thinking about it, I can't let it go." She ducked her head, eyes unfocused.

"Miss Blake," Dumbledore said, "This curse, once lifted, will not return." 

"Then why is she like this?" Damian asked. He looked at Dumbledore with green eyes almost glowing in the light. Dumbledore frowned, opened his mouth as if to speak, but remained silent. "Her thoughts feel jagged, as if something's been forced into her mind and then ripped out."

"That is not a far off description, Mr....?"

"Damian," the vampire said.

"Damian." Harry had the impression that Dumbledore was looking at him, but when he lifted his head, Dumbledore was still staring at Anita. "The Cruciatus curse works by the sheer force of will of the caster. Remove the caster, and the curse is lifted. However, it appears as if this curse places the impetus of the curse into the victim. The caster can vanish and the victim will still suffer the same."

"Until they die." Anita used her free hand to push her hair out of her face. She lowered her fingers and pulled the scarf off from around her neck, exposing the vampire bite on her throat, standing out starkly against her pale skin.

"Which is why I ask, Miss Blake. If we can find a way to prevent this... torture, my people would be beyond grateful."

"Ms. Blake." Anita looked up at Dumbledore, the wildness in her eyes almost gone. "It's Ms. Blake, not Miss Blake, and I don't know if you will be able to find a way."

"She's right," Nathaniel said, standing up. He smiled reassuringly at Anita before stepping away. "Whatever happened with Richard and Harry and Anita you probably won't be able to duplicate, because of the marks between them." He stopped beside the table and picked up the tea tray. He turned to Richard. "Do you want some tea?"

Richard's mouth dropped open. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demanded. "Anta's having a breakdown and all you can do is think of playing house wife?"

Nathaniel clenched his jaw and stared back up at Richard. "She doesn't need me to baby her," Nathaniel said. "If I stopped every time something in my life went to shit, I'd have let myself die years ago." He stopped, and something in him seemed to withdraw. He turned around, putting his back to Richard, and walked away toward the kitchen.

Richard stared after him for a moment, then his eyes slid to Harry. "I don't know if it was the marks," Richard said.

"What else could it be?" Harry demanded. "There's no counter-curse, and I know I didn't do anything!"

"Maybe it's because of what's happening to Harry," Sylvie said suddenly, looking at Richard as she spoke.

Goosebumps broke out all over Harry's body. It made sense, that this new werewolf part of him had reacted to Anita and Richard, but looking at Dumbledore, Harry was struck with a horrible thought. What if Dumbledore wouldn't let him go back to Hogwarts?

"What else has happened to Harry?" Dumbledore asked, power trickling back into his voice.

Harry made himself stand up straight. He was seventeen, and he would deal with the consequences of whatever happened. "I might be a werewolf," he said into the unnaturally silent room. "The Dursleys took me out sightseeing and I wasn't paying attention and they drove off without me. I tried to walk back into town, but it was the night of the full moon and I was chased by some werewolves. And I got slashed."

Harry wouldn't tell what Dumbledore was thinking; the headmaster's face was blank. He hurried on.

"But that may have been how I helped Anita, if Richard was there and Anita was Anita and everything. I just don't know what else it could be."

Harry desperately wanted Dumbledore to say something, not just stand there like a statue. Everyone else in the room was watching, holding their breaths.

After what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds, Dumbledore stirred. "May I ask how you escaped more serious harm?" 

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, still not sure if the man was angry at him.

Dumbledore gestured toward Harry. "The full moon was a little more than a week ago, and you appear to be healthy. In my experience, a werewolf does not stop at a single slash. How did you defend yourself?"

Not certain he liked this new serious Dumbledore, Harry looked frantically at Richard. He wasn't sure if Richard would want to be exposed as a werewolf, and the one that may have infected Harry. "I didn't use magic," Harry said, trying to stall.

Richard shook his head, just a fraction. "I was pulling the attacking wolves off of Harry when he was infected," Richard said. "My claws sliced through his skin in the process."

"You are a werewolf," Dumbledore stated with that same calm.

"Yes."

"It's not like that!" Harry exclaimed. "He didn't mean to do it! And they're all helping me out, all the pack!" He faced Dumbledore, willing the man to understand. "Anita keeps saving my life, and Jason and Nathaniel are helping me, and so is everyone! They're good people! It was just an accident!"

Dumbledore glanced up as Nathaniel walked through the room, then met Harry's eyes. "I believe I own you an apology, Harry," he said after another pause.

"What?" Harry was confused. Why would Dumbledore apologize to him?

Dumbledore sighed. "Placing you with the Dursleys was... necessary, but unfortunate."

"I know, you needed a blood relative for the wards," Harry said. Dumbledore had told him all of this a few years ago. While he was at the Dursleys' house, he was protected.

Dumbledore looked at him sharply, and Harry realized that it might sound as if Harry was telling too much, with all the people in the room.

"We know all about wards and blood relatives," Anita said. She seemed much more herself now, and was glaring at Dumbledore with an unfriendly expression on her face. "Harry and Damian made the ones outside, the ones you ran into?"

"Can we get back to the werewolf thing?" Harry interrupted. He was desperate to know if he was going to be able to go back to Hogwarts. Professor Lupin had been allowed to be a student at Hogwarts, even though Dumbledore knew he was a werewolf. Would Harry be able to do the same thing? "Can I still..."

Dumbledore's intense expression softened. "Return to Hogwarts?" he asked gently. Harry nodded hard. "Of course."

Warm relief flooded through Harry's body, tingling right down to his toes. He wasn't able to say anything for a moment.

"However, I also have a topic that I wish to return to," Dumbledore said smoothly. He turned to face Damian, who was now standing behind Anita. "I am not sure if it is coincidence, how much you resemble a former student of mine."

"You mean Lily?" Damian said. It was the first time Harry had ever heard Damian say his mother's name, and for some reason it hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Yes."

Anita reached behind her and took hold of Damian's hand. "We have talked about this," she said, strong again. "Seems like Damian is Harry's grandfather. It's all very soap operaish and unbelievable, we know."

Dumbledore frowned. "And Damian is a..."

"Vampire," Anita finished. "And he's my vampire now, so any problems you have with him, you have with me."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Are you then from London?" he asked Damian.

Damian shook his head. "I was from the northeast coast of Scotland," he said shortly.

"Ah," Dumbledore said. "Then you are from Morvoren's kiss?"

Damian shuddered, and Anita drew him closer to her. "He was," she snapped. "Your point?"

"I am familiar with all the Master vampires in Scotland and England," Dumbledore said. "To my knowledge, those of Morvoren's kiss are prone to more physical ways of persuasion--"

"I didn't rape Mary," Damian said quietly. Harry's head whipped around. "If that is what you mean. She came to me willingly."

Harry's mouth was moving, but he couldn't make any sounds. It had never even occurred to him that what Dumbledore seemed to be suggesting had happened.

Dumbledore nodded at Damian. "Of course," he murmured.

Jason stood up quickly and was at Harry's side in two steps, putting his arm around the taller boy's back and squeezing hard. "You going to be okay?" he asked.

Harry nodded, trying to squash everything in his head back into place. It wasn't every day that your headmaster accused your grandfather of raping your grandmother.

It wasn't working. Harry shrugged off Jason's arm and went out into the hall, where there weren't all those staring eyes. It was brighter out here, and Harry wished he could just walk out into the sunlight, forget all of this, all the accusations and fears and just be a nobody for a few minutes, where it didn't matter what he was or who his parents were or any of it.

He put his back against the wall and closed his eyes.

Sensing movement a second later, he opened his eyes. Anita had come out of the living room. She joined Harry against the wall.

"He's telling the truth," she said softly. "Your grandmother and him, it was all... you know."

"Yeah." Harry stared very hard at the opposite wall. "I never thought about it."

"No one should have to think that bad things happened to make them be here," Anita said. She slipped her hand into his. "I know it's hard, but--"

"But this is my mess, I know," Harry interrupted. He looked down at her, and was faintly surprised how familiar she had become in just over a week. He knew how she looked, how she acted, how she sounded. Even her smell was starting to be safe to him.

She smiled faintly. "Not your mess. Our mess."

Harry gripped her hand tightly. "Thanks," he whispered.

* * *

I guided Damian through the bright kitchen and down the basement stairs. He didn't say anything, and I could feel the tension singing in his body as he walked so tantalizingly close to the killing sunlight.

He relaxed as we entered the dark basement. I led him down to his coffin and waited as he climbed inside.

We were going to try and have him to go back to sleep, or his daytime death, whatever you wanted to call it. I still had no idea how Nathaniel had managed to rouse Damian. Maybe it had been my power, running wild as I went a little crazy. Or it might have been something to do with Nathaniel and Damian and their connection to each other through our triumvirate. I didn't know and didn't have time to figure it out.

"Thank you," he said as he lowered his head to the pillow.

"What for?" I asked as I moved his hair back from his face with my fingers. "You saved the day up there, you know."

He gave me a ghost of a smile. "For protecting Harry like you did. Like you always do."

"Hey." I put my elbows on the edge of the coffin and leaned over him. The faint yellow light from the desk lamp leached all colour out of his face, and his eyes looked grey as they stared up at me. "You know I always will."

"I do." Damian cupped my face in his hand, and I closed my eyes against the sensation. "Please do not let that man take him away if he does not wish to go."

"I won't," I whispered, and opened my eyes. I dropped my shields as I bent down to lay a kiss on Damian's lips. He kissed me gently, then his lips went slack as he died.

I lifted my head and carefully closed the coffin lid. I also turned off the lamp. Damian wouldn't need any light when he woke up later in the day.

The stairs seemed to take forever. I wondered if it was last night's blood loss that made me so tired, or the reminder that I still wasn't right in the head.

Finally, I made it up to the empty kitchen. After I closed the basement door, I went and leaned on the counter. I just needed a moment to myself, to try and calm down the ruckus in my head.

I didn't know what I was going to do if this Dumbledore guy wanted to take Harry away. I couldn't very well pull a gun if Harry wanted to go. I just didn't want Harry to leave. Maybe it was silly, but I'd miss him if he was gone. He was a good kid.

Some part of what Jason told me earlier in the day came back to mind. Harry wasn't a kid, not really. No kid should ever have to worry about killing another person. No, Harry wasn't a kid, and from the sounds of things, he hadn't been for a long time.

I heard something and looked up to see Micah walking into the room. He came right over to me and hugged me, so tight. Too tired to wonder at it, I hugged him back. "It's been such a long day," I said into his shoulder.

"And it's not even lunch yet." He ran his hands over my back restlessly. "Dumbledore wants to talk to Harry alone."

I pulled back. "What?" I exclaimed. "There's no way--"

Micah placed a finger on my lips. "Richard's dealing with it," he said. "Just like an Ulfric should."

Looking into Micah's yellow-green eyes, I felt myself start to fall apart again. I took a deep breath to push that all away, then I kissed Micah, hard. There was never any thought in it when I was with Micah, no worries, no fears. He was my Nimir-Raj and I was his Nimir-Ra. He didn't ask me why I needed him, not when we kissed this desperately, just to prove that we were alive and here and safe. Micah clung to me as if he would never let me go, and in return I opened myself up to him. It wasn't the same as with anyone in either triumvirate, but my beast reached out to Micah and his beast responded. We were a mated pair, and in that moment, nothing was between us.

I sensed another leopard near me, and broke from my kiss with Micah to see Nathaniel hovering beside us. "Richard said we should all come in here," Nathaniel said.

"While Harry and Dumbledore talk?" I asked.

Nathaniel nodded. He looked slightly worried. "Harry said it was okay, and Dumbledore offered go to outside, but Richard said no."

"We being?" Micah asked.

"All the rest of us," Nathaniel said.

I turned in Micah's embrace. "It's nice of Richard to offer that in my house," I said, a bit annoyed.

"Come on," Micah said. "We'll talk about this in the living room."

I put my arm around Nathaniel's waist and walked back into the living room between my guys. Dumbledore looked up from a conversation with Harry and Richard. "Ah, Ms. Blake, Harry was just telling me about how he observed you raising a zombie recently."

I came to a halt. "What about it?" My voice was hostile, as I remembered what Tammy had said about these wizards thinking that necromancers were the root of all evil.

Dumbledore looked nothing but amused. "I commented that this was how Harry's friend, Miss Granger, found you."

"What do you mean?"

Harry looked rather apologetic. "When I called her from your office, her parents' phone had call display."

"And then she... oogled you," Dumbledore said.

Jason snorted. "You mean googled her?"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

Jason grinned a wolfy grin at me. "Animators Inc. has a website, right? This Hermione kid probably just googled the number, and came up with the site."

I frowned. "I didn't think we had a website..."

"Trust me, you do." Jason looked expectantly at Richard, who turned to me.

"I know, kitchen," I said wearily. I gave Harry a stern look. "You need anything, call. Or yell. Loudly."

Harry shrugged. "Okay."

Dumbledore stood up, his robes making shivery sounds as the cloth moved. "I only wish to speak to Mr. Potter, Ms. Blake, nothing more."

He may have been lying from here to Sunday, but at least he sounded sincere. I wasn't buying it, but I knew how damned stubborn Harry could be. I gave Harry a quick look and let Micah walk me back into the kitchen.

I heard Dumbledore and Harry talking low in the living room, but I couldn't make out the words. I stood in the centre of the kitchen for a bit, not sure what do to. I didn't want to talk to anyone; I'm not sure I had anything to say and I also didn't want to interrupt Nathaniel's eavesdropping. He was as close as he dared get to the door, a look of concentration on his face.

Richard walked past me and went out the French doors, not looking at anyone. Even from the back, he looked so tense. I held in a sigh, and turned to Micah. I opened my mouth, but he shook his head and kissed my cheek. "Go," he whispered in my ear, nodding after Richard.

I smiled weakly at Micah, then followed Richard outside.

He was sitting on the back steps, his head hanging down. I sat beside him. Even though the step was wide enough, my body touched Richard's in a line from our arms down to our hips.

"How was your meeting?" I asked after a few minutes.

He coughed. "It was a fucking disaster," he said in a rough voice. "They want to reintroduce the lyncathropy vaccine for the senior students."

I whipped my head around. "What? I exclaimed. "The last time they did that, they had a failure rate that was off the charts! One in a hundred students was infected!"

Richard glared at me, the heat in his eyes scalding, but his anger wasn't directed at me. "I know that, Anita! Remember, I was that one kid." He buried his head in his hands. "How can we ask any of these kids, most of who will only meet about five lycanthropes in their whole lives, to take that risk? Don't they get it?"

I rubbed his back and leaned against him. Slowly, his rapid breathing slowed. "They're scared and they don't understand," I said softly, trying to soothe him. "Give them enough time and you can convince them."

"No, I can't." Richard looked out at the back lawn. "A couple of the other teachers, I'm starting to think they're with Humans First. I fight too hard, and they'll start digging. No one wants animals in their classrooms, Anita."

I rested my head against his shoulder. "You are not an animal," I told him. I wished I could make him believe it. "You are a good teacher and you're a good man. I may have thought a lot of things about you, but I have never doubted that."

Richard put his arm around me and hugged me sideways. "Thank you," he said, kissing my forehead. "That means a lot to me."

I settled in against Richard. Back when we were engaged, this was one of the things I loved most about him. When he wanted to, and I wanted to, we could sit like this. Now, I could feel his beast like a ghost beside me, under his skin. It probably would have scared me then, but I think I'd grown up since then, and it was all a part of Richard to me now.

Sitting with Richard, I started thinking about what had just happened in my living room. What Dumbledore and Nathaniel said ran in circles in my head, until finally something occurred to me.

I cuddled a bit closer to Richard. "Thank you," I said.

"For what?"

"For saving me."

Richard pulled away from me. I looked up at him to see him frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"In the woods." He let me lace my fingers through his while he tried to work out what I was saying. "If you hadn't have been there, I might not have made it."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I didn't--"

I squeezed his hand and he stopped talking. "I don't know much about this kind of magic, but I do know this. I didn't want to die that way, and you were there for me."

Richard pulled his hand free and cupped my face with his hand. His thumb stroked over my cheek. "I could not lose you," he said with feeling.

I put my hand on his neck and pulled him down to me. "You didn't," I whispered against his lips, and kissed him. In the back of my mind, I wondered at how I didn't feel any apprehension, no nervousness that this kiss might go wrong. Richard's mouth was as soft as always, so very warm. He tasted like mint, as if he'd been chewing gum on the way over and the taste still lingered.

We were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat. Jason was standing on the porch, a bored look on his face. "Phone for Anita," he said, holding out my cell phone.

I took it, and looked at him until he wandered back into the house. Only then did I lift the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Anita, it's Tammy."

"What's up?" I asked. She didn't sound frantic or worried. That was a good sign with talking to the police.

She made an exasperated sound. "First off, I wanted to thank you for your help with Larry the other night."

I had to think very hard to remember what she was talking about. Oh, right. The zombie I covered for Larry when his kid was sick. "How is Tannis?"

"She's fine. The doctor gave her some antibiotics, she's better." Tammy paused. "You know, I used to think I'd get bored at home with a baby, but now I just want to dump this all on someone else's desk and go home."

Tammy and I weren't friends, not really. We'd worked together, and I'd been in her wedding, but I was more Larry's friend than hers. She wasn't calling to chat.

"But yeah. These stupid wizards."

"How's Zerbrowski's memory doing?" I asked.

"Better. My aunt set us up with a guy who was able to break through the memory block. It was a really bad job, too, like they couldn't be bothered to do it right," Tammy said. "Now these two asses aren't talking."

"Will anyone be coming to get them out?"

"No." Tammy sighed. "Apparently, it's their policy to let them get out on their own time."

"Is that going to happen?" I asked.

"Again, no. We've got their wands, and a local witch, one of my kind, came in to ward them up tight. They're not leaving except under our terms." I heard rustling paper on the other end of the phone. "I don't trust their buddies not to burst in here, guns blazing, so to speak, but I've got some fail safes and I'm not being shy about letting the other side know I've got them."

"Fail safes?" I asked. Beside me, Richard put his arm around my back again. I patted his leg absently.

"I've got the information to a bunch of people. If the wizards do anything to try and break these guys out, it goes to the media, full out."

"Oh God."

"Yeah." Tammy sighed. "I hate to do this, but what else can we do to protect ourselves? The wizards are stuck in the past. They haven't adapted like the rest of us. Maybe fifty years ago, they could have stopped it, but we've got the internet and twenty-four hour news, everything. They won't be able to shove that genie back in the bottle."

I had never known Tammy to be devious. "Is that a good idea?"

Tammy was silent for a moment. "Anita, you know how we couldn't find Nigel Spencer's wand? Whoever killed it had jammed it down his throat before he died, that's why there was blood around his mouth."

Unconsciously, I leaned a little harder into Richard. "That's..."

"Vicious, I know," Tammy said. "It's not just them, Anita, it's all of us witches who are on the line on this one. I mean, look at Tannis. I'm a witch and Larry's a necromancer. How could I have thought that she'd be all right?"

"Tannis has got something that I didn't have until almost too late, though," I said.

"What?"

"Role models who know magic," I said. "Look, when I was a kid, when I first started to raise the dead, my step-mother freaked out and they pretended that it wasn't happening. It wasn't until one of my therapists told my dad that I was evil and needed an exorcism that they sent me to my grandmother. I was fourteen when that happened. At least Tannis has you and Larry, who know that if she starts levitating the table she's not possessed."

I was surprised at my own outburst. I had only told a few people about that. I wasn't even sure I'd told Richard, and now he'd heard me telling Tammy. Just great.

"Just a sec," Tammy said. There was muffled noise on the other end of the line, then she was back. "I appreciate you telling me that, Anita. I just wanted to tell you where we stand."

"Thanks," I said as I ran my fingers over Richard's knee.

"You're welcome." She cleared her throat. "I was wondering, maybe if you and Harry would like to come over for dinner on the weekend? Larry said he was an okay kid and I wouldn't mind talking to him a bit myself, about things."

My eyebrows went up. I was about to say I'd ask Harry, when I thought of something. "No, wait, we can't."

"Oh, I see," Tammy said, audibly disappointed.

"No, that's not what I mean. I think it would be better if you and Larry came over here, or we can go to a restaurant. You guys can get a baby sitter, make it a night out."

No matter what I thought of Harry's chances of becoming a werewolf, there were some things that you just didn't do. That included putting a new lycanthrope around a baby near the full moon. I trusted Harry. I just didn't trust his beast yet.

"If you want," Tammy said. "I'll get Larry to call you to set it up."

"Sounds good."

We said goodbye, and I hung up the phone and bent over, resting my head on my knees.

"Is everything okay?" Richard asked.

"Kind of." I sat up. "Just more of the same shit."

Richard rubbed my back. "Anything I can do?"

"No." I stood up and brushed off the back of my skirt. "We should go inside."

Richard reluctantly stood. "What are we going to do about Harry?" he asked.

Fuck. I'd forgotten about that for a few wonderful minutes. "We do what Harry needs us to do."

"Does that include letting that man take him back to England?"

I gave Richard serious eyes. "There is no way I'm letting him Harry leave under pressure," I said. I held out my hand to Richard. "Come on, inside."

He didn't move to take my hand, just flicked his eyes at the house, then back to me.

What was it now? As much as I loved Richard, and yes, I still loved him, I was tired of his issues. If he didn't want to hold my hand into the house, it was probably because of someone in the house. God knew it wasn't Jason. I had a sinking feeling it was because of Micah, but something in me wanted to point out how silly Richard was being, and said, "Is this because of Nathaniel?"

Richard jumped as if he'd been stung, then tried to cover, but it was too late. I stared at him, my mouth open. There was no fucking way he was jealous of Nathaniel. It was insane. Richard was Ulfric, the most alpha werewolf. Nathaniel was the most submissive of my wereleopards. There was no comparison.

In the end, I just shook my head and said, "We should get back inside." I turned and went up the stairs, not waiting for Richard.

Back in the kitchen, Sylvie and Micah were at the kitchen table. Nathaniel's head was in the fridge, and Jason had taken over Nathaniel's listening post by the door.

I gave Micah a look as I passed him, then I knelt by Jason. "Didn't your mother tell you not to eavesdrop?" I whispered.

He smiled at me. "My mother told me lots of things, like to watch what kind of company I keep."

I nudged him. "You like the company you keep."

"Damned straight." 

I stood up. Richard was back in the kitchen and not looking at anyone. Fine. I'd deal with him later when we were out of the crisis zone.

Nathaniel emerged from the fridge, his hands full of jars. He set them on the counter, then frowned.

Seeing as how Richard was ignoring me, I went over to Nathaniel. "What's up?"

"I need to go shopping again," Nathaniel muttered. "The pard got into the fridge last night, and we're almost empty." He held up a jar. "At least we've got lots of raspberry jam."

I pulled the jar out of his hand, and dumped it into the garbage.

Everyone was staring at me. I shook my head. "How's it going?"

"Still going." Micah slumped a little in his chair.

"Any screaming?" Richard asked.

Micah shook his head. "I guess all we can do is wait."

I crossed my arms over my chest. I hated waiting.

* * *

After Anita and everyone had left, Harry fidgeted silently on the sofa. Dumbledore sat opposite him, regarding him closely. After a few moments of awkward silence, Dumbledore raised his wand.

"What are you doing?" Harry blurted.

"I was going to raise some silencing wards," Dumbledore explained. "To make our conversation private."

"You shouldn't do that," Harry said in a rush. "If Anita can't hear us, she'll think we're gone, and she'll get upset."

Dumbledore lowered his wand. "And you do not wish to upset her?" he asked.

"I don't want to get shot," Harry said. "She's a bit excitable these days."

Dumbledore stowed his wand back in his sleeve. "I must ask, how are you finding your stay here?"

Harry shrugged. "It's good," he said. "Trust me to have to travel halfway around the world and getting attacked by werewolves to find a decent bunch of people."

"Indeed." The headmaster reached up and pulled a box of lemon drops out of the air. "Have you been using your magic at all, recently?"

"A bit," Harry said slowly. He didn't know what Dumbledore wanted to hear. "I just thought it would be better if I didn't use magic if I didn't need to. Besides," Harry said, blushing a bit, "It feels rude to use magic when no one else can do it."

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "A wise decision, then. There is no excuse to be rude." His smile faded. "But they do know about magic."

Harry nodded. "I showed them a bit of stuff, a levitating spoon, but I didn't do much else. Until I fought Bellatrix Lestrange. Twice." Harry thought for a moment. "And disarmed those Aurors. Oh, and I had to do some healing spells to prevent Anita and Nathaniel from bleeding to death." 

Dumbledore looked at Harry. "As much as I would like to say otherwise, I am not surprised. Is there anything else you have told them about our world, Harry?"

Harry fought the urge to squirm. "I may have... accidentally told them part of the prophecy."

Dumbledore sighed. "It is your life, Harry, and your secret to tell, but I can only caution you once again on the inadvisability of letting more people in on the secret of the prophecy."

"Yes, sir," Harry mumbled, abashed.

There was the faint sound of a ringing telephone in the kitchen, then it was silenced.

"Mrs. Weasley made me promise to see how you looked," Dumbledore said. "I will be able to take her back tidings of your good health, other than the obvious issue."

Harry looked at his hands. "Sir, I really didn't mean to get injured by a werewolf, really, it's just--"

"Do not worry, Harry," Dumbledore said with a reassuring smile. "These things do happen. It is best to deal with them and carry on, rather than worrying about what might have been."

Harry examined a spot on the rug, unable to look up. After a few minutes, he said, "What is Voldemort doing?" He didn't really want to know, but he needed to find out. Was Voldemort doing horrible things while Harry was enjoying his vacation?

"It would seem that Voldemort is planning," Dumbledore said, lost in thought. "He is quiet, and at this stage, such inactivity cannot be good."

"Is there anything I could do by going back to England now?" Harry asked, dreading the man's reply.

Dumbledore fixed his bright eyes on Harry. Instead of answering Harry's question, he said, "You have indicated that you plan to return to Hogwarts at the beginning of the school term. Why?"

Harry stared. "Why? What do you mean, why? Because I have to!"

"Because of the prophecy?"

"Because someone needs to stop Voldemort!" Harry stood and began to pace. "Maybe it won't be me, but I've got to try!"

"Well said, Harry." Dumbledore rose from the couch and straightened his robes. "I need to ask you something, and I do not want you to answer right away. Are you ready to deal with the consequences of your actions in the fight against Voldemort?

Dread settled in Harry's stomach. Would he be able to kill someone if he needed to? It wouldn't be like it was with Bellatrix, just failing to intervene. It would be him in a real fight, with real deaths. Could he do that?

While Harry was thinking frantically, Dumbledore said, "Perhaps we should ask the rest back in, to avoid giving that young werewolf around the corner a crick in his neck."

Harry heard a sharp breath, then Jason stepped out into the doorway. He didn't look at all repentant.

As quick as if she'd been standing next to Jason, Anita hurried into the room. "Anything decided?" she asked with an unconvincing calm.

Dumbledore said, "Harry and I have talked, but I am wondering if you would allow me to continue this discussion with him in a little bit. I suspect that he needs some time to think about our conversation."

Micah joined Anita and Jason. "You can stay for lunch," he offered. Anita glared at Micah, but he didn't back down. "It will be in a bit, Nathaniel has to go to the store to get some food."

The wereleopard in question came into the living room through the hall, car keys in hand. "I'll be back in a bit," he promised.

"Can I go with you?" Harry asked suddenly. He needed some time alone, and being with Nathaniel was almost like being alone. Nathaniel wouldn't bother him into talking if he didn't want to.

"Sure," Nathaniel said.

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "I'll be back," he said, then quickly followed Nathaniel out of the house.

* * *

I waited until I heard the Jeep backing out of the driveway before turning to Dumbledore. He'd dropped the cheerful expression, thankfully.

"Now that Harry's gone, there's a few things I'd like to say to you," I said, not even pretending to be civil.

"Of course, Ms. Blake," Dumbledore said. "And I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that I also have several things to say to you."

## 


	30. Middle Ground

* * *

It didn't make any sense, Harry thought as Nathaniel drove down the freeway. Bellatrix being eaten didn't mean anything to him, and it didn't make any sense. People dying was supposed to be bad, horrible, and yet it was fine to him that Bellatrix was dead. Not good, because no one really wanted anyone to be dead, right? But not sad.

 _At least the werewolves didn't go hungry,_ Harry reasoned. Then he realized what he'd thought, and closed his eyes.

Would Voldemort have been happy if one of Harry's friends had been eaten by werewolves? Probably. He'd have probably have danced a fucking dance and sent Harry a Pensive memory.

Harry pulled off his glasses and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes. Several lurid and bloody images danced before his eyes, of Hermione and Ron and Ginny lying on the ground instead of Bellatrix, ripped to pieces by werewolves.

Harry shook his head and looked back up at the road. Things were blurry, bright and moving fast, but none of it could take those images out of his head.

 _I won't ever like pain, I won't ever want to hurt anyone. Voldemort likes pain, not like me,_ Harry thought fiercely. _He likes hurt and death, and I will never do that. I won't ever do that._

As Harry slid his glasses back on, he remembered how the ghostly journal of Voldemort, Tom Riddle, had tried to ruin Ginny's life, tried to take away the bright shininess that was Ginevra Weasely and warp it, make her a killer before sucking her life away. But Ginny fought until the end, had been strong enough to hold on for an entire school year, and had come out of it at the end, whole and real and alive and still fighting.

Somehow, Harry hadn't ever really thought how strong Ginny'd have had to be to survive her possession by Voldemort. If Ginny was in Harry's position, she probably wouldn't be sitting here, worrying about Voldemort. She'd be trying to work out why Dumbledore was in St. Louis, what it meant, not letting worries about the whole mess get in the way and cloud her mind.

Harry shoved his glasses back on, and everything came into focus.

 _There are differences between Voldemort and me, big one. He likes to kill, likes pain, doesn't have friends. I have friends, and I don't like to kill. Bellatrix had to die._ Harry's insides churned as the words formed in his head, but he knew it was real. It was horrible and wrong in so many ways, but it was real.

The jeep slowed as Nathaniel turned into a giant parking lot. The place seemed typical of these American muggle places; huge and boxy and too clean to mean anything. It was so far away from Bellatrix's body in the woods, or Anita screaming in the dark, that Harry was having a hard time believing it all belonged in the same world.

Did Dumbledore know that Harry didn't regret killing Bellatrix? Did he see a killer in Harry? Dumbledore had been Voldemort's teacher at Hogwarts, as Harry well knew from his encounter with Tom Riddle's diary in second year. Dumbledore knew what a killer looked like. Did he see that in Harry?

Nathaniel pulled the car into a parking stall and turned off the engine. "Do you want to stay here while I get the food?" he asked.

"No," Harry blurted out a bit too quickly. "I mean, no." He shimmied out of his seatbelt and pushed open his door. The heat hit Harry in the face like a slap, the oven-like heat rising from the asphalt.

Nathaniel joined him on the passenger side of the car and waited. The wereleopard hadn't said ten words during the trip. Harry thought he'd wanted Nathaniel's silence, but now he wanted to know what his friend was thinking. Did Nathaniel think that Harry was a threat, now that he knew Harry was marked to either kill or be killed?

Nathaniel started to walk toward the boxy store, but then noticed that Harry wasn't following him. "Is something wrong?" Nathaniel asked.

"What do you think?" Harry snapped. Nathaniel just looked at him, and Harry felt horrible. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't worry about it, it's cool." Nathaniel said.

Harry squinted up at the sky. A lone cloud drifted languidly across the sky under the baking sun. Harry wasn't sure if he could deal with the air-conditioned boxy excess of the grocery store right then.

"Maybe I should go back and sit in the car," Harry muttered.

Nathaniel looked at him. "If you want a minute or so to not do anything, we can go get a coffee," he said.

It would be too much effort to explain what he was feeling to Nathaniel, so Harry walked with the wereleopard toward another shop-front in the complex.

The interior of the shop was cool and dark, and smelled strongly of freshly ground coffee. Harry blinked several times before his vision adjusted. By then Nathaniel had joined the queue at the counter.

"You're really getting a coffee?" Harry asked, joining Nathaniel. "It's hotter than dragon breath out there."

"So I'll get it iced," Nathaniel said with a smile. "Do you want something?"

Harry looked around. "How about one of those iced drinks, like she's got?" he said, pointing at a teenage girl by the counter. She caught sight of him pointing, and giggled.

"Sounds good." Nathaniel stepped up to the counter. After a few minutes of conversation, in which Nathaniel ordered something that sounded like one of those Italian hexes Harry studied the previous year at Hogwarts, they got their drinks and went to sit by a table at the window.

Harry tasted his drink cautiously. It was like a coffee milkshake with caramel inside, and he took another pull on his straw. "This is good."

"You sound surprised," Nathaniel said, prying the lid off his cup.

"I haven't ever had one," Harry explained. "Dudley got one at the airport when we landed, but they wouldn't spend-- I mean, I wasn't thirsty." Uncomfortably, Harry wondered if Nathaniel had caught his slip, but the wereleopard just sat there, unconcerned. After a few moments of silence, Harry asked what he'd been thinking in the car. "Aren't you going to say anything about what happened today?"

"No," Nathaniel said. "I don't have anything to say."

Considering how many questions Nathaniel had about Harry and his magic on that first day, Harry found this surprising. "Nothing about me staying? About Dumbledore?"

Nathaniel shook his head slowly. "Dumbledore's not going to pay attention to me, so no."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

Nathaniel raised his head, and Harry didn't understand the look in his lavender eyes. "I'm not one of the important people, like you or Anita or Richard, so Dumbledore's not going to pay me as much attention as he is to them. That's the way it works."

"But Dumbledore's not like that," Harry protested. "It wouldn't matter to him that you're not an alpha."

Nathaniel's expression didn't change, but Harry somehow knew Nathaniel was trying to be patient with him. "If he thinks I'm more important in this whole thing than Anita, he's not paying close enough attention," Nathaniel said. "But that's not the issue. You asked me a question, and I'm not going to say anything to you about you leaving. It won't make any difference. If you stay in St. Louis, it will be because you want to stay, for you. If you leave, it'll be for the same reason. Nothing I say should make any difference. I'll listen if you want to talk, but I'm not going to try and change your mind because only you can do that."

It was the longest speech Harry had ever heard Nathaniel give, and he wasn't sure what to say.

"But if you want to talk, I'll listen," Nathaniel continued. "I'm good at listening."

Harry slumped in his chair and played with his straw. "I don't know what to do," he said.

"With what?"

"Anything." Harry shook his head. "Just... all of it."

Nathaniel leaned forward. "Are you talking about the prophecy, too?" he asked very quietly.

Harry looked away.

"What does it say?" Nathaniel asked. "It must be pretty freaky for you to know you need to kill someone."

"It's not freaky, not really." Harry put his elbows on the table so he could get closer to Nathaniel. The shop was noisy, and no one seemed to be paying attention to them, but Harry wanted to make sure no one overheard him. "It's about me and Voldemort and my parents, at first, then that I have to... you know."

"Does it say it right out?" Nathaniel pushed. "Or is it all twisted up? Prophecies in books are all twisted up."

Nathaniel's eyes were bright with interest, and looking at his friend, Harry came to a decision. Dumbledore had said it was Harry's choice to tell who he wanted. He'd already told Ron and Hermione, and nothing bad had happened to them.

Harry pushed his drink to the side. "It's not long," he said. "It said, _The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches..._ That's me, apparently. _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._ "

"So your parents did that?" Nathaniel asked. "Makes sense. And your birthday is at the end of July."

"Then it goes, _the dark lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the dark lord knows not._ That's talking about my scar, that first bit. And it ends, _either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._ "

Harry sat back, heart pounding in his chest. The words had been etched in his brain since that night in Dumbledore's office, the night Sirius died. He hadn't ever told anyone the words, not like that. He'd only told Ron and Hermione the gist of the prophecy, that he had to kill Voldemort.

As Harry watched Nathaniel for any indication of what the man was thinking, all the expression left Nathaniel's face. "What?" Harry asked quickly,

Nathaniel bit his lower lip for a moment, looking down at the table. "Who told you that prophecy meant you needed to kill Voldemort?" he asked, voice barely audible.

Harry started to say that it was Dumbledore, but stopped himself. "I did," Harry said, realization dawning. "I said that it was like that, and Dumbledore agreed with me." He looked at Nathaniel, still so carefully blank. "Why did you ask me that?"

Nathaniel didn't reply for a few minutes. "What if there was another meaning?" he finally said.

Harry frowned. "What else could it mean?"

"That last line," Nathaniel said. " _Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_ , it just doesn't sound like it means you need to kill him."

Harry's insides started to turn to ice. Something that he desperately needed to know was hovering out of reach, like a Snitch in a rainstorm.

"What if it means that for him to die, you also need to die?"

"No," Harry said automatically. "It doesn't mean that. It can't mean that."

Nathaniel ducked his head. "You're probably right," he said. "I don't know anything about prophesies."

Harry tuned Nathaniel out and concentrated on breathing. It wasn't possible, that he needed to die for Voldemort to die. It was supposed to be that he killed Voldemort and then it was over, he'd get to live. Sure, they were connected to each other, with Harry's scar and his blood that Voldemort used for the resurrection spell in the graveyard. But that didn't mean they would be linked, even in death.

 _But what if it's true?_ Harry wondered, his head spinning. _What if this connection we have, what he did to me when I was a baby, means something more? If Nathaniel's right, then the only way for me to stop Voldemort is for me to die?_ The thought hit Harry in the chest, almost like a physical blow, and he closed his eyes. _Does it all come down to this? My entire life doesn't mean a thing? No matter what I do, it's all going to end?_

Harry opened his eyes, wishing desperately he had never drunk the coffee milkshake. Feeling sick, he put his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.

Why was it he'd had less of a problem with the thought of killing Voldemort, than of having to die to do it? Something else occurred to him. If his death would stop Voldemort, then all those times he'd barely escaped dangerous situations by the skin of his teeth, he'd actually been helping Voldemort?

 _I've lost everything to Voldemort,_ Harry thought. _My parents, Sirius. Do I have to die for him too?_

"Pardon me?" A cheerful voice interrupted Harry's hazy thoughts. He looked up. One of the shop girls stood by the table, a cleaning rag in hand. "Are you done with your drink?"

Harry blinked owlishly at the girl. What did it matter if she cleared the table, if he was going to die? What did any of it matter?

 _What will happen to muggles like her if you don't stop Voldemort?_ whispered a voice in Harry's head. _He won't stop in England. How will the muggles defend themselves if he goes after them here?_

Anita, and people like her, would try and stop him, but how far would they get? Would they die screaming? Would Harry be able to live with himself, if he lived, keeping Voldemort alive?

Could Harry just walk away to live a half-life, when so many people would die?

"Yes, I'm finished," Harry said, sitting up. He tried to smile at the girl, but it felt like a lie.

The girl must not have noticed, because she picked up his cup, smiling happily down at him, then moved off to another table.

Nathaniel was staring at Harry, eyes wide. Harry stood up. "Come on, we should get going. Dumbledore's still at the house," he said.

Nathaniel slowly stood up. Harry glared at him, daring him to say something about the prophecy, but Nathaniel remained silent as they walked out of the coffee shop and into the hot sunshine. Halfway across the parking lot, Harry stopped and faced Nathaniel.

"I need you to not tell anyone about this," Harry said.

Nathaniel froze. "I don't--"

"Nathaniel, please," Harry pressed. He knew that if he pushed hard enough, Nathaniel would agree to anything he wanted. He felt like a monster, manipulating his friend like this, but no one could know about this possible new interpretation of the prophecy, not yet. Not until Harry knew what he was going to do.

"Not even Anita?"

Harry had known Nathaniel for little over a week, and in that short time he had seen the strength of Nathaniel's feelings for Anita. He would tell her anything, no matter what anyone else asked of him. "If she needs you to tell her, yeah, but if not, can you not tell her?"

Nathaniel nodded solemnly. Harry let out a breath. He didn't want to think about prophecy or magic any more, not for a little while. As he followed Nathaniel into the huge boxy muggle store, he pushed his fears to the back of his mind. It was possible that he was completely wrong, that he could kill Voldemort and continue with his life. But if Nathaniel had been right...

Harry didn't know what he was going to do.


	31. Talking Spaces

* * *

Harry and Nathaniel were gone, and the silence in the living room was weighted, like a hand pressing on my back. I glared at Dumbledore.

"How can you stand there like nothing's wrong?" I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. I was so cold, but I wasn't going to let him see it. "Oh, sorry, I guess this sort of thing comes naturally to you."

"Anita..." Micah tried to stop me, but I wasn't having any of it.

"Manipulating little boys? Twisting everything around until they think they need to go kill the bad guys because no one else will get off their asses to do anything?"

"We are at war," Dumbledore said so calmly I wanted to hit him. "At times like this, the unspoken rules of childhood vanish. Unfortunately, Harry no longer has time to be a child."

"Because you're throwing him into danger," I exclaimed. Micah came up behind me and put his arms around me. I wanted to push him away, but he was warm, almost hot, and so comforting. I let him hold me. His arms around me might stop me from doing something I'd regret.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry is in danger because Voldemort believes that Harry is a threat to him. It would not matter what I did, Voldemort would still come after Harry."

"But you told Harry that he's supposed to kill Voldemort," I pushed. "Voldemort didn't tell Harry that, you did. You let Harry think it was right. He's just a kid. You people are just as magical as Harry is, why doesn't anyone else do what needs to be done?"

"They are scared," Dumbledore said.

"So fucking what?" I exclaimed. "If they'd rather sacrifice a kid on the altar of their own cowardice, maybe they deserve to die."

Micah gave my shoulder a warning squeeze. "You don't mean that, Anita," he said.

I turned my head to him. His face was so close it was hard to focus, but I breathed in the familiar warmth of his skin, and felt the edge of my scared anger melt back. "No, I don't," I admitted

"Ms. Blake, I understand that you are upset," Dumbledore said. "I would be too, if someone I cared about was in danger."

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I didn't care about Harry, but that was a lie. If I didn't care, I wouldn't be so pissed off by Dumbledore and what he represented. It seemed like Harry needed all the help he could get.

"It sounds as if Harry has given you his version of events," Dumbledore continued. "Shall I tell you how I perceive these events, the second rise of Voldemort?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What a great idea."

"I will begin," Dumbledore said, "With what happened when Harry first arrived at Hogwarts, when he was eleven years old..."

* * *

After Dumbledore finished his long and rather disturbing story, I just stared at him. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

Dumbledore shrugged and pulled a small box of candy out of thin air. "You may believe what you like, Ms. Blake, but it is the truth."

Micah rubbed his cheek against mine. If you didn't know him as well as I did, you wouldn't know that he was upset. "Why aren't the authorities doing anything about this?" he asked.

"The muggle police?" Dumbledore asked. "They do not know of magic."

"So how are they going to fight?" I asked. "If the wizards won't fight, the rest of us are all that's left to fight."

"They are scared," Dumbledore said. "They fear Voldemort and what his Death Eaters can do."

"But Harry's willing to do it," Jason said from his spot beside Sylvie on the loveseat. "He's scared, but he's still going to do it."

Micah squeezed my hand and led me over to the couch. While we were settling in, curled up like two cats, Richard spoke up. "What will happen if the normal people in England find out about this magic war?"

It seemed like an odd question, and I frowned at him.

"What would happen if the normal people found out that witches were having a magical war, right under their noses, and weren't too careful about who got in their way?" Richard asked, standing up. He hooked his fingers in the back pockets, which he never did unless he was trying to stop himself from acting rashly. "How long would it take for the police to start arresting people?"

"Arresting, hell," I said. "They'd go set up the pyre right in the town square."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, Ms. Blake, such actions would not result in the capture of an actual witch."

"The fuck it wouldn't!" I leaned forward. "I've got friends, they're not your kind of witch, but they'd burn just the same."

"Or someone who was caught in the wrong place, and was just a normal person," Richard added heavily. "Or a child, who didn't know how to save himself."

The blazing look in Dumbledore's eyes stopped whatever else I was going to say. "This is why this war needs to stop," he said. He spoke quietly, but the room had suddenly grown so silent that his voice seemed loud. "Before it gets to that. Before more children die."

"Before Harry dies?" Richard demanded. "Isn't that what this is really about? Sending Harry in to a situation that might get him killed?"

"It is Harry's choice," Dumbledore repeated with an infuriating calm.

"But it's not, not anymore," Jason said suddenly. "He thinks he's the only one who can stop this guy, now, so he has to go back." Under Dumbledore's scrutiny, Jason huddled closer to Sylvie.

I squeezed Micah's hand, so hard that if he hadn't been a lycanthrope, I'd have hurt him. "What else does he have in England, anyway?" I said, drawing Dumbledore's attention away from Jason. "A family who loathes the sight of him, an evil wizard who wants him dead."

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong," Dumbledore said mildly. "Harry does have people in England who care for him. The Weasleys, who I told you about, care for Harry almost as if he were a part of their family. His friend, Hermione Granger. Others as well, including, before his death, Sirius Black. Their influences on Harry are not to be ignored."

"It's good to know that somebody over there cares about Harry," I said bitterly.

Dumbledore seemed determined to ignore it when I tried to insult him. "Harry's ability to care for people, and that others care for him, is in fact one of his greatest assets," he said. "It is a force that Voldemort cannot understand, the compassion and caring that Harry has in abundance. It need not have turned out this way."

"What do you mean?" Micah asked.

"You met Harry's guardians, Ms. Blake," Dumbledore explained. "They are resentful and terrified of magic in any form, and so expressed their displeasure upon Harry. In almost any child, such neglect would have created an equally resentful attitude in the child, but not so in Harry's case. If anything, it pushed him into being more accepting of his parents' world than many muggle-raised children."

"So how did that happen?" Jason asked from Sylvie's side. I glared at him. As I did so, I barely caught the pensive expression on Sylvie's face. What was she thinking about?

Dumbledore inclined his head at Jason. "Harry's parents loved their son very much," he said. "When Lily found out she was pregnant, even though we were in the middle of a struggle with Voldemort's forces, she immediately began to make plans for the child. When Harry was born, both she and James spent as much time with Harry as they could." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Even though they were young, younger than you, Ms. Blake, they loved their child, and they took their responsibilities to heart.

"I am a firm believer that a child, no matter how young, will remember love," Dumbledore continued. "That somehow, after Lily and James were murdered protecting their son's life, Harry held onto that love, and it shaped him into the young man he is today."

Micah let out a tiny sigh. I turned my head to him, to see his bright yellow-green eyes. I wondered about the look in his eyes. Even after more than a year, I didn't know much about his family, or how he'd grown up. Would he ever tell me about where he came from?

Sylvie sat up on the couch. "Mr. Dumbledore, can I ask you a question about that story you told us? About Harry?"

"Of course, Ms. Barker."

"Call me Sylvie," she said automatically.

"Then I must insist that you call me Albus," Dumbledore said, his voice pleasant. It seemed sincere, but I was still so annoyed that it pissed me off.

"Albus," Sylvie said. "About this Tri-Wizard Tournament? The second task?"

"What about it?"

"You said that Harry could have won the task, but he stayed behind to make sure that everyone else was rescued?" As Sylvie talked, Richard slowly crossed his arms over his chest. I knew that mannerism. He was thinking too hard.

"He did," Dumbledore said. "Then, when Fleur Delacour failed to rescue her sister, Harry confronted the merfolk to take Gabrielle Delacour with him."

"Why?" Sylvie's question was like a shot. "Why did he risk himself and his friend for someone he never met?"

Dumbledore looked at Sylvie over his glasses. "Because he is Harry," Dumbledore said. "Because he was in the position to save someone from what he thought was a danger. Not for glory, or fame, but because in the dark, he will not leave anybody behind."

I made a sound, half sob, half cough, in my throat. "That's a brilliant way to get yourself killed," I spat.

Dumbledore turned to look at me, but Jason's words came at me before Dumbledore could otherwise react. "You do it all the time," Jason said.

"That's not the same," I protested. "It's my job."

"But you still do it," Micah said softly. "Don't pretend it's not important." He squeezed my hand as he spoke, then ran his hands over my arms, trying to comfort me.

I didn't want to be comforted. I stood up, not very gently disentangling myself from Micah's embrace, and paced the length of the room. "If Harry were an adult, then maybe I'd be okay with this," I said after a minute. "But he's not."

"You were not much older than Harry when you first began to hunt vampires," Dumbledore said.

"And how did you know about that?" I asked, voice cold. Tammy's warnings about how Harry's type of witch considered necromancers to be dangerous echoed in my head.

"My American counterparts monitor the American vampires," Dumbledore said. His empty hands were on his knees, but not seeing a wand didn't make me feel any better. I hadn't seen Bellatrix's wand that first night.

The thought caused an immediate rush of fear that twisted my stomach so hard that I almost gasped. It took all that I had in me, but I didn't let the memories of that pain show on my face as I stared down Dumbledore.

"In part of that work, they also watch the muggles who hunt them," Dumbledore continued. He didn't make any indication that he'd seen me flinch. "When you began to kill the vampires, you came to their attention. Then, after your courts declared vampires to be legal, and when your association with the vampires grew, you became a much more interesting area of speculation."

Listening to Dumbledore filled me with a different kind of fear. Regardless of how early in the day it was, I reached out across the city to Jean-Claude. I brushed his mind, and felt him just awakening. _Listen to this,_ I urged him as he opened his eyes.

"How much do you know about me?" I demanded. I knew the FBI had a file on me, but the American wizards as well?

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side. "A fair deal, although I am certain that the information is spotty at best," he said in an apologetic tone. "I suspect that Harry knows more about you than anyone else, after spending a week in your house. For example, I assume that he knows you are a succubus?"

I let out the breath in my lungs, and just stared at him. Ronnie had been hard enough to deal with, but then to have one of Harry's teachers just pop out of thin air and accuse me of.... what the hell was he trying to say?

I felt the warmth from Richard's body at my back before he placed his hands on my arms. "I don't know who you've been talking to," Richard said forcefully, "But they're wrong. Anita's the best person I know. She'd never do anything to a kid like Harry."

While I was still trying to find my voice, Dumbledore responded. "That is not what I meant, Ms. Blake, and I apologize for any innuendo I may have introduced into the conversation." He paused, staring very hard at me, or maybe at Richard behind me. "In my world, wizards are taught to fear succubae and incubi. If Harry had had a proper defence against the dark arts teacher, he would have learned this fear along with the rest of his classmates. But he has not, and it led me to wonder how he reacted when he learned of your nature."

Richard's hands tightened on my arms, and I hastily sent him soothing thoughts. He was already on edge because of this, we didn't need him losing his temper.

"He was fine with it," Micah said. "I explained it all to him, and then so did Nathaniel, and he seemed to understand."

"He's just like that," Jason added.

"How do you mean?" Dumbledore asked mildly.

Jason gulped, and looked beseechingly at me. I shook my head. He was going to have to get out of this one on his own.

"I mean that Harry got to know Anita before he know what she was," Jason explained hesitantly. "Same with me and with Nathaniel. He didn't freak because we were lycanthropes, because we were already like real people to him."

Dumbledore nodded. "A very wise interpretation of Harry's character, Mr. Schuyler. Or shall I call you Jason?"

Jason shrugged. "Doesn't matter, really." He was trying to make himself seem small and harmless, I realized. He didn't do that often. So why was he acting this way around Dumbledore?

"Jason, then." Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, as if he was considering his next words. "I, too, know some werewolves, and I have to say that Harry's reaction to lycanthropes is very mature for his age." He looked up at Richard. "You have spent time around Harry. Do you think he will change at the full moon?"

"It looks that way," Richard said quietly.

"But might not the fact that his grandfather is a vampire not influence the change?" Dumbledore asked.

I turned around and looked at Richard. He was as puzzled as I was. "I hadn't thought about that," I said, pulling away from Richard and rejoining Micah on the couch. Lost in thought, I put my arm over Micah's shoulder and relaxed against him. He sat quietly as I tried to work out what I wanted to say. "There weren't many kids born to vampire parents before vampires were made legal by our Supreme Court," I said. "Those that were, no one really talked about them. I don't know if the vampires ever noted if any of those kids were infected with lycanthropy."

As I spoke, I was mentally asking Jean-Claude across the city if he knew of any such children. He told me that he had not, but the idea might have merit.

"Wouldn't you know?" Richard asked Dumbledore. "I thought a magical world like yours might have more human-vampire interbreeding."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "That is not the case. The Wizarding world is not as accepting of these children with vampire fathers as is America, it appears. Even the ones without any visible sign of Vlad's Syndrome are considered pariahs. If Lily Evans' true parentage had been know, I am afraid she would never have been allowed into Hogwarts."

I stared at Dumbledore. "What is this, more of that pure-blooded crap?" I demanded. "I know that the deformities that can result from Vlad's Syndrome can be horrendous, if the child even survives outside the womb, but a lot of these kids have been born just fine, and they're as healthy and normal as any other kid."

"Harry has told you about the prejudices on blood, then?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah, he told me," I said, sitting up a little. "It sounds like the usual ignorant prejudices, like being afraid of lycanthropes, and not paying attention to the person behind the prejudice. If it's not magical birth, or turning furry once a month, it'll always be something else." I closed my mouth before I said something about my mother. I didn't mean to think about her, not really, but talking about blaming the child for the circumstances of their birth dredged up a series of horrible memories of being dragged along with my very blonde stepmother, Judith, and her equally Nordic daughter Andrea. Judith had always been quick to tell curious strangers that I was only her stepdaughter. Sometimes the strangers let it go. Sometimes they had asked what my mother was. It's hard to forget that kind of talk about your own mother.

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Unfortunately, these prejudices can cause a great deal of harm. There is a climate of fear in England. The hysteria is extending to others beyond the muggle-born. Werewolves included."

Richard slouched on the arm of the loveseat next to Sylvie. He put his hand on the back of the sofa, touching Sylvie's shoulder. "You said that if Harry turned at the moon, he could still go back to your school," he said. Dumbledore nodded. "How do your people treat werewolves? Harry told us that one of his teachers was a werewolf?"

"Yes, Remus Lupin. A good man. A good friend to Lily and James." Dumbledore smoothed a wrinkle out in his robes, and I found my eyes following the movement of his hands. His hands looked older than the rest of him. How old was he, really? "When he was at Hogwarts as a student, we had a set of precautions in place for the nights of the full moon. We can reintroduce them, of course."

"What about the other teachers?" Sylvie asked. "Will any of them object to Harry?"

Was it just me being hypersensitive, or did Dumbledore hesitate slightly before answering? "No teacher or staff member at Hogwarts will object to Harry's lycanthropic status," Dumbledore said. "We will arrange for Harry's safety on the required nights."

"Because he's your saviour," I said under my breath.

Dumbledore heard me. "Because he is my student," he said admonishingly.

While I glared, Richard quickly jumped in to distract me and Dumbledore. "But it's not just the night of the full moon," Richard said. "If Harry's a werewolf, it's an everyday thing. It's his temper, his strength, his... How long have you been a teacher?"

"A very long time," Dumbledore said. "You are referring to the potent mix of the hormones of a teenager and the impulses of a werewolf?"

Richard nodded. "A new werewolf can kill his partner during sex." Richard dug his hand into the back of the sofa. "The newly infected may hear it from their sponsors, but they might think can control it, or that it won't get out of hand. Some of the new ones can't help but change. If Harry were staying here, I'd be better able to keep an eye on him, but if he's leaving, there's a danger that he might hurt someone without meaning to."

The lukoi, the werewolves, had a couple of sexual surrogates for the new wolves in cases the wolf's sponsor wasn't able or willing to take the task on themselves. The Eros and Eranthe basically were there to help the new wolf relearn the ropes for sex without worrying about hurting anyone.

"I'll have the talk with Harry before he goes," Richard continued, "But I don't know if he'll listen to me. I thought that you should know, in case."

"Thank you for telling me this," Dumbledore said gravely. "I believe, however, that Harry will not lose his head over this."

"He won't," Jason said. "He's a smart kid."

 _He is,_ Jean-Claude whispered in my head. _But perhaps not in all things?_

 _What do you mean?_ I asked.

_From what I have heard, this wizard is succeeding in prying information out of you and Richard on the pretext of Harry's health. I wonder if a conversation between Dumbledore and Harry will produce the same results?_

_Do you want us to stop?_ I asked Jean-Claude.

 _Non. Keep talking, ma petite. I trust your discretion, as well as Richard's._ Jean-Claude paused. _All the same, I would appreciate it if you would send Jason back to me. I would feel better if my pomme de sang was out of harm's way._

I couldn't argue with that. It was just too bad that I couldn't go with him.

* * *

Sylvie left at the same time Jason did. She had to go check on Paul, and Richard seemed eager to get her away from Dumbledore as Jean-Claude did Jason.

Jason was unhappy at leaving. Part of it was wanting to know what was going on, but I think Jason was genuinely worried about what Dumbledore's presence meant for Harry. I wish I could have told him that I wasn't any happier about this than he was.

When Jason's car was gone from sight, I went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Truthfully, I just needed a break. The beans were ground and the water bubbling through the machine when Micah came up and hugged me. I hugged him back, pressing my cheek against his.

"How are you doing?" Micah whispered.

I hugged him tighter. "Okay, I guess." 

Micah stroked my hair. "Are you sure?" 

"No." I turned my head to look outside. "I know that Dumbledore's supposed to be one of the good guys, but..." My voice trailed off. I hated to admit weakness, and Micah had already seen me at my weakest this week.

"But you can't forget what Bellatrix did," Micah finished for me. "Anita, it's natural."

"Not for me." I pulled back from the hug. I needed to be strong, for Harry as well as me, and letting Micah protect me from the world wasn't the way to do that. "I can't be like this."

Micah looked at me sadly, taking his hands in mine. "I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you."

I half-wanted to know what he meant, but the thought was a little too scary. "Do you want some coffee?" I asked, changing the subject.

Micah squeezed my hands and smiled at me. "No, thank you."

He stayed with me as I poured myself a cup, then walked with me back into the living room. Richard and Dumbledore looked up as I sat on the couch. I flashed them a smile. "Let's talk about Voldemort," I said sweetly.

Dumbledore seemed amused with my request, for some unknown reason. "What about him?"

"What happened after Harry did whatever he did, sixteen years ago?" I asked. "What happened to those Death Eater terrorists?"

"Terrorists," Dumbledore repeated. "Yes, that is an accurate description. When Voldemort vanished, after killing Harry's parents and attempting to kill Harry himself, the Death Eaters panicked. Some maintained Voldemort's vicious campaign and ended up in Azkaban prison. Some switched sides. Some managed to convince the Ministry of Magic that they had been under a controlling spell by Voldemort that forced their actions."

"They got away with that?" I exclaimed, almost spilling my coffee.

"They did." Dumbledore's expression was cold. "But the others were dangerous as well. You will recall I told you of Barty Crouch Junior?"

"The one who impersonated the teacher in Harry's fourth year?" Richard asked.

"The same. He, and other followers of Voldemort, were directly responsible for the torture of Frank Longbottom and his wife Alice. One of those involved was Bellatrix Lestrange."

I put down my coffee cup with a suddenly shaking hand. "Is that so?" I said, trying to keep my voice level.

"I gather from your reaction that Bellatrix is no longer a threat?" Dumbledore asked. The room was silent. "Harry told me that she tortured you, but unfortunately, the subject was changed before he could tell me the conclusion to that story."

Micah's hand settled on my back, rubbing in soft circles. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't about to tell Dumbledore that Bellatrix had been eaten by werewolves, or that Harry had caused it. Unfortunately, Richard spoke first.

"She was killed in self-defence," Richard said. "She killed one of my wolves, and was trying to kill another and Anita."

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. "Did Harry kill her?" he asked.

"No," I said quickly.

"Did his actions contribute to her death?" Dumbledore shot back. I concentrated very hard of keeping my face blank. Dumbledore sighed. "Ms. Blake, I thought we were going to be frank with one another. My world also understands the concept of self-defence. I am asking as someone concerned about Harry."

"So what if he did?" I demanded. "It's all a part of this stupid war you've thrown him into. A war that sends a manic after him, forcing a kid to become a killer."

"Bellatrix Lestrange was sent after Nigel Spencer, not Harry," Dumbledore pointed out. "But I take your point. Sadly, this was not the first time Harry's actions have resulted in the death of an opponent."

"What do you mean?" Richard asked, confused.

"I told you about Quirrell, Harry's teacher in first year, who was possessed by Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "He died at Harry's hand. Not intentionally, and it was only in self-defence that Harry acted, but nevertheless, he died because of Harry." Dumbledore tapped his fingers together. "I have waited for nearly six years for Harry to ask about Quirrell's death. Six years, for Harry to question what he did. But he has not. This lack of questioning has made me wonder."

I took a deep breath. "Why are you telling us all this?"

Dumbledore looked up at me with those intense blue eyes. "I have heard many things about you, Ms. Blake, and above all, I know that you, like Harry, are a survivor. Like Harry, you will take any and all action required to protect your people and do what is needed. Not what is nice, or pretty, but what is required."

Dumbledore stood and swept over to the window. As he looked out onto the front lawn, he continued. "Today, when I spoke to Harry, I saw something that I did not expect. In the six weeks since I last saw Harry, he has matured greatly. Speaking with him, I realize that I must lay most of this at your feet. Harry is an extremely good judge of character, for the most part. He trusts you, and that is the vital piece."

He should have looked ludicrously out of place, this ancient wizard in his story-book clothes, but it all seemed normal. "What do you want?" I asked. "I'm not going to do anything behind Harry's back."

"And I will not ask you to," Dumbledore said, unperturbed. "I am an old man, Ms. Blake. Old men plan, they scheme. It has been a long time since I have simply been able to react. I can teach Harry magic and strategy, but I am too old for other things." He looked over his glasses at me. "Teach Harry how to survive. Teach him how to live through this coming battle."

I stood up, wondering if I looked as pale as I felt. "I don't--" 

"Do you care about Harry?" Dumbledore asked, for the second time today. He didn't let me answer. "Harry is willing to throw himself into battle, regardless of the outcome. He needs someone to show him how to get himself out alive."

I looked at Richard helplessly. What the hell did Dumbledore want me to do? I could teach Harry to shoot, but teach him to survive? 

Jean-Claude's caress in my mind helped centre me, helped me focus. Knowing what I did now, I couldn't let Harry walk out of my house at the end of the summer into a battlefield without being prepared. It wasn't a matter of Harry being my responsibility because he was Damian's grandson. Like it or lump it, Harry was a part of the pack now, part of the family. I wasn't going to let him get himself killed as soon as I let him out of my sight.

"Sure," I said. "I mean, I'll do it."

Dumbledore's expression never changed, but something lightened in his eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Blake."

I nodded and went back to the couch. Micah let me sit against him, silently supporting me. When Dumbledore was gone, I'd have to thank Micah for just being here with me, always on my side.

"What about those people Bellatrix tortured?" Richard said softly. "Are they the ones who went crazy?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "They never recovered from the Cruciatus curse."

"Then how did Anita survive it?" Richard asked.

I let out my breath slowly. This conversation wasn't making my stomach twist up, strangely. Maybe it had something to do with Micah at my side and Jean-Claude in my head, both comforting me in their own way.

"I do not know," Dumbledore said. "But I have a theory." He went back and settled on the couch, taking so long that I was about ready to scream. "We do know that the Cruciatus curse does not work on vampires," he finally said.

"But I'm not a vampire," I said quickly.

"It also does not work on Inferi, which is a certain type of zombie," Dumbledore added.

"So?"

"You are not dead, Ms. Blake, but as a necromancer, you hold death within you. You are tied to two vampires." Dumbledore folded his hands again. "I believe that it was only these ties and your own magic that helped you fight the curse."

I didn't know what to say. I tried to cover by standing up. "I should really call Nathaniel, see when he and Harry will be back," I stammered, then escaped to the kitchen before anyone could say anything.

I picked up the phone, but just stood staring at the number pad. I didn't want to consider what might have happened if I hadn't survived the curse in the woods. Instead, I replayed the conversation with Dumbledore.

It was telling, I realized, what he was interested in. Not in what he asked about, but in what he didn't. He hadn't asked about Nathaniel, or Damian, and had barely touched on Jean-Claude. But he had to know about them, if he knew so much about the rest of my life. The wizard had also nearly sidestepped addressing the issue of my necromancy.

Grimly, I punched Nathaniel's cell number into the phone. I still didn't trust Dumbledore as far as he'd let me throw him. I was going to teach Harry how to survive, but not because Dumbledore asked me. I'd do it in spite of that, to give Harry a fighting chance at surviving what Dumbledore was going to put him up against.


	32. Hold the Line

* * *

Lunch was a very subdued affair. Nathaniel didn't speak to Harry on the trip home in the car, and once they arrived back at Anita's house, the young wereleopard vanished wordlessly into the kitchen. Anita and Richard were withdrawn, and Micah was so quiet Harry almost forgot he was there.

Dumbledore alone seemed to enjoy the meal, and provided most of the entertainment. He told the lycanthropes and Anita stories of magic in the Middle Ages, of dragon hunts and great quests long past. Ordinarily, Harry would have enjoyed himself immensely, but today it was all he could do to swallow his food. He kept replaying his conversation with Nathaniel in the coffee shop, when he had that the horrible realization that he might have to die to stop Voldemort.

 _It might not be right_ , Harry tried to tell himself as he poked at a slice of carrot. _The prophecy may still mean that I kill Voldemort, or he kills me. Dumbledore thinks that's right, so it's probably true._

But what if Dumbledore only told him that to give him a bit of false hope? What if Dumbledore knew Harry had to die to stop Voldemort, and didn't have the heart to tell him out of pity?

Belatedly, Harry realized Richard was trying to get his attention. "I'm sorry, what?" Harry said, sitting up straighter.

"I said, what are you going to take at school this year?" Richard repeated.

"Oh." Harry tried to cast his mind back to his courses. "Defence against the dark arts and transfiguration, and charms, and magical creatures. Same as last year. It's NEWTs this year, so I'm only taking a few classes."

"I thought you said you were not bad at potions or something," Richard said.

Harry shrugged and pushed his salad around his plate with his fork. "I didn't have good enough grades in my OWLs to get into potions in sixth year." Not that Harry really minded. After he threw over his idea at becoming an Auror, no potions class means Harry didn't have to suffer through any more classes with Snape.

Dumbledore dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, then laid the cloth down by the side of his plate. "Luncheon was excellent, thank you," Dumbledore said to Nathaniel. The wereleopard looked up quickly, his face expressionless. "I thank you for your hospitality, but I am afraid I must be getting back. This time of year is busy enough, I do not wish my absence to be noticed."

Anita stood. "You're not taking Harry back now," she said warily.

"No, I am not," Dumbledore agreed. "However, it would be inadvisable for Harry to return to England using magical methods at this time. Might you be able to use muggle transportation, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "I've still got my plane ticket, I think I can change the date on it."

"I'll get him back to England in one piece," Anita interrupted. "It's four days after the full moon, right?"

"September first, yes," Harry replied. "But you don't have to go through any trouble--" He stopped when Anita glared at him.

"You're not any trouble," she said firmly.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Before I go, Harry, might I speak with you alone for a few minutes?"

"Sure, I guess." 

Dumbledore gave Anita a small bow. "Ms. Blake, thank you again for your time," Dumbledore said. "And you, Mr. Zeeman. Mr. Callahan." 

Harry wondered if Dumbledore forgot to include Nathaniel in the list, or if there was another reason that the Headmaster skipped over the submissive wereleopard.

Anita pursed her lips. "It was an interesting morning," was all she said.

Harry was beginning to get the impression that Anita didn't like Dumbledore very much. He trailed after the older wizard to the front foyer, then out the front door into the bright afternoon.

Once outside, Dumbledore reached into his robes and pulled out a thin card, about the size and shape of one of Uncle Vernon's muggle credit cards. "Harry, before I go, I wish to speak to you about the incident with the American Aurors," Dumbledore said, very serious.

Harry's heart sank. He had somehow forgotten all about the magical fight at the police station. What did Dumbledore have to say about that?

Dumbledore handed Harry the card. "If you are approached by any member of the American ministry, Harry, I would ask that you contact Charles King," Dumbledore said. "He is an American advocate, and I have had dealings with him in the past. He would be a good ally to have, if it comes to that. All you need to do is tap the card with your wand, and speak his name."

Harry looked at the blank white card, then shoved the thing into his pocket. "Do you think they'll come looking for me?" he demanded anxiously.

Dumbledore spread his hands wide. "One can never know," he said. "I do not think so, as the whole incident was so badly handled by the Aurors that you had little choice but to act. But one can never be too well prepared for any event."

"Right. Thank you, sir." Harry desperately wanted to ask Dumbledore about the prophecy, but held his tongue. He wasn't sure he wanted to know if Dumbledore deliberately lied to him about the truth behind the prophecy. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, then."

"Indeed." Dumbledore paused, then gave Harry a warm smile. "Whatever happens, Harry, know that you will always have a place at Hogwarts."

"Thank you. It means a lot," Harry said. Then, as Dumbledore turned to leave, Harry thought of something else. "Please don't tell Remus," he blurted out.

Dumbledore regarded Harry with piercing blue eyes. "Why not?" he asked.

Harry's cheeks burned. "If I change, then he'll know soon enough, but if I don't... I don't want him to know that I got attacked but didn't get infected." Unlike him, Harry thought glumly.

Dumbledore nodded. "As you wish. Stay in good health, Harry." The Headmaster strode to the edge of the lawn and with a crack, disapparated.

Harry stared at the spot where Dumbledore vanished. He was exhausted, even though it was only early afternoon. The day so far had been so full of horrible revelations, Harry felt as if he'd run a marathon.

He fingered the card in his pocket. The American ministry coming after him was the least of his worries, at this point. He had to deal with the possibility he would change into a werewolf with the full moon, not to mention the upcoming battle with Voldemort. Not for the first time, Harry wondered what his life might have been like, if he hadn't been born with magic powers.

That simply wasn't the way things were, however, so there was no point in worrying about it. Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of the depression he felt. Seeing Dumbledore here in St Louis, so far from Hogwarts, reminded Harry of all he had at home, and he suddenly felt so homesick that his chest hurt.

Turning, Harry dragged his feet toward the house. Anita watched him from the doorway, arms crossed across her stomach under her breasts. "Got any plans for the afternoon?" she asked him when he drew near.

Harry scuffed at the front mat with his trainer. "No. I think I'll just go read." He needed time alone, to think about the prophesy and Voldemort and everything. He didn't want to have to think about how to deal with anyone else.

Anita just looked at him. Finally, she stood aside, and Harry walked past her into the house.

He heard Richard's voice in the kitchen, and Micah's mumbled response. The thought of interacting with either of them made Harry's head spin, and he veered toward the stairs. He stopped with his foot on the bottom step and spoke to Anita without turning around. "Would it be all right if I were to make a call?" he asked. "To England?" Harry silently vowed to himself to find a way to pay Anita back for everything she had done for him.

"Of course you can," Anita said. Her voice sent shivers up Harry's spine.

"Thank you." With that, Harry ran up the stairs.

* * *

Harry lay on his stomach on the bed, staring at the phone. It was eight o'clock in the evening in England. Harry hoped that he wouldn't be interrupting anyone, even as he dialled the number.

The phone rang four times before someone answered. "Hello, Granger residence," Hermione's voice came over the line.

Harry grinned in spite of himself. "Hermione, hi."

Hermione squealed into the phone. "Harry!" Her voice grew muffled for a moment. "Ron! Ginny! Harry's on the phone!"

"Ron and Ginny are there?" Harry asked, surprised. He hadn't known the two youngest Weasleys were planning to visit Hermione over the summer, and it hurt just a little bit that Harry hadn't been invited.

"Yes, they just got here," Hermione said in a rush. "We weren't sure when you'd be back, but my parents are leaving for Spain at the end of next week, and I thought it might be nice for them to visit for a while."

"Sounds nice," Harry said, trying to hide his disappointment. If none of this mess with the werewolves had happened, then Harry might have been back in England by now, and able to visit Hermione along with Ron.

Then reality knocked that idea down. If Harry had gone to visit Hermione, in her muggle parents' unprotected house, he might as well have put up a neon sign for the Death Eaters. It was best that he wasn't there, he told himself.

There was a scuffle on the other end of the phone. "No, Ron, I don't know why he called!" Hermione said.

Harry rolled onto his back. "Let me talk to him."

"One minute," Hermione said. Harry heard indistinct mumbling on the other end of the phone, then a voice that was certainly not Ron's came over the line.

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said cheerfully. "Don't mind my brother, he's convinced the fellytone will bite him."

"Do not!" Ron yelled faintly.

Harry smiled. "It's just like fire talking, only without seeing the other person," he explained. "How are you enjoying the muggle world?"

Ginny giggled. "It's nice. So many gadgets and stuff! Dad's going to go spare when I tell him all that I've seen."

As she spoke, Harry tried to picture Ginny. Her red hair had been growing longer, almost down to her waist, although she often wore it up during class and Quidditch practice. It usually left the lines of her face clear.

"You should take some photographs," Harry suggested, his heart beating hard for no reason at all. "He might like that."

Ginny snorted. "Mum wouldn't. She'd never be able to drag him away."

"But you're having fun?" Harry asked.

"I am." Ginny's voice grew more serious. "It would have been nice to see you here, though."

Harry stared at the ceiling. "I'll see you lot on the train to Hogwarts. We can catch up then. And congratulations on being prefect again. Hermione told me."

"Thanks," Ginny said. "Have you heard anything about who the Quidditch captain is this year?"

"Not yet," Harry said. "Katie didn't know who it might be, when I talked to her at the end of last year. She said she had some suggestions, but McGonagall makes the final decision with Hooch."

"Oh." Ginny sighed. "It would be nice to know, then we can get those tryouts for the new beaters set up."

"Soon enough," Harry promised. He smiled again. "Can you put Ron on the phone?"

"I'll try." 

Ron finally spoke into the phone. "Harry?"

"Hi Ron. How's things?"

"Fine," Ron said. "How about you?"

"It's okay." Harry touched his healed shoulder, wondering if Ron would understand. As much as he valued Ron's friendship, Harry wasn't sure if the other boy would be able to deal with that knowledge of Harry's potential lycanthropy, without Harry to explain in person. "Just wasting time."

"Are the Durselys tormenting you too much?" Ron asked. "You can do magic now, right? Can you get some time on your own?"

"A bit," Harry said, trying to stall. Hermione knew that he had called from Anita's office before, but staying at Anita's was all part of the werewolf mess that Harry couldn't talk about. "I met some nice people over here," he added.

"Sounds neat," Ron said. "What's America like?"

"I'll tell you all when I get back there," Harry said, suddenly becoming aware of the time. Calling cross-continent like this wasn't cheap, especially in the middle of the day. "How are things back home?"

"Really weird," Ron said. "Quiet. Everyone's so nervous. Mum's doing real bad, worrying and all. Dad's working all hours, we hardly ever see him."

"No word about Voldemort?" Harry asked.

Ron hissed when he heard the name. "No, nothing," he said, recovering.

Dumbledore had told Harry just that, but it was still very worrying, that Voldemort was off plotting more death and destruction. "I have to go," Harry found himself saying.

"Right," Ron said, sounding disappointed. "See you on the train?"

"Of course!" Harry said. "Can you put Hermione back on?"

There was a pause, then he heard Hermione's voice. "You have to go so soon?" she said, sounding as disappointed as Ron.

"In a minute. Did you keep looking into Nigel Spencer's death after I talked to you?" 

There was dead silence on the line for a moment. "Who told you that?"

"Dumbledore," Harry said, not caring if Hermione was supposed to know about the Headmaster's trip or not. "Are you being careful?"

"Me?" Hermione demanded. "All I'm doing is asking questions. What are you doing?"

"Not a thing," Harry lied, so scared for her all of a sudden that he sat up on the bed. "I'm farther away that you are, I've got less to worry about."

Hermione was quiet. "I'm not in any more danger than usual," she finally said.

Harry felt like he should apologize for worrying about her, but that was all he did these days. Worry about people getting hurt in this war. "I know you're not," he said as an apology.

"Well, then," Hermione said, suddenly flustered. She cleared her throat. "I found out that thing you asked for, in your letter."

Harry had to think hard to remember what he had written to her, less than a week ago. It seemed like so long ago. "What did I ask for?"

"Information on vampire's children?" Hermione reminded him. "You said you met someone?"

"Right." Harry remembered asking Hermione about the Wizarding world's opinion on children with vampire fathers.

Hermione hesitated. "How well do you know this person, Harry?"

"A bit, I guess," Harry said, not willing to tell Hermione about his grandfather quite yet. "Why?"

"They're not exactly... I mean, most wizards think..."

"Just say it, Hermione."

"They're considered outcasts," Hermione said very quickly. "A lot of wizards won't even talk about them. Molly wasn't very happy I'd asked."

Harry dropped his head into his hand. He swallowed hard past the sudden lump in his throat. He was used to being misunderstood by everyone, why should he have thought this would be any different? "Sorry if I got you in trouble," he made himself say.

"It's okay," Hermione said, sounding worried. "I'm not sure if it's just another prejudice--"

"Look, Hermione, someone needs the phone," Harry interrupted. "I have to go. See you guys on the train?"

"Oh, yes," Hermione said. "Take care."

"Bye," Harry said, and quickly hung up. He put the handset on the floor, then slumped back onto the bed, staring up at the wall.

Not only was Harry a bit of an outcast in the Wizarding world because Voldemort wanted him dead, but it appeared as if anyone found out about Damian, they'd think even less of Harry. Harry wasn't stupid enough to suppose that Wizarding world would be able to look past its prejudices just because it was _Harry Potter_.

Harry rolled onto his side. This piece of information from Hermione was just the perfect topper to one of the worst days in his life. He wished desperately that he could just close his eyes and make it go away.

* * *

I woke up in the darkness, not sure what had pulled me out of an exhausted slumber. I lifted my head and looked at the clock, red numbers glowing in the dark room. It was half past two in the morning.

I put my head down on the pillow, trying to figure out what might have woken me. Micah lay still, spooning me under the light sheet. No one else was in the bed, and I tried to remember where Nathaniel was.

Work, I finally recalled. Nathaniel had to work tonight. He must have just come into the house, that must have been what woke me up.

I closed my eyes, waiting for Nathaniel to come to bed.

I must have dropped off to sleep. When I opened my eyes again, the clock told me it was past three, and the bed in front of me was still cold.

"What's wrong?" Micah mumbled, confused, as I slid out from under his arm.

"Nothing," I whispered. I kissed his hair as I pulled the sheet up over his chest. "I'm just going to find Nathaniel."

"Need anything?" Micah said indistinctly, already falling back to sleep.

"No," I told him. I stroked his hair until his breathing evened out. Only then did I stand up and grope around in the dark for my robe.

I eased the bedroom door shut, then walked down the hall. Nathaniel wasn't in the living room or in the bathroom. I peeked in the kitchen, and saw that the glass doors to the porch were open.

Nathaniel sat on the back steps, staring up at the stars. He looked at me as I sat next to him, then returned to his study of the heavens.

"How was work?" I asked, not sure why I was so uneasy. He always came right to bed whenever he got home from the club. He even showered at work, so he didn't have to waste any time at home getting clean before curling up naked next to me.

"Okay."

"Did anything strange happen?" I asked.

"No."

Carefully, I let down the barriers on the marks between Nathaniel and me. He was worried and scared, and a whole lot of other conflicting emotions, but I didn't know why.

I put my arms around his shoulders, stroking his vanilla-scented hair. His whole body shuddered as he relaxed, pliant against me.

I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I held in my questions as I touched him. I ran my hands over his arms, his back, feeling all those muscles he worked so hard for. He spent so much time taking care of his body. I used to think he only did this for his job, but it recently occurred to me that he kept himself looking like this for me.

I didn't want anyone to be like that because of me. I'd still care for Nathaniel as much if he wasn't like this, right? I mean, I knew I was shallow enough that if he gained a hundred pounds, I might not lust after his body so much. But part of me that I wasn't exactly comfortable with, was pleased and a little smug that Nathaniel wanted to look good for me.

Right now, though, it didn't matter what he looked like. It mattered that he was shivering in my arms on this warm summer night.

I kissed Nathaniel's hair and ran my fingers down his cheek. He shuddered again, but it was no longer from apprehension. "Better?" I whispered.

"Yes," Nathaniel breathed. He sat up a little, so his face was next to mine. I felt his warm breath on my skin, and shivered a little myself. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay," I said. "I was having a hard time sleeping, anyway."

"Bad dreams?"

"I missed you," I told him. His face was in shadows, and I couldn't see his eyes.

Was he worried about me freezing up again? I didn't think I'd react again like I had that morning, panicking when Nathaniel touched me. The apprehension about touch, and pain, receded so far back after all the stress of the morning, that I knew I could contain it, in Nathaniel's embrace.

He lapsed into silence, even his breathing quiet. I moved my hands down his arms, until I cradled his hands in mine.

"What's wrong?" I finally asked. "You've been quiet all afternoon, even after Richard left."

Nathaniel ducked his head. "Just things."

"What happened on your trip to the store?" I asked. "Did you and Harry get in a fight?"

Nathaniel shook his head.

I lifted one of his hands to my mouth and kissed his knuckles. "Do you want to tell me what it was?"

"I'm not..."

I waited for a minute after his voice trailed off, but he didn't continue. "Did Harry tell you something?" I pressed.

Nathaniel nodded. "But he asked me not to tell you."

I frowned at Nathaniel. "What do you mean?"

Nathaniel took my hands and pressed them to his face. "He didn't say I couldn't tell you, but I don't know if I should."

"Tell me what?" I asked. Nathaniel didn't say anything. "Is it bad?"

Nathaniel nodded, his hair brushing over my arms. "Yeah."

"Is it 'we're all going to die in the night' bad?" I asked.

"No, not like that."

I sighed as I pulled Nathaniel back into an embrace. "I won't make you tell me if you don't want to," I said, unhappy at Harry for doing this to Nathaniel, and for bringing yet another mess down on us.

The moment I had that thought, I got a little mad at myself. I asked Harry to stay, I told him it was all right. I couldn't go back on that now.

Nathaniel wrapped his arms around me, so hot through the silk of my robe. He didn't say anything as he ran his fingers over my ribs, brushing the side of my breast.

It used to bother me that comforting Nathaniel so often turned to sex, but no longer. Now it felt right, I thought as I moved my head, bringing my lips to brush his mouth. He let me take the lead in the kiss, and I made myself be slow and deliberate, delicately licking his lip. His hand slid down my side and along my thigh. I bit his lip and his hand stilled on my leg.

I pulled my head back. He tried to move his hand off my leg, but I grabbed his wrist. I wanted to order him to tell me what was wrong, but instead I said, "Do you want to sit out here any more, or do you want to go to bed?"

Nathaniel bent his head to kiss my neck. "I want to go to bed," he whispered against my skin.

"Then let's go," I said breathlessly. I felt him run his tongue over the scars on my collarbone, and I think I forgot how to breathe for a second. The ardeur started to burn slowly in my stomach, and lower places, and I knew that I had to have Nathaniel. I wasn't worried about freezing up any more, as the warmth from Nathaniel's touch spread through my body. At that moment, I knew I'd be okay.

Tomorrow, I would ask Harry what had upset Nathaniel so much. But tonight, I'd take the comfort Nathaniel offered me, and hope that I could give him a little bit of the same.

* * *

Harry's room looked like the Box Fairy had come in the middle of the night and exploded. He had vanished so quickly after breakfast that I came up as soon as the dishes were away. He barely spared me a glance as he continued to shift boxes around the room.

"Moving out?" I said in an attempt at levity. As usual, it didn't go over so well. Harry didn't respond. The only indication he gave that he'd heard me was the increased force that he used to put the boxes down.

I watched him for a few more minutes, then crossed the room and sat down in the window seat. Harry watched me out of the corner of his eye.

After another few boxes joined the growing stack by the far wall, he threw his hands up. "What?" he exclaimed.

"What, what?" I shot back.

"What do you want?"

"I wanted to talk to you, but you're not in a very chatty mood," I said.

Harry glowered at the box at his feet. "Why should that stop you?"

I sighed and pulled my legs up onto the seat, so I was a bit more comfortable. "I didn't come up here to annoy you. I really did want to talk." I paused. "About yesterday."

Harry's head snapped up. "Did Nathaniel tell you?" he asked warily.

I shook my head. "He told me that there was something wrong, but not what. He told me that I should ask you."

The room grew so silent that I could hear the cars driving by on the street outside. Harry pushed his hair off his forehead, revealing the strangely shaped scar that he usually hid. "I'm not sure if I can talk about it yet," Harry said, voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

I looked at him. "Are you in danger from whatever it was?" I asked.

"No," he said, then quickly amended his answer. "Not any more than I was before. It's just something I hadn't thought about before."

I wondered if Dumbledore had told Harry about the magical world's opinion on vampire offspring, and that was causing his reaction. But no, I thought, Nathaniel wouldn't be so upset about that.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" I asked softly. "Maybe I can help."

Harry looked away. "No, you can't. No one can." He took a deep breath and blinked fiercely. "And I.... I'm not sure I want to talk about it yet."

Part of me wanted to push him into telling me, but he just looked so vulnerable, so young, that I let it go. "You can talk about it when you're ready."

"Thank you," he said, still not looking at me. He went back to moving the boxes around.

Since I had nothing else to do, I watched him reorganize the room. The large amounts of food he'd been eating, plus all that exercise Nathaniel forced upon him, seemed to be doing Harry a world of good. His shirt, which had been a little loose when we bought it, now fit tightly across his chest and shoulders. At this rate, he'd need new clothes again soon.

"Why are you moving the boxes around?" I asked after a few more minutes.

Harry shrugged. "I need to do something helpful," he said. "All I seem to do these days is cause problems."

"Now that's just not true," I contradicted. "You helped me with that zombie the other day." 

"I stood around," Harry said. "You did all the work. I can't raise a zombie."

I frowned. I was beginning to get a glimmer of an idea. I had wondered how to teach Harry to protect himself. Even if he didn't have any affinity for death magic, there were still some things I could show him. "There are other things you can do," I said slowly.

Harry stared at me. "Like what?"

I stood up. The more I thought of it, the more plausible this idea sounded. "Some protective magic, barriers. The vargamour of a pack I know in Tennessee, she's shown me a lot of ways to protect myself metaphysically. I could show you that."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why would you show me all that?"

"Why not?" I asked him. "You're magical, more so than I am. You should be able to understand it, no problem."

Harry shook his head. "It's not the magic thing, I get that. Why would you want to show it to me?"

I crossed the room and stood in front of him. "Because you need to protect yourself, Harry," I said vehemently. "You've got a dangerously evil son of a bitch after you, him and his freaky little followers. If you know magic they don't, you might have a better chance of getting out of the other end of this alive."

Harry flinched, backing away. I let him pace across the room, his hands on his hips. "Do you think it'll work?" he asked, his voice so full of hopelessness that I began to get angry. Not at him, but at those manipulative wizards who put Harry in this position in the first place.

"Remember what I told you? You're one of us now. And no one messes with my people," I said coldly. "I'm not letting you leave here at a disadvantage, Harry."

Harry sat on the edge of the bed. "Can you show me how to shoot a gun?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. He was seventeen, but if he was with me at a shooting range, there should be no problem. "But why, when you have your wand?"

He looked at me with pain-filled eyes. "We both know what can happen when I haven't got my wand," he said.

The reminder of Bellatrix sent an icy shiver through my body. I shook it off and closed the distance between me and Harry. Putting my hand on his shoulder, I said, "I'll show you how to shoot a gun."

He tried to smile. "Thank you." 

I squeezed his shoulder. "Would you mind starting on zombies tonight?" I asked. "We can start small, only a few."

"Okay," Harry said, showing interest in spite of himself. "Do I need to know anything?"

"I'll tell you in the car," I told him, heading for the door. I needed to call Mary and let her know that I'd be able to work tonight.

"Anita?"

"I paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

Harry smiled for real, relief showing on his face. "Thank you."

I smiled back at him. "No need to thank me," I said. "Let's make sure you get through this in one piece, okay?"

It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw a shadow passed over Harry's face as I turned away.


	33. Smarter Than He Looks

* * *

"Damn it!" Harry pulled his wand up, frustrated beyond belief. "This is never going to work!"

Anita raised her eyebrows at his outburst. "You can levitate cars and turn teaspoons into chickens, and you're frustrated because you can't raise a zombie?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Harry snapped, straightening his glasses. It was the third night in a row that he had accompanied Anita in an attempt to learn some of her zombie magic. So far, he was an utter failure.

Anita shook her head and rounded the tombstone. "We weren't sure it would work, anyway," she said. "It was worth a try."

"Was it?" Harry demanded, whirling on his heel. He had been so convinced that he might be able to get a grasp on death magic with practice, just like he'd finally gotten the hang of transfiguration.

Anita waited until he was a few paces away. "I think it was," she said reasonably. "Don't think of what you can't do, think about what you can do."

Harry took a deep breath, circling a few of the tombstones in the dark. "I can tell when someone's raising a zombie nearby," he said, trying to get a hold on his emotions. Anita nodded. "I can tell who is in control of the zombie, if there's more than one person who might be doing it."

"Yeah, I'm not sure Jamison's ever going to figure out how you pulled that one off," Anita said, smiling wickedly at the recollection. The previous night, Harry and Anita had joined Anita's colleague, Jamison Clarke, while he had a zombie to raise in the same cemetery as Anita.

"It was easy, once I got a good look at the zombie," Harry said, not entirely comfortable with the praise. "Well, not look."

"Sort of a feel, right?" Anita asked, kneeling in the grass to put things back into her bag. "Wasn't that what you told Nathaniel this morning?"

"Yes..." Harry said slowly. "But I'm not sure anymore."

Anita paused, a jar of faintly glowing ointment in her hand. "More like a smell?"

Harry shook his head. "It's like... when I knew that Micah cut himself shaving this morning, even though I was on the floor above him. It was like a taste on the back of my tongue."

"Have you ever experienced anything like that before?"

"No. Not since the beginning of the month." Harry swallowed hard. The thought of 'tasting' who was raising a zombie seemed a bit repellent to the human part of his mind, but the growing part that wasn't entirely human felt that it was just right.

"Could you sense magic before the attack?" Anita asked as she stood up. Harry joined her as they walked down the grassy slope to the jeep.

"No."

"There's no need to sound so depressed," Anita told him. She unlocked the jeep and put the bag containing all of her zombie gear into the back seat. "You heard what Dumbledore said, you can go back to your school even if you're a werewolf."

"It's not that," Harry said. "It just changes... well, everything."

Anita put her hand on his sleeve, making him look at her. The faint moonlight drained the colour from her face, and her eyes were huge dark pools in her face. "Being a lycanthrope doesn't end your life, Harry, it just changes it." She squeezed his arm reassuringly, then stepped back. Harry was glad for the dark; she couldn't see the flush in his cheeks at her closeness.

"That's what Nathaniel keeps saying," he said, going around the car. Once he had a little space from Anita, he breathed a little easier.

"See?" Anita said, climbing into the car beside Harry. "He's the smart one." She turned on the overhead light and consulted the slip of paper tucked into a small day planner. "My appointment is about half an hour away, we should just make it in time."

"I didn't mean to keep you from your work," Harry said as Anita started the jeep's engine.

She gave him a look. "You're not," she said. "If you were inconveniencing me, I'd tell you."

"Oh." Harry didn't really believe that she enjoyed carting him around the city, waiting patiently while he waved his wand fruitlessly at dead bodies, but he was learning so much about zombies and necromancy and voodoo magic that he didn't want to say anything to make her stop. Spending time with Anita was only a very small part of his enjoyment, he tried to tell himself.

He settled back in for the drive, rather enjoying watching the night lights from the front seat. It was very different from being squished in the backseat of Uncle Vernon's car, with everyone annoyed at him. Anita didn't like to talk much, but that was all right by Harry. Being quiet with Anita was calming.

About ten minutes into the drive, Harry became aware that Anita was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. After a minute of that, Harry turned in his seat to face her. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

"Is there a zombie behind me?"

Anita broke into surprised laughter. "What? No," she said.

"Then was is it?" Harry asked, pleased that he got her to smile like that.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, smile fading slightly. "I'm just wondering some stuff, that's all."

"Like what?" Harry wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was headed.

"Werewolf stuff." Anita drew in a deep breath. "Do you remember on that first day, how Richard said that you were welcome to stay in St. Louis if you became a werewolf?"

"Yes... But we don't know if I'm going to change. And Professor Dumbledore said I could go home."

"I know." Anita concentrated very hard on the road, not looking at Harry. "And it's probably best for you to go back to England, learn all that magic stuff you don't know yet. But the offer's still open."

Harry flopped back in his seat. "I can handle myself, you don't need to baby me," he said petulantly.

Anita hit the side of the steering wheel with her hand, hard. "Damn it, this isn't about babying you!" she exclaimed. "I'm thinking about the pack! Do you have any idea how useful a real witch would be in helping to protect the pack?"

Harry swallowed his initial irrelevant desire to correct her on his gender, and said instead, "But you guys do a good job anyway, without a witch to help you, right? Richard and Sylvie and you?"

"Sort of," Anita said. "But it's not a game you can ever win. We're treading water, and the best we can hope for is to not be pulled under."

The anger in her voice wasn't doing a very good job at masking her apprehension. Harry wondered if she was just talking about Bellatrix, or if there were other dangers to being a werewolf that she hadn't mentioned. "I'm not--"

"No, I'm sorry," Anita interrupted. "You need to do what's right for you, and I'm not being fair." She glanced over at him. "It's just that if you do change, then the offer of being vargamour is open. You should talk to Richard, just to see what it is."

Harry frowned. "This isn't just a way of making me feel useful?"

"Don't be stupid," Anita said. "Sylvie and Richard aren't going to put the pack in danger by offering the position of vargamour to someone who wasn't able to do it."

"Sylvie wanted it too?" Harry said. From what he'd seen in the petite Geri, she wasn't one to put an individual's feeling over the well-being of the pack. He could be wrong, he didn't know her that well, but he suspected it would have been very out of character.

Anita remained silent, and Harry spent the rest of the trip staring out the window, thinking hard. He had to go back to England, he knew, to learn how to kill Voldemort once and for all. It was highly likely that Harry would die doing it, one way or the other.

But... what if he lived? He'd need to do something with his life after he wrote his NEWTs. He hadn't given much thought to life after school. Somehow, the impending threat of Voldemort overshadowed any hope for his future.

 _I could come back here,_ he realized. _I could be their wizard. Maybe I could learn werewolf healing magic or something, or figure out the Wolfsbane potion, something to help. Something that only I can do. Maybe I can help people, instead of being expected to just kill._

* * *

Harry watched from the front step of a nearby mausoleum as Anita laid the zombie to rest. The family members and lawyers milled about the grave, very careful to not step inside the magical circle, leaving Anita to finish the ceremony.

 _The magic doesn't taste bad,_ Harry decided. _It's just different than Jamison last night. His magic was a bit like bitter rosemary, but Anita's is smoother. It tastes more like copper. Like blood._ It was probably because she had used her own blood to raise this zombie, rather than a chicken like Jamison had.

The family members began to leave. One girl, maybe about eleven, stood by the edge of the circle and stared at the grave. She raised her eyes from her silent contemplation and looked at Harry. He was slightly surprised to see that she didn't appear scared, or overwhelmed. She looked curious, sort of like Hermione when challenged with a particularly interesting arithmancy problem.

A woman came up to the child and urged her away from the grave. With a final look at Harry, the girl followed the woman down the hill.

Anita picked up her machete and began to unwalk the circle. "Child that age shouldn't be brought out here like that," she said as soon as the last car drove away.

"Why not?" Harry asked. "I was that age when I faced off against Voldemort the first time."

"It's not safe," Anita insisted. "It's never one hundred percent safe, raising a zombie. The zombie could get loose."

"Or vampires could attack the car on the way home, or she could get too close to a werewolf next full moon, or she could get hit by a car tomorrow on the way to school," Harry retorted. "Life's dangerous."

Anita glared at him, and Harry suddenly wondered if he had said something he shouldn't have. "Just because life's dangerous is no reason to increase that potential risk," she said after a long, tense moment. "As for you fighting Voldemort in your first year, I'm still pissed about that, so please don't use that as an example of necessary danger."

"Why do you insist on believing that me facing Voldemort was so horrible?" Harry demanded, hopping up off his mausoleum. "No one had a choice! If someone didn't do something, Quirrell would have gotten the Philosopher's Stone, bringing Voldemort back to life! There wasn't time to get an adult!"

"Yeah, and we all know how well that turned out," Anita said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"What does that mean?" Harry could feel the anger in him running hot, hotter than anything he'd felt before.

Anita pointed with her machete into the darkness. "Dumbledore told me that you had to kill Quirrell," she said, her voice low. "It may have been in self-defence, but that doesn't take away the fact that the adults made it so you had to kill someone."

Harry's anger faded with the memory of the pain in his hands and in his scar as Quirrell had tried to take the Philosopher's Stone when Harry was eleven, Quirrell burning wherever he touched Harry's skin. Harry hadn't thought about that in years. It had always just seemed like the thing he had to do, to stop Voldemort. Dumbledore hadn't brought it up again, after that visit in the infirmary after the incident with the Mirror of Erised.

A foul taste collected in the back of Harry's throat, and he gagged. Stumbling back against Anita, he took a deep breath, but nothing got rid of the horrible taste.

"What's wrong?" Anita asked, instantly alert. She dropped her machete and pulled her gun out of its holster.

"Don't know," Harry said, trying to breathe around the... magic? It was a bit like the magic Anita had used to call the zombie, but this was foul. Evil. He looked up, squinting in the faint moonlight as he whipped his wand out of his pocket. "It's like death magic, but really bad."

Anita turned slowly, gun held out in front of her with both hands. "Can you tell me..." Her voice trailed off. Harry looked in the direction she was facing, and gripped his wand tighter.

Something large and human-shaped crouched on top of a tombstone. Its eyes glowed red in the dark, and as it moved slowly, Harry could see long curved talons on its hands and feet.

"Ghoul," Anita breathed.

"More than one," Harry murmured, the initial shock of the creature wearing off as he looked around. More of the creatures were ranged in a circle around him and Anita, watching.

Anita swore under her breath. "Ghouls don't normally attack healthy humans, not unless they have the advantage, they're scavengers."

"Then maybe they think they have the advantage here, " Harry said.

He felt Anita take a step back against him, so their backs were touching. "We could try and scare them off," Anita said.

"And what happens if that doesn't work?" Harry asked. It was the ghouls that he was tasting, he knew now. It was horrible. His mind crowed with questions about what ghouls were and how they were created, but he'd ask those when they got out of here. If they got out of here.

Another ghoul scampered up on top of the mausoleum, talons scrabbling over the marble. There had to be at least twenty of the things surrounding Harry and Anita.

"Bullets won't stop them, and we can't outrun them," Anita said. So close to her, Harry fancied he could hear her rapid heartbeat. "They're afraid of fire, but I'm afraid I've left my flamethrower in my other jacket."

Suddenly, a ghoul howled and leaped toward Harry. He ducked, and a moment later Anita fired her gun over him into the rushing ghoul. It screamed like a enormous wounded rabbit, but got right back up again.

There was no time to think. Harry pointed his wand at the ghoul and shouted, "Incindiare!"

The ghoul burst into flames, screaming. A moment later, the flames consumed it entirely and it stopped moving.

The night erupted in howls and screams. The ghouls ran about, and a few rushed Harry and Anita. Sickened by what he had just done, Harry held his wand up. He couldn't burn another one alive, he just couldn't. But if he didn't act, he'd never get to go home, never get to see Ron and Hermione again, never see Remus or the Weasleys or Ginny again...

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry shouted. A huge silvery stag erupted from the tip of Harry's wand, and the ghouls scattered in front of it. The Patronus galloped in a tight circle around Harry and Anita, keeping the ghouls away.

"What did you do?" Anita demanded, taking her left hand away from her gun and reaching out to touch the silvery side of the Patronus. It remained just out of her reach.

"It's my Patronus," Harry said, trying to take shallow breaths as the stench of burning ghoul filled the night air. "It's supposed to keep Dementors away. I don't know how long it will work on the ghouls."

Beyond the Patronus's circle, Harry could see the ghouls crouched behind tombstones, waiting.

"I called Jean-Claude, ghouls are supposed to be afraid of vampires, but I don't know how long it'll take him to get here," Anita said. She fired her gun over the Patronus, cutting down a ghoul that had ventured beyond the protection of the gravestones.

"I..." Harry felt the bile rising in his throat at the thought of burning another ghoul alive. "I can't..."

"Do you have another way?" Anita asked, no blame or condescension in her voice. It helped Harry to centre himself, and he started thinking.

Finally, a glimmer of an idea came to him. Straining to remember the spell, out of an obscure defence against the dark arts book he'd only glanced through in fifth year, Harry raised his wand. "Stay close to me, in case this doesn't work," he said grimly. As he spoke the words of the spell, a thick rope of fire emanated from the tip of his wand, like a flaming lasso. It circled the ghouls, all of the, pulling them together with its ever-closing strands.

Harry poured all his magic into that rope of fire, circling around the ghouls again and again, until it was almost like a cage. One of the ghouls tried to jump over the flames, but fell back into the circle, squealing in pain.

Anita slowly lowered her gun. "Will that hold them?" she asked, voice a little wobbly.

"It had better," Harry said, never taking his eyes off the flames. He muttered another incantation, and then lowered his wand. The flames stayed in place, burning silently in the air over the howls of the ghouls.

The night was suddenly broken by a rush of wind from above, and out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Anita whirl around and raise her gun. He hoped she could deal with whatever it was; he worried that if he took his eyes off the ghouls, he'd lose the cage of flames.

"Jean-Claude?" Anita said, lowering her gun. "Asher?"

"We are here, ma petite," Jean-Claude said, walking across the grass to stand beside Anita. "We came as fast as we could, but I see that you do not need our assistance as much as you indicated."

"We almost did!" Anita snapped, taking a step away from Jean-Claude. "Those things almost attacked us, and if Harry hadn't--"

"I apologize, ma petite," Jean-Claude said, interrupting Anita's tirade. "I let words get the better of me."

Anita put her gun in her left hand and shook her right wrist. "You never do that."

"He was worried, Anita," Asher's voice floated through the air. "He said that the last time you faced ghouls, you almost died?"

"Something like that," Anita muttered. She put her gun into its holster. "You two need to watch for more ghouls, I think Harry's busy."

"That's one way of putting it," Harry muttered. He wished they would all just shut up, so he could concentrate on the fire cage. A fine tremble was beginning to run through his hands, and he didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

"What are you going to do, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked.

Anita walked over to the grave where she had left her bag, picking up the machete on her way. "Someone needs to call the cops, call in some exterminators to get rid of these things," she said.

Asher slowly walked around the blacked remains of the ghoul Harry had set on fire. "Can not your young vargamour take care of the rest of these vermin?" he asked.

Harry risked taking his eyes off the fire cage to glare at Asher. The blond vampire's hair glowed in the flames, casting his face in shadows. Harry was about to say something, but then felt Anita's hand on his shoulder.

"Harry's done more than enough to save our lives tonight," she said quietly.

* * *

Harry stared down into the cup of coffee one of the police officers had given him. Soon after Anita's phone call, cars and vans containing police and a bunch of people in silver spaceman-like suits descended on the cemetery. They were exterminators, Anita explained, and once they were in place, all thirty of them, Harry had let down the ropes of flame. The flamethrowers of the exterminators soon took care of the ghouls.

He hadn't thrown up, he had at least that, Harry thought glumly. He took a swig of the tepid coffee. It didn't wash the aftertaste of burning ghoul out of his mouth.

Anita sat down beside Harry on the curb. "Coffee any good?" she asked.

"No," Harry mumbled. He desperately wanted to go home, to shower and fall into bed, to try and let sleep erase the vividness of the images from his mind.

Anita was quiet for a minute. "There wasn't anything else you could have done," she said after a minute. "They would have attacked if you had hesitated."

"It's not that." Harry poured the rest of his coffee out onto the pavement, watched as the dark liquid spattered on the ground. "I'd do it again." He set the cup beside him and stared at his hands. He didn't even have any dirt under his nails. "It was just... it screamed."

"They used to be human, ghouls," Anita said. She smiled wryly at Harry's startled expression. "No one's completely sure of how they came to be. Sometimes, in a graveyard that has been used for satanic rituals, you'll get some. There's other reasons, too, but no one's sure."

Harry shook his head. "Do we know why they attacked us tonight?"

Anita put her head into her hands, letting her shoulders slump for just a moment. "No."

"Blake!" One of the detectives who arrived with the exterminators waved at Anita. She sighed.

"I'll be right back," she said, hauling herself to her feet.

As Anita made her way over the grass to the detective, someone else settled into her spot on the curb next to Harry. "I must thank you," Jean-Claude said as he rested his wrists on his knees.

Harry was too busy trying to comprehend that the Master was sitting on the curb, like just another person, to immediately clue in to his words. "Why?" Harry blurted after the words sank in.

Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow at him, midnight blue eyes dark in the yellow light from the police car headlights. "For standing with Anita tonight."

"Don't thank me for that," Harry said immediately. "She'd do it for me, with no thanks. It's not-- Just don't thank me."

Jean-Claude looked at him for a long moment, no power in his eyes. "As you wish," he said.

"What are you two talking about?" Anita asked curiously, coming back toward them.

Jean-Claude looked up at her, and for the briefest of moments, Harry saw something unguarded in the vampire's face, something soft and determined at the same time. "Events, ma petite."

"Ah," Anita said. She held her hand out to Jean-Claude, and he stood. "Merloni said we can go home, as long as we come in tomorrow to fill out paperwork about what we were doing and so on."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered. Yet again, he'd used magic in front of the muggles. If he kept this up, they'd toss him in Azkaban for sure, or whatever the American equivalent was.

"It's not that bad," Anita said.

"Because the last time we went to the police station, it was a bloody cake walk?" Harry shot back, standing up.

"Good point," Anita said.

Jean-Claude put his arm around Anita's shoulders. "Might I accompany you home, ma petite?"

She looked up at Jean-Claude, a relieved expression on her face. "I was hoping you'd ask," she admitted.

"If you are all well, I will take my leave," Asher said from the shadows, startling Harry. There was a rush of air, and he was gone.

Anita took two steps away from Jean-Claude to where Asher had stood. "What's his problem?" she asked, staring up at the sky.

Harry didn't miss the look Jean-Claude cast his way. "You will have to ask him." Jean-Claude gently guided Anita toward her jeep. "In the meantime, I suggest that we get you both home."

Harry glanced back at the mess of ghouls. The exterminators had lit the entire area up with large lights on stands, and were combing through the blackened carcasses. Swallowing hard, Harry hurried after Anita and Jean-Claude. He'd done what he had to, that night, to protect himself and Anita.

That didn't mean he had to be happy with what necessity had made him do.


	34. Too Many Questions

* * *

Jean-Claude stared at me. "What did you say, ma petite?"

"Why is this so hard to understand?" I asked. "I told you that someone needs to take Harry back to England, and that someone may as well be me."

Jean-Claude took a step back. "You do not know what you are saying," he said in his oh-so-reasonable voice, the one that usually made me want to scream.

"Why is this just a big deal?" I demanded. I looked across my bedroom at Micah, perched on the bed. He shook his head. He didn't know what had set Jean-Claude off any more than I did.

"Is it because of what happened tonight, with the ghouls?" Nathaniel asked, lying on his stomach on the bed beside Micah.

"No, that's not it," I said immediately. "I thought you said Harry did well with that, Jean-Claude."

"I did," Jean-Claude said patiently. "But what you are asking has nothing to do with Harry. It has to do with you, ma petite."

I didn't often feel out of my depth with Jean-Claude, but this was one of those times. I really didn't understand what he was talking about. "Would you please cut the crap and explain this to me?" 

"Fine." Jean-Claude drew in an unnecessary breath. "You must understand, ma petite, that you, my human servant, cannot just wander into another vampire's city without introduction."

"But I'm not going as your human servant, I'll be going as me." My hands were on my hips as I faced Jean-Claude. I hated vampire politics, and this was starting to sound like more of the same.

"It does not matter," Jean-Claude continued. "Do you remember what happened in Tennessee, with Colin?"

Colin had been the Master of the City in a tiny Tennessee town. The town, where Richard had done the research for his thesis on trolls, had also been home to a werewolf pack. I'd had to go bail Richard out of jail on a trumped-up rape charge, and after a good deal of excitement, ended up killing Colin's human servant. He had died because of it.

"I didn't mean to kill him, going in," I pointed out.

Jean-Claude shook his head. "Maybe, if I had months to arrange it, I could guarantee your safe passage to London. The new Master is not, how do you say, a fan of mine."

I narrowed my eyes. Jean-Claude's grasp of the English language was better than that. Either he was trying to deflect me, or this was upsetting him more than he wanted me to know.

"It does not even make sense to me, why you wish to be the one to return Harry to England," Jean-Claude continued. "You have never left this country before."

"What does that matter?" I asked defensively. "Harry can't just fly back on his own, what if something happens? It's going to be a day or two after the full moon. Besides, if those Death Eater freaks try anything, he may need some help." I paused, looking closer at Jean-Claude. "Is there something you're not telling me about London?"

Jean-Claude fell silent. I paced the room, trying to walk off some of the nervous energy still inside me after the battle with the ghouls earlier that night. The near-miss hadn't sunk in quite yet. My brain was still trying to process why ghouls had attacked two healthy humans. They didn't do that unless something was controlling them, and I didn't know of anything in town that could order ghouls around.

"What aren't you telling Anita?" Micah asked.

The look that Jean-Claude gave Micah wasn't entirely friendly. "You will recall, ma petite, that I told you the Vampire Council once killed necromancers on sight?" 

"Yes," I said. "But the Council is in France, right? Not England."

"But the sentiment remains, especially among the older vampires," Jean-Claude said. "Christoff is one such vampire."

"But... he wouldn't kill me. Right?" I said. The blank expression on Jean-Claude's face chilled me more than any words would have. He didn't want me to know what he was thinking.

"I do not know." Jean-Claude crossed the room to stand in front of me, so close that the cloth of his shirt brushed against my sleeve. I stared at his chest until he cupped my face in his hands and raised my head. The look in his blue eyes was so haunted, so despairing, that I felt a lump form in my throat. "But I will not risk any harm coming to you, ma petite. Not for anything."

He kissed me, lips soft as feathers against mine. As his arms went around my shoulders, I felt warmth at my back. Nathaniel pressed against me, burying his face in the crook of my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin.

Jean-Claude pulled back from the gentle kiss, but still held me close. Slowly, I let myself relax a little, let those feelings I'd been holding inside of me come out in a sigh. Even if I hadn't been so shaky, I'd still have stayed in their arms like this as long as I could.

"What if Harry would be in danger, even if Anita wasn't with him?" Nathaniel asked softly, his voice vibrating against my shoulder.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

Nathaniel took his hands off my waist and backed away from me. He met my glare with one of his own, but I could see how much it was costing him. "Harry's Damian's grandson, he's under your protection, Anita. What if the Master in London gets upset that Harry didn't have permission to go through London? If he's alone, he might be in trouble."

"I can't let that happen!" I exclaimed, turning back to Jean-Claude. "I promised Harry that I would protect him, if this is a possibility--"

Jean-Claude shushed me. Surprisingly, at least to me, I let him. "It is unlikely, ma petite, for this to happen." He looked down at me for a long moment. "However, if this is what you wish, to take Harry to England at the end of the month, I will do what I can to help you." Reluctantly, Jean-Claude gave me one final kiss, then stepped away. "I have work to do," he said. "I will begin negotiations, but I will not agree to anything until after I have spoken with you. I should have some answers in a few days."

"Thank you," I said. I wanted to say more, that I loved him and that him telling me that he would help me ensure Harry's safety as much as we could meant more to me than any gift of jewels or flowers, but it was too much, and the words stuck in my throat

I noticed that the top button in his shirt was undone, and it reminded me of how I had called him so frantically, earlier that night.

"Thanks for coming, you know, to the graveyard," I said a bit awkwardly.

Jean-Claude gave me a solemn look. "You know I will come whenever, or wherever, you call me," he said.

"I know, but I will want to say thank you for that, too," I told him, blushing a little.

He smiled wryly as he walked out of the room, before I remembered that I had wanted to ask him why Asher had vanished so suddenly tonight. I guess I'd have to figure it out another time.

Micah rose to his feet and walked over to me, stopping just out of reach. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

I wrapped my arms around myself and nodded, although I was feeling far from certain. "It's just a trip across an ocean to a country I've never been to. Should be fun."

"It's a long plane ride," Micah said.

"I know that!" I snapped. With jerky motions, I undid my belt and slid it out of the loops on my jeans, to remove my shoulder holster. I draped the holster on the top of the dresser, then slipped the clip out of my gun. I still had half a clip of bullets left.

Looking at that half-empty clip, a shiver ran over my whole body. These bullets wouldn't have been enough against those ghouls tonight. Jean-Claude and Asher wouldn't have made it in time. If Harry hadn't been there, hadn't been able to make fire out of thin air with his magic, I'd be dead.

There had been a lot of moments in the last couple of weeks where if Harry hadn't been there to save me, I'd be dead. With Bellatrix, twice, then with the Aurors in the police station, then tonight. I'd always prided myself on being self-sufficient, able to take care of myself, no matter the danger. How was it that this boy came along and threw all of that into disarray?

Micah wrapped his arms around me, hugging me from behind, as I shivered. Then Nathaniel joined him. They were both so warm, but there was a tiny part of me that I didn't think would ever get warm. I'd forgotten that there were things that I couldn't protect myself from, and that scared me.

The shaking gradually abated, even if the fears didn't. It took me a while, but I managed to make myself slide gently out of their grasp. Nathaniel looked so lost, uncertain, that I held out my hand to him.

He took my hand and rubbed it against his cheek, so relieved. "I'm sorry I brought that thing about Harry up with Jean-Claude, before I mentioned it to you," he said.

"It's okay," I said. I couldn't get mad at him, not when he looked so happy that I wasn't angry. "Why did you think of that, anyway?"

He looked down and didn't respond.

This had to be about the thing that Harry wasn't telling me, I realized. It was on the tip of my tongue to order Nathaniel to tell me what was going on, but I swallowed the words I wanted to say, and instead said, "Are you going to be okay?"

Nathaniel nodded. "Maybe I should go see how Harry's doing?" he asked.

I blinked, trying to not let the hurt show. Nathaniel was supposed to be seeing how I was doing, not Harry. I was his Nimir-Ra, and Harry...

Harry was Nathaniel's friend, and connected to Nathaniel through Damian's family link, I told myself sternly. Harry had been through a lot tonight and he might want a friend to make sure he was fine. "That's a good idea," I told Nathaniel.

Nathaniel gave my hand a final squeeze. "I'll be back in a little bit," he promised.

I made myself smile as he left the room. As soon as he closed the door, the smile dropped.

Micah looked at me. "What?" I snapped at him, my irritation at myself seeping into my voice.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He pressed his lips together, an uncharacteristic display of nervousness. "That's a very good question." He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration and turned away from me. "Is there ever anything I can do?"

"Micah..." I put my hand on his shoulder. The muscles under my fingers were rock-hard with tension. "Micah, what are you talking about?"

He dropped his arms and looked over his shoulder at me. His eyes were almost alien, and I didn't have any idea how to help him. "I'm never the one to save you," he finally said. "I've never been the one to save you."

I didn't know what to say. My brain wasn't sure how to process this, but my beast did. I hugged Micah, as hard as I could. Micah returned the embrace, holding his strength in check to avoid crushing my ribs. My beast rumbled inside of me, reaching out to Micah. She offered the comfort that I wasn't sure how to give. Somehow, in the middle of it all, my tension began to ease along with Micah's, as our beasts brushed past each other in the shells of our bodies.

Micah's hands were stroking down my back, not letting me go. It took me two tries to speak. "That's the first time we've done that since what happened in the woods."

"Yeah, it is." Micah licked my neck, then he gently grasped my throat in his teeth. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make me tremble.

I ran my fingers through his hair, resting against him. I didn't want to move, to destroy this moment, but there was something I needed to say. "You don't have to save me," I whispered.

Micah sighed. "You don't understand," he said sadly.

Part of me wanted to get angry, or annoyed, but my beast was still too lazy to let me get all worked up. "Is this a guy thing?"

"No." Micah kissed along my neck, turning my thoughts to the ardeur in spite of myself. "I told myself that I wasn't going to get like this, but sometimes I just want to keep you safe. But I never can."

I closed my eyes and rested my head on Micah's shoulder. "I keep myself safe, you know that," I said, even as my thoughts from a few minutes before came back to me. What I had said wasn't true, and I knew it.

"But what happens when that's not enough?" Micah whispered. "What happens then?"

I didn't have an answer for him.

* * *

Harry sat on the back steps, staring up at the stars. The air was still and sweltering, and even the glass of ice water at his side wasn't helping him to cool down.

He looked down at the wand he held in his fingers. One flick of his wand, and he could make a little bubble of cool air around himself. Only two words. Who would know?

 _It's just the opposite of the words I used on the ghoul,_ he thought. _Cool breeze instead of fire._ The image of the burning ghoul came back to Harry, and he clenched his wand tight. He hadn't wanted to burn the ghoul, he really hadn't, but when it leaped at him and Anita, he hadn't thought. He just acted.

 _Just like with Quirrell._ He hadn't ever really thought about Professor Quirrell's death. He had known he had killed Quirrell, or rather that his actions killed the man, as being possessed by Voldemort made Harry's touch deadly to Quirrell. The death didn't bother him; at the time he didn't have a choice. Voldemort couldn't get his hands on the Philosopher's Stone, no matter what.

 _Is this how Voldemort started? By thinking that one death was excusable?_ Harry wondered. _He kills everything in his way now, maybe it started like the thing with the ghouls. One death, three deaths, what's the difference in the end?_

If Harry didn't really care about Quirrell's death, would he care about the next one? _Like Bellatrix?_ he realized, going cold. She was dead because of Harry, and he didn't really care about her death, either. If she was dead, then Sirius's death was avenged, and Anita was alive, and Bellatrix would never threaten anyone Harry cared about, ever again.

 _Does Voldemort think the same way about Dumbledore and me?_ Harry felt his insides churn. _Maybe he does. Maybe we're just the same._

Sickened, Harry wrote his name in flaming letters in the air. _Harry James Potter_ sat midair, taunting him. The 16-year-old Tom Riddle in Voldemort's old diary, the one that had possessed Ginny Weasley in her first year at Hogwarts, he had done the same thing, before showing Harry how the letters of his name changed to read, _I am Lord Voldemort_.

Harry stared at the letters of his name. Instead of trying to rearrange his name, Harry found himself looking at his middle name. _James._

 _What would my dad have done if he ever found out that mum's dad was a vampire?_ Harry thought. _Would he have done what Hermione said? Hated her because of it?_

Since Harry had seen Snape's memory of being taunted by James and Sirius in the pensive, in his fifth year, he had often tried to reconcile that image of his father with what everyone said about James. Hagrid had said he was a good man, and Remus said the same thing. Dumbledore said so, too. None of them really had any reason to lie about it. _Was I that bad when I was fifteen? I don't think so. But people change, I guess._ Harry desperately wanted to believe that his dad would have dismissed all that vampire kid stuff as nonsense, when it came to Lily. Maybe he would have. Could he just have stopped loving her because of her parentage?

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Harry didn't hear Nathaniel until the wereleopard sat beside him on the step. "Neat trick," Nathaniel said, pointing at the flaming letters.

"Yeah." Harry blinked and looked away from the letters, now almost burned into his retinas. "I was just... I don't know."

Nathaniel accepted that without comment, as he always did. As Harry waved the letters into nothingness, Nathaniel said, "Anita is working out how to get you back to England."

"If I'm a werewolf, you mean?" Harry asked, turning to look at Nathaniel. The other man met Harry's gaze steadily, which was a bit strange for the submissive man.

"No." Nathaniel leaned against the railing. "She thinks you might get into trouble if you go back on your own, so she asked Jean-Claude to get permission to go with you, from the Master of London."

"I don't need her to come with me," Harry protested. "I can get back on my own."

Nathaniel looked up at the sky. "She's still going to do it, in case you need help. She thinks that you might have Death Eaters after you, if you go back alone. So even thought it might be dangerous, and even though she hates to fly, she's still going."

"Why would it be dangerous?" Harry asked.

"Because putting the human servant in another Master's territory is always dangerous," Nathaniel said. There was the beginning of a fine edge of anger in Nathaniel's voice, that Harry had never heard before. "She knows that, but even if it's dangerous, she'll still go to protect you." 

"She doesn't need to protect me!" Harry said sharply. "She shouldn't be putting herself in a situation like that!" 

Nathaniel stood. "Especially if your death solves everything?" he said. Harry whipped his head around to stare at his friend. "You should tell her," Nathaniel said, walking towards the house. "If she's going to put herself in danger, all of us in danger, because of you, then you should tell her everything."

He shut the door behind him, leaving a stunned Harry on the step. Nathaniel had never said anything like that before to Harry.

Harry looked back at the dark space where he had written his name in burning letters. How could he tell Anita that he might have to die, in order to stop Voldemort? Would she listen? 

Did he even want her to believe him?

* * *

The next morning they were back in the jeep, driving for the police station again. Harry hoped that this trip to the RPIT headquarters wouldn't end in a duel with Aurors, but just in case, his wand was within easy reach.

"Did you and Nathaniel get into a fight last night?" Anita asked. Harry stiffened, but didn't look at her.

"No."

When it became clear that Harry didn't have anything else to add, Anita said, "Then why was he avoiding you all morning?"

Harry turned around at last. "What are you talking about?" he demanded. "Nathaniel wasn't avoiding me."

"He does the same thing to me when I've pissed him off," Anita said. "He's still around, but he doesn't go out of his way to spend a lot of time with me." 

Harry thought frantically. Nathaniel had been there during breakfast, but afterward he had just vanished. In the past few days, Harry and Nathaniel usually cleaned up the kitchen together, but that morning Micah had done it by himself.

"Look, I'm sorry I brought it up," Anita said awkwardly. "It's just, you two seemed to be getting along really great."

Harry closed his eyes. He had thought Nathaniel was busy with something else after breakfast, and didn't have the time to spend hanging around with Harry. This had to be about Harry's refusal to tell Anita about the prophecy. What else could it be?

"Are you thinking of going over to England with me?" Harry asked suddenly. Nathaniel might have misunderstood the dangers to Anita in the trip, that had to be it.

"Did Nathaniel tell you that?" Anita asked, looking rather uncomfortable. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am."

"Why? You don't need to go with me, I'll be fine."

"Why do you always try to do everything yourself?" Anita demanded as she drove the jeep into the police station parking lot. "It's going to be the day after a full moon, and if you are really going to be a werewolf, then you might freak out and put other people in danger, so I'm coming along."

"Is that the reason?" Harry asked indignantly. "Because I might start eating people on the plane?"

Anita turned off the car and yanked her keys out of the ignition. "As a matter of fact, it's not!" She got out of the car and slammed the door, leaving Harry to scramble after her.

He caught up with her halfway across the parking lot. "If that's not it, then what?" he demanded. "Is this because I'm still a kid?" He flung the words at her.

Anita whirled around, her hair flying around her face. "From what you've told me, half the people in your world seem to have it in for you! There is nothing wrong with having someone else around to watch your back!" she exclaimed, her words snapping in anger.

Frustration and anger warred within Harry's chest, and he took a few steps back. "Will you be in danger if you go?" he asked.

Anita shook her head. "This isn't about--"

"Will you?"

Anita put her hands on her hips. "Jean-Claude has everything under control," she said. "Give him a few days, and it'll be all settled."

"That was a yes," Harry said. Why was she intent on doing something so dangerous? "You don't--"

"Shut up," Anita interrupted. "This is how it's going to be. I'm taking you to England and putting you on that damned train to your stupid school, where the devious bastard you call your headmaster swears you'll be safe."

"But the Death Eaters--"

"Why are you so dead set against me coming with you?" Anita demanded. "What the hell is wrong with having a little backup in a dangerous situation?"

"Because they need you here!" Harry shouted. They were drawing some curious looks from passers-by, but Harry didn't care. "What if you get hurt? It'll hurt Damian and Nathaniel, and Jean-Claude and Richard and everybody!"

Anita closed the distance between them, so close that Harry could make out the tiny flecks of light brown, almost bronze, in her dark eyes. "This is not about them, and you know it," she said sharply. "If you don't want me to go with you, just fucking say so and don't go hiding behind them."

He couldn't keep it in any longer. "And what if I'm supposed to die anyway?" Harry asked. His fists were clenched at his sides so tightly that he felt like he might break the bones in his hands. "Would that change your mind?

Anita's eyes grew wide. "I thought we'd been over--"

"What if I was wrong?" Harry persisted. His heart was pounding, but he had to ask. He had to know. "What if I have to die for Voldemort to die? Will that change your mind about protecting me?"

"What do you mean?" Anita asked, her anger fading slightly to confusion. "Is this about that prophecy?"

Harry nodded. In spite of the hot day, he felt chilled. "We were talking about it, and Nathaniel-- I mean..."

Anita brushed her hair out of her face. "Stop trying to cover for Nathaniel and just tell me," she demanded.

Harry took a deep breath. He wasn't able to look at Anita, and concentrated very hard on the old car parked about ten yards away. "What if I have to die before Voldemort can die? What if the only way to stop him is for me to be dead?"

Anita didn't say anything. Harry kept staring at the car. _She knows now,_ he thought. _What is she going to do? What if she thinks I'm too much of a danger to have around?_

When Harry couldn't stand the silence any longer, he said, "Maybe we should go inside."

"Just a second."

Harry closed his eyes. This was it.

"Has anyone told you that you're a real idiot?"

Well, that was not what he was expecting. "What?" he exclaimed, turning around.

He had thought Anita was mad. He was wrong. She was furious. "There is no way in hell that you need to die to kill Voldemort," she said in a cold voice. "Do you understand?"

"But the prophecy--"

"Fuck the prophecy. Fuck everyone who's ever told you that it means anything," Anita said icily. "There is no God-damned way that you need to die so someone else will die too. That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard."

Harry shook his head so hard he almost dislodged his glasses. "Then what the hell am I going to do, if trying to kill him doesn't work?" he demanded quietly, trying to avoid attracting the attention of any nearby policemen.

"Gee, I don't know, how about finding another way?" Anita said sarcastically. "There have to be other ways, other than slitting your own fucking throat!"

"Voldemort can live without a body, he'd done it before," Harry said.

"You told me, remember?" Anita said. "That first night. There have to be other magical ways to get rid of a disembodied spirit."

"What if I can't find a way to do that?" Harry asked. It was hopeless, he thought, no matter what Anita thought.

He saw the cold expression on her face, and shivered in spite of himself. "Then I find a way," she said.

* * *

"Inferi."

"What?"

"Inferi," Tammy Reynolds repeated. She sat back in her desk chair. "Do you know what those are?" she asked Anita.

"No clue." The necromancer looked at Harry. "You?"

Harry frowned. "We went over them, last year," he said. "They're like zombies, but not the same."

"They are pretty mindless," Tammy supplied. "Mute, with nothing of their personalities left. They're just animated corpses that do what they are told."

"Sounds horrible, but what does that have to do with anything?" Anita asked.

Tammy pushed a folder across the desk. "We did a little digging. Literally. Nigel Spencer was married one year after he settled in St. Louis, to a woman named Elaine Jones. She died a couple of years ago."

Anita opened the folder, and swore under her breath. "She was buried at the same cemetery as the ghoul attack last night."

"Yes," Tammy said. "Lt. Storr got an exhumation order late last night. They dug the coffin up as soon as day broke."

"What does that have to do with Inferi?" Harry asked.

Tammy gave him a look. "The coffin was empty."

"More than that," Anita said. She dumped a handful of polariods on Tammy's desk and sorted through them. Harry leaned forward to watch. "Look at this. Something dug its way out of the coffin, look at these marks." She sounded nauseated. Harry didn't blame her. Being stuck under six feet of dirt, in a tiny box...

"In the dirt above the coffin, the backhoe found this," Tammy said, pointing to one of the polaroids. Both Anita and Harry crowded close. There was the image of weird-looking metal amulet, the visible engravings caked with dirt. "It's a medallion, textbook perfect, used for raising an Inferius."

"Did whoever killed Mr. Spencer raise his wife as an Inferius?" Harry asked, careful to pretend that he had no idea of the Death Eater's identity.

"Either that, or he tried to do it himself," Anita said, looking at other photographs. "Do we know what happened to the corpse of Elaine Spencer?"

"No," Tammy said. "All I do know is that Inferi never turn into ghouls."

"But they might be the catalyst to making the ghouls," Anita mused. She shifted around in her chair. "Don't suppose our friends downstairs have anything to say about this?"

It took Harry a moment to realize that Anita was speaking about the two Aurors, still in police custody.

"We're not going to ask them," Tammy said shortly. "Why do you suppose that the ghouls attacked you two in the graveyard? They seldom attack humans, and there must have been hundreds of people through there in the last year alone."

"That might point to a recent event." Anita shook her head. "I'll go back to our office, see if there is any recent zombie raisings in this graveyard that might mean something."

"We'll keep looking for Mrs. Spencer's body," Tammy said. "At the very least, there's the grave desecration charge to worry about." She shuffled through another pile of paper on her desk. "I've got your reports about last night, and I think that's all I need right now. If I have to call you later, are you around?"

"Sure thing," Anita said as she stood. "I've got to work tonight, but if you need anything, call. I want to figure out about these ghouls as much as you do."

Tammy gathered the pictures back up and shoved the folder to the side of her desk. "I'll talk to you later," she said, getting up and walking toward the back of the office.

Anita turned and headed toward the exit, Harry tagging along after her. "Do you think that Bellatrix did something to raise the ghouls?" he asked as they hit the stairs.

"I have no idea," Anita said, sounding very annoyed. "I've never heard of these Inferi things before, and it's pissing me off."

"Really?" Harry said dryly, unable to help himself. Anita glared at him. "Sorry."

"No, you're not." Anita waved at the policeman at the front desk as she headed around the metal detectors. She waited while Harry signed out in the guest book. "What do you want to do now?"

"I get to choose?" 

"Well, not really," Anita conceded as they left the building. "I need to go to the office, and I'm sure Jean-Claude will need to talk to me at some point. Plus, I need to schedule a few shooting lessons for you this week."

"Really?" Harry asked. "With a real gun? Won't that be dangerous?" Anita's gun was the first he had ever seen. He didn't even want to hazard a guess how he'd find one back in England.

"A gun's no more dangerous than the person holding it," Anita said. "As long as that person knows what she or he is doing. It's best to be prepared, right?"

"I guess." Harry glanced at where Anita's jacket hid her shoulder holster. "But what if--"

"Harry," Anita stopped him. "What I said before, about finding another way to kill Voldemort. I meant that. I'm not letting you walk out of here without a fighting chance of surviving the year."

"Why not?" 

He expected some answer about him being Damian's grandson, or about how he was probably going to be part of the wolf pack, but Anita surprised him. "You're a good person, Harry. Everyone deserves a fighting chance, and it's about time that you got yours."

Harry really wasn't sure what to make of her answer.


	35. Call of the Wild

* * *

Anita cut across two lanes of traffic before pulling into the parking lot at the Circus of the Damned. "Will Jason give you a ride back to the house?" she asked Harry as she drove around the building to the employees' entrance.

"Probably, or I can figure something out."

She didn't look as if she believed him. "You've got my number, if anything happens," she said.

"Nothing's going to happen," Harry promised her. He unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door. "I'll talk to you later."

Anita's response was lost as Harry closed the car door and headed for the building. As Harry crossed the last bit of pavement, Jason stepped outside, blinking in the bright sun. The werewolf grinned at Harry and waved at Anita as she drove off.

"Come on in," Jason said, stepping aside to let Harry through the door. "How's it going?"

"Fine," Harry said with a shrug. "Just spent a lot of time this morning at the police station."

"About the ghoul attack?" Jason asked, leading Harry toward the stairs. He must have noticed Harry's expression, because he said, "What? Asher was all full of the story last night after he got back."

Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing. Asher hadn't seemed too pleased with Harry when he took off from the graveyard the previous night. "Detective Reynolds needed to talk to us about it," he said.

"Yeah, Tammy's a stickler for rules," Jason said. "But she's a good cop. Do they know what made the ghouls go so crazy?"

"They think someone raised an Inferius, and Anita thinks that might have done something to the ghouls," Harry said.

"What's an Inferius?"

"Like a zombie, but... different." Harry really didn't know how to describe an Inferius. He hadn't ever actually seen one. All he knew about them was from the useless pamphlets that the Ministry sent out the previous summer.

"Different how?" Jason pressed.

Harry thought hard. "They're not like Anita's zombies at all," he said finally. "Anita's zombies are like people, but Inferi are supposed to be more like puppets. Dead people puppets."

"Creepy." At the bottom of the stairs, Jason opened the huge wooden door and let Harry into the large room. "Speaking of zombies, have you been having any luck with raising your own?"

Harry was really beginning to regret telling Jason what he was doing at night with Anita. "No."

"I guess that's the way it goes," Jason said philosophically. "Anita can't use a wand, so maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. She raises zombies, you do the other stuff."

That really didn't reassure Harry, but he didn't want to talk about his failure with the zombies any more. "What are we going to do today?" 

"Didn't you have something in mind when you called?" Jason asked, pushing the curtains at the far end of the room aside to reveal a long stone corridor.

Harry shook his head. "Anita's going to the office and I didn't want to go with her."

Jason laughed. "Spending enough time around her already?"

"It's not that!" Harry protested. "She's just a little bit..."

"Intense? Intimidating? Single-minded?" Jason supplied. "Trust me, I get it." They went through one of the many doors set in the stone wall, way down the corridor. The room was nice, Harry thought, like the sort of room he might like. A big bed was set against one wall, sheets smoothed half-heartedly over the mattress. A stereo and small TV sat in a corner, next to a full bookcase. A few posters hung on the walls, and one nicely framed painting.

Harry wandered over to look at the painting while Jason picked up a shirt lying on the floor. The painting showed a moonlit river, bounded on both sides by buildings. It reminded Harry strongly of London, but not a London he had ever seen.

"Do you like it?" Jason asked.

"I do," Harry said after a moment. He could almost hear the calm lapping of the water as he looked at the painting. "Where is it from?"

"It's Whitby Harbour," Jason said. "I had a poster of it when I got here, it's always been my favourite. Then Jean-Claude gave me the original for my birthday last year."

Jason's voice was tinged with surprise, as if he still couldn't believe that he had the painting in his room. Harry had been the same way, soon after he got his Firebolt. "It's a nice present," he said.

The werewolf smiled sheepishly. "It's the best thing I ever got."

"Was it because you're Jean-Claude's pomme de sang?" Harry asked.

"Sure is," Jason said. "One of the side benefits. Plus, being pomme de sang gives me a bit more protection in the pack. Didn't I tell you this the other night?"

"You might have," Harry said. "But what do you mean, protection? Doesn't the pack protect you on its own?"

"Most times, yes." Jason looked Harry up and down. "You really need new clothes, those shirts just aren't fitting you at all."

"What about the rest of the times?" Harry asked with a frown. "And my clothes are fine, I can do a lengthening spell on them later."

"Or we could just go get you some more," Jason retorted. "I need to go shopping, too. We could do that as opposed to just hanging around here."

Harry felt the blood rising to his face. "I don't need any new clothes," he protested.

"Yes, you do." Jason went over to his closet and pulled out a button-up shirt. "I can loan you the money until you get home or whatever, if that makes a difference."

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, feeling the beginnings of another headache. "That might be okay," he mumbled.

"Good." Jason pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bed, then put on the new shirt. "I just need to go see if Jean-Claude needs anything, then we can go." He was out the door before Harry could change his mind.

Sighing, Harry put his glasses back on. Yes, his clothes were getting a little too tight, but they must have been shrinking in the wash. He knew there was some sort of charm one could do on clothes, he just didn't know what it was. He was used to having such ill-fitting clothes, either Dudley's hand-me-downs or something he had borrowed from Ron. But shopping with Jason probably wouldn't be too bad. Even shopping with Anita and Nathaniel on that first day hadn't been too bad.

Jason took a long time, and Harry was soon bored by looking at the books. He went to the door and peeked out, to see if Jason was coming. He didn't see Jason, but he did see something that made him step out into the hall. "Hello?"

The little girl down the hall turned her head at the sound of Harry's voice. She looked lost and more than a little confused. "Can you help me?" she asked.

What on earth was a child doing down here, under the Circus? Harry walked toward her, thinking that someone needed to get her out of here before the vampires woke up. "What's wrong?" he asked.

As Harry neared the girl, warning bells went off in his head. Her eyes were wide and open, her lips parted slightly. He didn't know what it was, but as he took a breath, the air had a familiar taste to it, like it did when he was around...

"Vampire," he whispered. The girl was a vampire. It was so obvious now that he was thinking about it, that it made him wonder how he had managed to miss it around Meng Die the week before.

The girl curled up her lip, then shook her head. "You're Anita's new toy?" she asked, dropping the scared child act.

Harry swallowed hard. "I'm not her toy," he said, keeping his voice flat.

"That's not what everyone says," the girl said in a sing-song lilt.

"Then they are wrong," Harry said, telling himself that he wasn't going to fall for her goading. Where the hell was Jason?

Just as Harry was beginning to get very nervous at the hungry expression on the little vampire's face, Jean-Claude strode around the corner at the end of the hall, Jason close behind him. "Valentina, I see you have met Harry," the Master vampire said.

The child vampire whipped her head around to glare at Jean-Claude. "Yes," she hissed.

"Very good." Jean-Claude smiled coldly. Valentina whirled and stalked off down the hallway, moving more like a predator than a child. Once she was gone, Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow at Harry. "You do seem skilled at attracting the interest of certain of my vampires."

Harry blushed but managed to glare at Jean-Claude. "It just must be that I'm new," he said. His heart was still beating a little rapidly at the encounter. For some reason, Valentina creeped him out more than Meng Die. At least Meng Die hadn't pretended to be helpless.

Jean-Claude seemed highly amused at Harry's response. "Oui, it must be." 

"Harry and I were going shopping," Jason said, slipping around Jean-Claude. "Do you need anything else?"

Jean-Claude shook his head. "I will speak with you later, Harry." He walked off down the hall after Valentina.

When the vampire was gone, Harry whirled on Jason. "What the bloody hell was that?" he demanded.

Jason quickly ducked into his room and retrieved his wallet and a set of keys. "That was Valentina," he said as he pulled Harry along the hallway in the direction of the stairs.

"I got that much!" Harry exclaimed. "I thought it was illegal to make vampires of children."

"Valentina and Bartholome are special cases," Jason said. "They're both really old, only about a hundred years younger than Jean-Claude."

"Did he make them?" Harry asked, although he wasn't really sure he wanted to know. When he thought about it, he was surprised to find that he had a certain amount of respect for Jean-Claude. But the thought of making vampires out of little kids... That was wrong in so many ways.

"Hell no," Jason said with feeling, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Jean-Claude wouldn't do that."

"Then why are they here?" Harry asked, having to almost run to keep up with Jason.

Jason reached the big door in the main room and unlocked it. "They came with a group of vamps about a year ago," he said, heaving the door open. "Valentina and Bartholome stayed behind for some reason."

Harry concentrated on climbing the uneven stairs while he thought about the child vampires. Now that the shock of meeting a child vampire was wearing off, he found that he was curious about them, Valentina and this Bartholome. How did they feed? What would it be like to look like a child forever?

"Anyway, they tend to hang around the Circus mostly," Jason said. "But Valentina always tries for the new people."

"Define try."

"Try to get them to fall for the helpless little girl act," Jason said. "A lot of the humans fall for it. New werewolves, too."

"How would a new werewolf fall for it?" Harry asked, letting go of his mild suspicion that Jason had set him up with Valentina. "Can't they smell that it's a vampire?"

Jason stopped dead and turned around. "Did you?" he asked, astonished. "You're not supposed to be able to do that yet."

"Well, I did," Harry retorted. "At least..."

"At least what?" Jason asked when Harry fell silent. "Did you smell that she was a vampire or what?"

"It was sort of like that," Harry said slowly. "But... maybe she felt more like a vampire than anything. Kind of like Damian feels like a vampire." He shook his head. "I'm not making any sense."

"You are, sort of," Jason said, although he didn't look particularly reassured. "But I think we should go past the Lunatic Cafe after we go shopping."

"The what?"

"The Lunatic Cafe," Jason repeated as if it made perfect sense. "It's still summer vacation, so either Sylvie or Richard should be there. I think they'd like to know about this."

"Do we really need to bother them with this?" Harry asked.

"Yup," Jason said as he started climbing the stairs again. "You don't know how good we've got it. An Ulfric and Geri who actually give a damn about the pack? It's good times. Plus, the cafe has the best burgers in town."

Harry's stomach rumbled at the mention of food. "I don't want to bother--"

Jason snorted. "You're not bothering them," he said. "When you're a bother, they'll let you know." He was silent until they reached the top of the steps. "It's good, though, that you're still around," he said in a more subdued voice as they stepped out of the building into the hot afternoon.

"How do you mean?"

"Richard tends to overthink things," Jason explained as he headed for a small red car. "If you'd bailed, he'd only be focusing on what happened at the full moon. Since you're here, he's got to deal with you like a person."

Harry frowned as he slipped into the sports car beside Jason. "Is this a good thing?"

"It's a good thing," Jason said, grinning as if to a personal joke. "But before we psychoanalyze Richard anymore, we're shopping. So sit back and enjoy the ride."

As pronouncements go, Harry had heard more ominous ones, but still he was unprepared as Jason peeled out of the parking lot.

* * *

"What are you looking for?" Jason asked Harry as they walked aimlessly through the mall, the initial task of buying new clothes over for the moment.

Harry shook his head. "I still want to get Hermione something for making Head Girl, but I don't know what."

"We decided against a book, right?" Jason asked. He stopped and dropped his handful of bags on a nearby bench. "But something girly?"

"We didn't decide on anything," Harry reminded Jason. "We were interrupted."

"Yeah, by Meng Die," Jason said cheekily. He grinned at Harry's obvious discomfort. "At least it was a good thing to get interrupted by."

"I thought you said she was all scary," Harry retorted, stepping closer to Jason and dropping his voice so no one would overhear.

"Yeah, she's scary, but she's also really hot. If you're into the diminutive overbearing female type." Again, Jason grinned at something Harry knew he was missing. "Come on, we can go check out the jewellery store."

Wearily, Harry followed Jason. They had been shopping for what felt like forever. Harry was a bit appalled by the amount of clothes Jason insisted on buying for him.

 _At least it wasn't anything too weird_ , Harry reflected. He had been a bit worried at first, what a male stripper would consider necessary clothing, but everything Harry had tried on had been normal clothes, shirts and stuff. There were even some nice clothes that Harry could wear back at Hogwarts.

Jason led Harry into a store that was filled with glasses cases. Inside the cases lay all sorts of jewellery; necklaces and rings and bracelets. There was so much, and Harry couldn't see Hermione wearing any of it.

"Got any ideas?" Jason asked as they looked at the cases.

"No," Harry said. "There's nothing in there that..." His voice trailed off as something in a far case, tucked by the wall out of the way, caught his eye.

Jason followed Harry's gaze, and sighed. "I should have guessed," he said, resigned.

Harry bent over the case, taking a closer look at the object. He smiled. It was perfect.

* * *

"... that's not at all what he's doing!" Jason argued loudly as he and Harry walked down the crowded sidewalk. "Do you really think he'd do anything that would put Anita at risk?"

Harry glared at the shorter man. "But what if she was going to do it anyway? Would that change his mind?"

"No matter how much Anita likes to think it, when Jean-Claude has made up his mind about something, especially Anita's safety, it's not changing," Jason said with finality as he veered across the sidewalk to a restaurant. The sign out front read, "Lunatic Cafe."

"But then why is he trying to find a safe way for Anita to visit London?" Harry asked. Instead of answering, Jason pulled the door to the restaurant open and went inside, Harry at his heels.

The place looked just like a house, with doors to many rooms along the entrance hall. Jason confidently led Harry farther into the house. He turned at the second door in the entrance hall. The walls between the rooms had been knocked out, and tables placed in the rooms. The restaurant was mostly empty, but Jason was headed right to a table where Sylvie sat with an unfamiliar woman.

Sylvie looked up as Jason and Harry approached, and smiled. "Hey, you two."

"Hi," Jason said easily. "Mind if we join you?"

Sylvie raised her eyebrows, but nodded. She waited until Harry and Jason were seated before asking, "What's happened?"

Jason tilted his head at Harry. "He says he can smell vampires," Jason said under his breath.

Sylvie leaned in closer. "Really?" she asked quietly, throwing Harry a glance before looking back at Jason.

"That's what he said." Jason leaned even closer to Sylvie and started whispering into her ear. Harry looked over their heads at the woman next to Sylvie. She was tall, Harry could tell, even sitting down. Her long blonde hair and huge brown eyes reminded Harry of a china doll.

"I'm Gwen," the woman said.

Harry nodded and introduced himself, all the while trying to figure out what he was supposed to do. Everything about the woman just screamed 'alpha', maybe not as powerful as Sylvie, but it was still there. Harry noticed Gwen's hand on the back of Sylvie's chair, and remembered that Jason had said Sylvie was into girls. This must be Sylvie's girl.

Jason sat back, and Sylvie turned to Harry. "Interesting," was all she said as she waved someone over. A waitress, a bit older than Harry, rushed up and dropped two menus on the table. The girl waited for Sylvie to nod before dashing back the way she came.

"What was that all about?" Jason asked, flipping a menu open.

Sylvie sighed. "It's Maryanne's first job," Gwen answered for her. "She's been freaking out whenever Sylvie comes in here."

"It's worse when Richard's around," Sylvie grumbled. "She can't even speak around him."

"She's probably just got a crush on him," Jason said matter-of-factly.

Sylvie shuddered. "She's the same age as some of his students," she pointed out.

Jason grinned at Harry, and Harry had a horrible moment where he thought Jason was going to bring up something about him and older women, like Meng Die, or...

"Anita's centuries younger than Jean-Claude," Jason said, winking at Harry. "That doesn't creep you out."

"That's because Anita can handle herself," Sylvie said, slapping Jason's hand away when he reached for some of her chips. "Knock it off."

Jason mock-cringed. "I can't help it, I'm just so hungry, taking Harry shopping for hours..."

"That was your idea," Harry quickly said. The talk of food made his stomach rumble again, and he opened the menu. The food listing was about as comprehensible to him as an arithmancy textbook. After skimming the pages for a minute, he gave up and asked Jason, "What's good?"

"The Double Jumbo burger," Jason said without hesitation. "It's got two patties, and bacon, and two types of cheese--"

"And enough cholesterol to give anyone a heart-attack," Gwen said from behind her coffee cup.

Jason shrugged. "Living dangerously is what I'm all about."

By the time the waitress Maryanne returned to the table, Harry had started to understand the dynamic between the three werewolves. Jason would tease Sylvie and even Gwen, but he never said anything out of line, never disagreed with them. It was clear, to Harry, that Sylvie was in charge of the situation, and that Jason was comfortable with that.

The restaurant began to fill up. Harry was halfway through his burger when something prickled at his attention, and he glanced around. Richard was coming out of a door behind the bar, flanked by Jamil and Shang-Da. He caught sight of the group at Sylvie's table, and headed their way.

Since Jason didn't do anything at Richard's approach, Harry decided to follow his friend's lead. He quickly swallowed his mouthful and wiped his fingers on a napkin, but stayed seated.

Richard pulled a chair around from another table and sat down between Sylvie and Harry. Jamil slapped Richard on the back, and when Richard nodded, the two bodyguards went back to the bar.

"I didn't know you'd be here, Harry," Richard said, setting his elbows on the table.

"Jason suggested we get something to eat," Harry said.

"That's not all," Sylvie said, leaning over to Richard and speaking to him in a low voice. Harry only heard snippets of the conversation, including his name mentioned several times. Finally, Richard leaned back in his chair.

"Just like Anita," the Ulfric said absently, flipping a fork over in his fingers.

"Pardon me," Harry said, "But what's like Anita?"

Richard and Sylvie exchanged a look, then Sylvie stood up. "I'll see you later, Harry, Jason." Gwen also stood and was walking toward the exit before Sylvie even had her purse in hand.

Jason waited until Gwen and Sylvie were safely outside before leaning over and saying to Harry, "Don't mind Gwen. She and Sylvie have been together for a while."

That didn't explain to Harry why Gwen seemed to be annoyed with Richard, but Harry sensed that this wasn't the time to ask about it. Instead, he shifted his chair around so he faced Richard. "What's like Anita?" he pressed.

Richard tossed the fork to the table. "You're able to sense stuff a new wolf shouldn't, and you're not reacting the way you are supposed to, to blood and stuff," he muttered, his voice almost inaudible in the muted roar of the restaurant. "Anita was the same way."

"But she didn't change," Harry said slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. For two weeks, he'd been telling himself that he'd be a werewolf. But now, to have the head werewolf question that... it was almost too much to hope for.

"I know," Richard said. "But I don't know. You've still got two weeks, things might change."

Harry concentrated on his plate. He didn't know what to say. The thought that he might not become a werewolf was loud and ecstatic in his head, but there was also a jarring feeling of loss. He had thought, for a little while at least, that the pack would be sort of like his family. Now, he might not even have that.

 _But things might change,_ he told himself. _I could still be a werewolf. I'll find out on the night of the full moon. Either way, I can still go back to school, so it doesn't matter that way... right?_

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that Richard looked almost as conflicted as he felt. Maybe he wanted Harry to be a part of the pack.

Jason nudged Harry's arm. "Hey, what was Anita saying about those ghouls again?"

"Huh?"

Richard shook himself and glanced up. "How is Anita doing?" he asked, frowning slightly. "You two were attacked by ghouls last night, right?"

Harry nodded. "A whole bunch of them," he said, picking up his burger again. "Anita couldn't figure out why they attacked, and then the exterminators came."

"But she's okay," Richard said, making the statement into a question.

Harry nodded slowly. "She's fine," he said after he swallowed his mouthful. "She's at work now, I think, looking for something that might tell her why the ghouls attacked at that graveyard." Harry blinked at his burger. "They weren't what I'd call ghouls, anyway."

"How so?" Jason asked.

Harry licked a bit of ketchup off his thumb. "Back... home, ghouls are just stupid things that live in attics and bang on pipes. They don't try and eat people on graveyards."

"Didn't you have the same kind of thing with trolls?" Jason asked, stealing a handful of chips off Harry's plate. "There was that the troll that tried to eat you and Ron and Hermione at Halloween that one year, right?"

"A troll tried to attack you?" Richard asked, his entire attention suddenly on Harry. Nodding, Harry recalled that Anita had told him that Richard did his university work on trolls.

As quickly as possible, and trying to play down how stupid he and Ron had been to try and face down the troll on their own, Harry explained about the troll that Professor Quirrell had let into Hogwarts on Halloween night, in Harry's first year.

"Very strange," Richard said when Harry finished his story. "The trolls in North America aren't like that at all. They're smaller, for one, and very shy."

"Plus they don't eat children," Jason added.

"Might be a difference in the nomenclature between North American and European communities," Richard mused. "If it extends to disparate species like trolls and ghouls..." He looked, unseeing, at Harry, then his eyes came back into focus. "That might be an interesting paper topic, thanks."

Harry wasn't exactly sure what Richard was talking about, but he nodded anyway.

Jamil suddenly appeared at the side of the table. "We need to get going, Richard," the bodyguard said. He grinned down at Harry, and Harry found himself smiling back.

"Right." Richard stood. "I'll talk to you later, Harry."

"Bye," Harry called as Richard and Jamil threaded their way to the exit. Jason let out a groan as soon as Richard was out of earshot. "What?" Harry asked.

"Richard can't know that Anita's taking you to England," Jason muttered. "If he did, he wouldn't have been all happy-shiny like that."

"And why is that bad?" Harry asked.

Jason poked at the remains of his burger with his fork. "Because, when he does find out, he'll be all mad at Jean-Claude for not telling him, and at me for not telling him."

"Do you know anything about what Jean-Claude's planning?" Harry asked.

"No." Jason dragged his fork through the ketchup, making patterns on his plate. "But that doesn't matter."

Harry frowned. "If Jean-Claude didn't tell you anything, it doesn't make any sense for Richard to get mad at you about it."

Jason put down his fork and signaled to the waitress. "Harry, when it comes to Anita, Richard's not really firing on all logic cylinders," the young werewolf said sagely. "Come on, let's get you home. I need to be at work in a few hours."

* * *

Slumping in my work chair, I tossed the last file folder on my desk, not really caring that the pages slid everywhere. There was nothing in Animator Inc.'s files about that cemetery where the ghouls attacked Harry and me. Whatever caused the ghouls to run amuck was probably not based in anything in these files. Damn it.

Maybe I should do more research into these Inferi, I thought, just as my desk phone rang. Absently, I lifted the receiver and said, "Anita Blake."

"Hello, Anita," came the voice over the line.

I gripped the phone a little tighter. "Hello, Edward."


	36. This Wasn't In The Brochure

* * *

When Edward didn't say anything, I leaned back in my chair. "What's happening, Edward?" I knew he wasn't calling to ask how I was doing. He never made social calls.

"I hear you've been having some interesting magic-related deaths in St. Louis recently," Edward said, all business.

"You've heard of Nigel Spencer's death?" I asked.

"I did." Edward fell silent for a moment. "I didn't expect you to get involved with Death Eaters, Anita. They don't seem like your type."

Death Eaters? How the hell did Edward know what was going on? A second later, my suspicious nature kicked in, and I wondered if Edward was bluffing to get me to talk. "I suppose you got hold of the information in the police file somehow?"

"I did."

"So why are you calling?"

"Because I know more about Nigel Spencer than I think you do."

Edward seldom volunteered information, not unless... "Are you coming to town?" I asked.

"No."

"So why are you telling me this?"

"How long have you known that Harry Potter is your vampire's grandson?"

The plastic receiver of the phone cracked as I gripped it a little too hard. "What the fuck--" I stopped myself. "What are you talking about?" I asked, more calmly.

"Can we just stop playing games, Anita?" Edward asked. "It's in the police files, about Damian." There was a distinct hint of disgust in Edward's voice. He disliked Damian's tie to me more than he did any of my other guys. "And everyone knows about Harry Potter."

I wanted to dispute that, but I let it go to deal with the more pressing matter. "What does any of this have to do with Nigel Spencer?" I asked.

Tiny beeping sounded in the background. "I'm going to fax you some information that I gathered on him," Edward said. "About two years ago, he started buying magical paraphernalia, all very illegal. He acquired a few fetishes from a voodoo practitioner in Florida, which is how he came to my attention."

"Two years ago? That's about when his wife died," I said, thinking hard. I pushed the graveyard folders off to the side and reached for the Spencer file.

"I know," Edward said. "But that's not all he was buying."

He stopped, and I waited for almost twenty seconds before I caved. "What else did he buy, Edward?" I asked.

"Construction materials," Edward replied promptly. "Concrete, metal bars. Everything you'd need for an underground holding cell."

My fingers stilled as I realized what he was talking about. I had to fight down a wave of revulsion before I answered. "Why are you telling me all this?"

I swear, I could almost hear Edward smile over the phone. "Maybe you'll have information that I'll need one day."

"Damn it, Edward," I said, already on my feet, gathering up my keys, "This isn't funny."

"I know it's not," he said, amusement gone. He hesitated for a moment. "Anita, have you seen Olaf?"

I froze. "Why?" I demanded over the sudden pounding of my heart..

"He's gone to ground. I can't find him anywhere."

I made myself put my keys in my pocket. "I know I fit his victim profile, and he's got this sick idea that I should be his little serial killer girlfriend, but why do you think he'd be around here?"

"I don't know, Anita," Edward said, sounding weary. "Whenever he vanishes this completely, he's always gone back to killing."

"And you think he might come after me."

"I don't know."

Hearing Edward admit that he was in the dark on this chilled me more than anything. "I'll keep an eye out for him."

"You do that," Edward said. "And if you do see him, put as many bullets in him as fast as you can."

I closed my eyes briefly. As much as the idea scared me, we didn't know where Olaf was, or even what he was planning to do. It could wait for a bit. "Are you sending me all your information on Nigel Spencer?" I asked.

"Yes." And we were back to our normal selves. "It should be enough."

With that, he hung up.

I stared at the phone. The thought that Olaf might be coming after me, either to rape and kill me, or to try and get me to go on a killing spree with him, was not what I needed to hear today. Or ever. If it had just been me and him, I knew I could kill him before he laid a finger on me, but here in St. Louis, I was surrounded by people who I cared about. Not all of them were fighters, and might be caught in the crossfire. What would I do if someone got hurt because of me? I didn't know.

In the meantime, there were things I needed to do. I hung up the phone and grabbed the Spencer file on my way out of my office. Once I picked up the faxes Edward sent me, I could be on my way to the police station. Only it didn't work out quite like that.

My co-worker John Burke was standing over the fax machine when I turned the corner. Any hopes I had that he was looking for something of his own were blown away when he turned around, paper clenched between his hands. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, brandishing pages at me. "Who has been buying this?"

I snatched the paper out of John's hands. The pages contained a hand-written list of voodoo fetishes, magical talismans and assorted other items. "Nigel Spencer," I told him, gathering up the rest of the fax. Sure enough, Edward had sent me the purchase orders of building supplies, everything one would need to build a cage big enough to hold a person, and secure enough to hold a zombie. "He started buying this after his wife died, a wife who's no longer in her grave at the Sacred Heart cemetery."

John clenched his jaw. "These things should never be used together!" he exclaimed. "Raven claws? Snake skin? The zombie that would rise would be animistic, or worse!"

"I know!" I shot back. "I'm going to the police station now. If Nigel really did build that cage, and raised his wife as a zombie like that--"

"I'm going with you," John interrupted.

"No, you're not," I said as I pushed past John down the hall. He was right on my heels and ducked in front of me in the lobby, drawing the curious attention of Mary, the secretary.

"I'm a federal marshal too, Anita," John said through clenched teeth. "I also know more about voodoo that you do. If there's a zombie, raised and guarded by those talismans, you will not know what to do with it, I guarantee."

I glared up at him. We never got along, mostly because we were way too much alike, but he was right. He'd been one of the most powerful voodoo priests in New Orleans before an incident with the law drove him out of town. "There was also a talisman over the empty grave," I said grudgingly. "Detective Reynolds said it would raise an Inferius, a..." my voice trailed off when I saw John's eyes grow wide. "You know what they are?"

"I do, but I'm surprised that someone told you about them."

I shook my head. Why did everyone else know about the magic stuff that I had never heard of? "Come on."

John insisted on getting his zombie kit, which privately I thought was a good idea, but would never admit out loud. While he retrieved his bag from his office, I went to the large window and stared out onto the brilliant afternoon. Shadows were beginning to gather, even though sunset was a few hours off. The day was bright, but I hadn't felt quite so dark inside for a very long time.

Necromancers and the vaudaun did not raise their loved ones. It was our strongest unwritten rule, the first lesson I'd learned from my maternal grandmother in Mexico. I'd toyed with the idea of raising my mother in spite of that, for years, until that day I'd told Harry about, when the lessons I'd learned at my grandmother's side finally made sense. The zombie of my mother wouldn't have been my mother, it would have been an empty shell.

That was my mother, someone who was my whole world, but as a parent. Love for a child was much different, and that was why when a voodoo priest or priestess lost a child, it was tradition to have someone stay with them for forty days, so they wouldn't try and raise that lost child.

The most repulsive part of the situation with Nigel Spencer, however, was that he might have raised his wife as a zombie, or an Inferius, or some bastard hybrid of the two. I knew some people got off on having sex with zombies, but it was the single most nauseating thing I could think of. Maybe I was being unfair to Nigel, but what other reason would he have to raise his wife? 

If Spencer was a wizard like Harry, he might have been able to raise her with all that black magic paraphernalia, even without having any aptitude for death magic. From watching Harry these past few nights, I had figured out that the reason Harry hadn't been able to raise a zombie was because he insisted on using his wand alone. It hadn't even occurred to him to use talismans or fetishes, not that I planned to encourage him. It was enough to know that, in spite of having vampire blood in him, his magic was all life and warmth.

John stormed back into the lobby, face like a thunder cloud. I never knew the details behind his leaving New Orleans, but I wondered now, seeing his reaction to the Spencer case, if he had lost someone he cared about. But he was not my friend, and I would never ask.

"Let's go see what Spencer has hidden in his basement," I said, going for the door.

"I hope you are wrong," John muttered, glaring at me as I held the door open for him.

"I hope I'm wrong too." Somehow, though, I knew I wasn't.

* * *

Harry bumped into Micah as he walked through the front door of the house.

"Sorry," Harry tried to say, but Micah waved it off.

"I have to go, an emergency in town," Micah said, hand on the doorknob. "But there's a note for you in the kitchen table, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said as Micah ran toward his car. Micah was moving fast, but he wasn't panicked, so Harry decided that the emergency must have been a shape-shifter coalition emergency, not something to do with Anita or the pard.

 _I don't know if I can handle any more emergencies,_ Harry thought, dropping his many bags on the floor of the hall. He wandered through the silent house to the kitchen, where a surprising thick stack of paper sat on the table. The top sheet was a note written in Micah's messy scrawl, while the rest seemed to be a computer print-out.

The note from Micah read, _Harry, I have to head into town. Anita called, she's stuck at the office for a bit, and Nathaniel's at work. There's food in the fridge. Also, your friend Hermione called this afternoon._

Harry blinked. Hermione called again? Was something wrong? Then he shook his head. No, if there was trouble, Micah would have told him when he saw him. He continued reading.

_She wanted to leave a message, but started talking so fast that I suggested that she just email you, but she told me that she's not sure you know how to use a computer. Long story short (although it may be too late for that), she emailed her message to my email, and I printed it off for you. If there's any emergencies, you know my cell number. Damian's downstairs and will be up at sunset._

Harry laid Micah's note to the side and picked up the print-out. His eyes couldn't seem to move past the names at the top of the page. The crisp white paper with the precise lettering was so unlike Harry's vision of Hermione, all flying hair and quills and parchment. But Hermione's parents were dentists, Harry reminded himself as he headed for the living room and flopped onto the couch, remembering just in time to kick off his trainers. The Grangers must have a computer, and Hermione would probably have used it before she came to Hogwarts. Harry had never used a computer, as Dudley had thrown heavy objects at him when Harry even looked at Dudley's computer.

* * *

From: H Granger [h_granger0112@hotmail.com]  
To: micah_callahan@aol.com  
Subject: For Harry

Mr. Callahan, here is the message for Harry. Thank you very much for passing it along to him.  
-Hermione.

Hi, Harry! We're about to go to the Burrow for the rest of the summer, and I wanted to write you a message that I'm pretty sure no one will see. From the way Ron carried on about the computer, I think it's safe to assume that no DE will be able to suss out how to hack into hotmail.

We really wish you were here with us. We went to a movie yesterday, and Tonks came with us. She says that when her dad used to take her to movies all the time as a kid, and that it was fun. It was fun, but really, she was guarding us. So you don't need to worry about us. And for the rest of the summer, we'll be at the Burrow with the Weasleys. Fleur is there with Bill, and they've pushed up the wedding to Christmas, when we are on holidays and can attend.

I found out who the Head Boy is! Blaise Zabini! I'm surprised it wasn't one of the boys in Ravenclaw, but I think it was Blaise's marks in arithmancy that really added that last little bit.

Ron says I need to stop talking about school. We'll be back there soon enough, right? One more year of school. Then we need to start looking into what we are going to do afterward. Ron's been threatening to go work at his brother's joke shop, much to Molly's chagrin. I'm not sure what I plan to do, it will depend on how many NEWTs I write.

No word on You-Know-Who. The Ministry of Magic continues to put out useless pamphlets and round people up for no reason. We don't know if anyone has died recently, but I think that Professor Dumbledore is still trying to get that batch of Gringott employees out of Azkaban. It doesn't make any sense, what's happening here. The Ministry isn't responding to a threat, it's whipping up fear and panic until people forget where the real danger is.

My parents are going to Spain next week, on an extended vacation, then going on a working sabbatical to Asia for the rest of the year. One of the dentists my Mum went to university with started a travelling dental clinic for developing muggle communities. They will be far away for a year, whatever will happen. They wanted me to go with them. I think they know what the dangers are, but I can't leave. I don't know if they understand. I don't know if I understand some days. But you're coming back, and you and Ron will need someone to keep you out of too much trouble. We all know Ron never listens to Ginny.

I should go. My parents are taking us out for one final dinner in the muggle world. Mum really likes Ron and Ginny, and Dad's stopped glaring at Ron. Parents are so strange.

I found a bunch of articles of muggle scientist studies on the children with vampire fathers, and I'm sending them over as well. As I thought, the whole prejudice against them just seems to be superstition, like muggle-born witches and wizards. If the baby's not born with Vlad's Syndrome, then they appear perfectly normal. There doesn't seem to be any correlation between that and magical talents, but I don't think the researchers were looking for that at all.

If you need to get in touch with us, Harry, we'll be at the Burrow. Please take care of yourself. I'm sorry we couldn't talk to you.

Hermione.

PS: Ron wants me to tell you that the Kenmare Kestrels beat the Chudley Cannons only by 50 points, and that's because their Seeker caught the Snitch.  
PPS: Ginny got an E in potions. No more Snape for her!

* * *

Harry read the letter through, then once again. He could almost hear Hermione's voice, straying over the edge into a lecture at times. The bit about Hermione's parents leaving England surprised him slightly, but he supposed it made sense. It wasn't like they were hiding; they were going to help people. Had that friend of Hermione's mum been given a nudge to suggest it to the Grangers? Would any of the people in Harry's world care about two muggle dentists? 

_That's not fair_ , Harry scolded himself. A lot of the people in the Order of the Phoenix would care.

He looked back at the letter. He'd never tell his friends, but knowing that Tonks was with them did make Harry feel a little better. Even though she was clumsy at times, Tonks was a fully trained Auror, and dead quick with a wand. Hermione and Ron were both over seventeen, so they could use magic in public, and they had passed their Apparition tests early in the summer. Ginny was safe as houses with them.

The fact that Harry had only been sixteen when the school year ended, and wasn't allowed to take the last Apparition lessons, rankled him to no end. He had argued with Professor McGonagall that not knowing how to Apparate was an advantage to any Death Eater who came after him, but she hadn't listened to him. Of course, Harry hadn't thought that he would end up in the woods with werewolves after him during the summer, or else he would have tried to learn Apparition on his own.

While he lay on the couch, thinking, Harry's stomach growled. _What's wrong with me?_ Harry wondered, pushing himself to his feet. _I ate only three hours ago._ Now that Harry thought about it, Jason seemed to eat a lot too. Maybe it was a werewolf thing.

By now, Harry knew where everything was in Anita's kitchen, and quickly filled a plate with leftovers. He leaned against the kitchen island and ate while reading the remainder of Hermione's message, copies of those muggle science studies on vampire children. A lot of the language went over his head, especially the bit about maths, but he managed to struggle through the summary paragraphs.

All of them said the same thing. Other than a tendency to sunburn easily, children with vampire fathers, the ones without Vlad's Syndrome, were normal humans. _Hermione was right_ , Harry mused, smiling at the familiar refrain. _Just another stupid prejudice._

Then he lost his smile. The Wizarding world's 'stupid prejudices' could be deadly. Look at how they treated werewolves and muggle-borns. Harry might have a bit of all three in his blood now. _Well, I'm not going to let them tell me what to do,_ he thought fiercely. _My mum was a good person and I am too. Remus is a good person, and Hermione is the smartest witch I know._

Slapping the paper down on the counter, Harry turned around, and almost jumped out of his skin. Damian stood in the doorway to the basement, looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow. "You seemed upset," Damian said abruptly.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. He must have been too worked up to even sense Damian. "It's nothing."

"It does not sound like nothing," Damian said, closing the door. "Is anyone else here?"

Harry shook his head. "Micah had an emergency, and Nathaniel and Anita are at work."

"I see." 

Harry looked back down at the print-out. He found being around his grandfather rather awkward. The man was positively ancient, but looked so young. But this was the first time Harry could remember having family that actually wanted him around, and he was resolved to making an effort, at least. "So, um..."

"Yes?"

"Anita thinks she knows what made the ghouls attack last night," Harry said, finally lighting on something that he figured Damian was interested in. "Nigel Spencer's wife was buried in that cemetery, but her body's gone. Anita and Tammy-- I mean, Detective Reynolds, think that might have something to with why the ghouls rose like they did."

Damian frowned. "Another necromancer?" he asked, gliding silently across the kitchen.

"No. I mean, probably not," Harry said, watching his grandfather. Was he levitating, or just being really quiet? "Detective Reynolds said they found a medallion in the dirt, that can be used to raise an Inferius."

"What are those?" Damian asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over his chest.

"A wizarding type of zombie," Harry explained as he rinsed his plate and put it in the drying rack. "Voldemort used them, years ago, and the authorities in England have been warning everyone about them for over a year. I've never seen one, and I sure don't know how they are made."

"What does Anita plan to do about it?" Damian asked.

"I don't know," Harry said. "She's at her office now, researching stuff on the graveyard."

Damian nodded, dropping his eyes to the floor. His skin was paler than normal, and it made his hair seem that much redder in the light. Harry bit his lower lip.

"Have you fed?" Harry asked, then winced as he reviewed the words. Were you allowed to ask a vampire about that? Was it rude?

Damian did not seem at all disturbed by the question. "No, I have not." He quirked his mouth into a sardonic closed-lipped smile. "I will feed at work this evening."

"Oh." Harry didn't sense any discomfort from Damian, so he pressed ahead with the question that had been nagging at him for days. "What's it like, being a vampire?"

"It is..." Damian seemed to search for the words. "It is what I am," he finally said. "It is all I know. I have been such for a very long time."

"But don't you remember before? Being a Viking and all that?"

All expression was wiped off Damian's face, and Harry knew he shouldn't have asked the question. "I do remember parts of it," Damian said, his voice steady, but only just. "For very many years, my past, what I once was, was used by my old master to torment me." Drawing in breath, Damian continued. "My old master was a mora, a night hag. She fed off fear, the way Jean-Claude feeds off sex."

Harry had no idea what to say, so he kept his mouth firmly shut. He did wish, however, that he had never started asking questions.

"And she did not wish to let me go, but the Vampire Council insisted." Damian looked very intently at Harry. "Her name was Moroven."

He said the name like everyone back in England said 'Voldemort', and Harry felt a shiver run up his spine. "She sounds awful."

"Yes." Damian finally blinked. "What you said to me and Nathaniel, about your Voldemort and his name, is true. Fearing a name feeds that fear."

"But with Voldemort, it's kind of different," Harry argued. "He was a man once. He made this whole new identity, but even if he knew all sorts of dark magic, he was still Tom Riddle under it all. No one wants to think that he was once just a person, like them."

Damian shook his head. "She is not a person, Harry. She is a master vampire, one of the most powerful to walk the earth. We are not humans with fangs, and we never will be. We are vampires."

Harry let out a breath. "Are you trying to scare me?" he asked, trying to keep his voice light, although his heart was jackhammering in his chest.

Damian looked away. Instead of answering Harry's question, he said, "A vampire takes a lot from its master. Since Anita became my master, her humanity has been slowly seeping into me. I can walk in the light, but that is not all. I am more... human, than any other vampire."

"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked.

Damian certainly didn't look happy. "It is what it is," he said. "It cannot be changed."

That was another thing he and his grandfather had in common, Harry reflected. Neither was what they were supposed to be. "That's life, I guess."

Damian pushed himself off the cabinet. "I must prepare for work," he said. "What are you planning to do for the rest of the night?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe wash my new clothes, or watch some movies?" Something occurred to him. "Are you guys keeping an eye on me?" he asked, feeling the heat begin to rise in his cheeks. "Why are you always making sure I'm with someone?"

"I do not know what you are talking about," Damian said. "No one has said anything to me." He tilted his head. "A newly infected werewolf should not change this soon, so it is probably not that."

"Great," Harry muttered under his breath. Damian headed for the basement door while Harry gathered up the print-out into a neat pile.

Harry couldn't remember any time in the past few weeks when he had been alone. He was always with Anita, or Nathaniel, or Jason or someone. Maybe it was protection against Death Eaters, or maybe some of the vampires like Meng Die? Hadn't Harry shown them that he could handle himself? 

_Or maybe I'm overreacting,_ he thought as he walked down the hall to the front door and picked up his clothes bags. _We're always doing stuff, and no one seems to mind having me around._ Maybe it was that people around here seemed to like his company.

That might be it. Even if they were worried about him, they didn't need to be. He could handle any situation that came his way, even if he was sitting around the house, watching movies and eating popcorn. He had always wanted to do that, just like a normal person.

Leaving his new clothes on his bed, he went back downstairs and flipped through the movies, coming to the ones he had been interested in that first night, when the pard was over and he learned that Damian was his grandfather. Hopefully, this night would be buckets less exciting.

Movies selected, Harry headed for the kitchen to make popcorn. One nice, normal night was all he wanted. _Although,_ he thought cynically, _I'm not even sure that I know what normal is._

* * *

The sounds from the doorbell hadn't even faded when I was kicking myself for coming out here. What the hell was I thinking? That was it, wasn't it? I wasn't thinking. I didn't want to think any more. I just wanted to turn my brain off and forget this whole evening.

Screw this. I had already half turned back toward my car when the door opened. "Anita?" Richard said, almost filling the doorway. "Are you okay?"

I didn't answer for a few moments, and it was embarrassing because I forgot how to form words. The only clothing Richard had on was a pair of ragged cut-offs, hanging so low on his hips it was almost indecent. His hair was long enough to reach his shoulders, and it was messy, as if he had been running his hands through his hair while he was thinking. He looked good enough to eat, and I had to swallow hard. "I'm fine."

He smiled suddenly at me, and the look in his eyes told me that he knew how he was affecting me. That was a familiar look, and it made me shake my head. Yeah, just another day of being me.

"Is there something I can do for you?" Richard asked. If there had been even the tiniest hint of a leer in his voice, I'd had bailed, but he sounded genuinely curious.

"I just wanted to come by and see how you were," I said. That wasn't it, but hell, even I didn't know what I wanted.

Richard looked at me for a moment, then stood aside. "Do you want to come in?"

I walked past him into the house, kicking off my heels by the door. "You changed stuff around," I said as soon as I hit the living room.

"I usually do once a summer," Richard said, right behind me. I could feel the warmth from his skin, so close, and it made me realize how cold I was. "I'm done my degree now, and I've been stuck here all month. I've been going a bit stir-crazy."

"I guess it doesn't hurt that you can lift your sofa without breaking a sweat," I said, looking over my shoulder at him. He smiled gently at me, and touched my elbow.

"Do you want something to drink?" 

"Some water would be nice," I said. He went to the kitchen, and I examined the magazines on his coffee table. He still had subscriptions to all the preternatural biology magazines, and I leafed though one with a picture of a kelpie on the front until Richard returned. "Thanks."

"Do you want to come out onto the back porch?" Richard asked. "I was drafting up a new lesson plan, and it's nicer outside."

"Sure," I said, and followed Richard through his bedroom and out the open French doors. The night air hung still and warm, a typical Missouri summer night. I sank onto the porch, curling my legs around so I didn't flash Richard in this skirt, and set my glass of water down on the wood.

He went back to where he had obviously been sitting before I arrived, papers strewn this way and that. As he sat down, it occurred to me that he was totally comfortable in his own skin, out here like this. He'd always loved teaching, and just sitting on the edge of the forest that bordered his house.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Richard asked, watching me.

I looked out at the darkness. "I don't know," I said softly. "I don't even know why I'm here."

"But you're not leaving," Richard pointed out.

"No." An owl hooted off in the distance, and for no reason I could think of, the events of the night just came rushing back to me and I started talking, still staring out at the forest. "Edward called me this afternoon. He read the police file, and sent me a bunch of stuff on Nigel Spencer." I detailed what Edward gave me as briefly as possible. Richard really didn't like how being around Edward put me in danger, and I was too tired to argue. "So John and I went to Spencer's house with Tammy and a few people from RPIT. Tammy called this witch she knows, and that was the only way we found it."

"Found a hidden room?" Richard guessed. I nodded.

"Found a cage. It was warded up tight, with voodoo charms and everything. John got most of the fetishes down, but he needed the help of Tammy's friend to get the last of it out. If a witch alone had tried to open the room, the gris-gris would have gone for her throat."

"What was it guarding?"

I swallowed, this time to push down the revolt of my stomach, before I said, "Elaine Jones. Or Spencer, I don't know what she wanted to be called."

I picked up my water and quickly gulped it down. I couldn't remember when I'd last eaten, and even the thought of food made me want to throw up. Then Richard took the glass out of my hand and sat down beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me against him. I let him, which just told me how horrible I felt.

"And it wasn't like a normal zombie at all," I said after a minute. "She wasn't rotting or anything, she just sat there. Like a puppet, but her eyes..." Zombies don't have opaque eyes like you see in movies. Either the eyes are normal, although empty, or they're dried up. Elaine's eyes were clouded, but they followed everyone in the room. I tried again. "She didn't move until John picked up a talisman on the wall, then she did whatever he told her to."

"Do you know how long she'd been down there?" Richard asked. The rumble of his voice through his chest was soft against my cheek.

"We think about two months," I said. "Spencer's credit card bill for the last few years has had strange purchases for pretty much every week, up until two months ago. Then everything stopped. The last purchase was some lingerie." I closed my eyes, but that didn't make the image of that lingerie, spilling lacy and red out of a dresser drawer in the claustrophobic underground room, go away.

"Oh, God," Richard whispered, his arms tightening around me.

"The sick son of a bitch even bought her lingerie," I said, too tired to be anything but horrified. "What kind of fucking psychopath reanimates the body of his wife and sticks her in a room like that?" 

"I don't know," Richard said, reaching up to touch my hair. When I didn't protest, he brushed the hair back from my face.

I let Richard hold me. The heat from his body slowly warmed me up, until I was feeling a bit better. "What are you going to do now?" Richard asked after several minutes.

"We took her back to the cemetery, and John, the witch and I managed to lay her to rest. John's watching over the grave with a team of exterminators all night, and Dolph's trying to find out if Elaine has any family to get them to okay a cremation," I explained. "I don't want to leave a body lying around that's been animated with all that magic."

"Was that why the ghouls attacked you last night?" Richard asked. "The different magic?"

"I don't know," I said, reluctantly pulling away from him. "There was a lot of bad magic in that room and in that grave. It might have done it, been enough to pull the ghouls out of their graves." 

Richard took my hand in his, and I welcomed the contact. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

I looked down at our joined hands. "I'm just getting sick of this shit," I said. "Sick of coming across people who do this kind of thing. It's like I'm a stone, and everything I come across wears me down just a little more, until I don't know if I'm me anymore."

"You are you," Richard said, squeezing my hand. "If you weren't, this wouldn't bother you."

I laughed at that, rather bitterly. "If I ever get to that point, please shoot me," I said snappishly, only half-kidding. I pulled my hand away from Richard and stood up. Walking down the shallow steps to the lawn, I felt the dry grass under my stocking feet, and just wanted to keep going until I walked this night out of my head.

I knew Richard followed me, close but not touching, and for some reason, it didn't bother me. "Why did you come here?" he asked.

I looked down at my toes. I was going to get runs in my thigh-highs, and I didn't care. "Maybe I wanted to talk to someone who'd be as shocked as I was," I finally said.

"What do you mean?"

I didn't turn around. "I didn't want to tell someone who knows about this kind of fucked-up shit. I didn't want to be the naive one, okay?"

"So you didn't go to Nathaniel or Jean-Claude or Micah, you came to me," Richard said.

"Fuck, why are you picking at this?" I demanded, whirling around. "Maybe I just wanted to see you, okay? Maybe, for once, I wanted someone to lie to me and tell me it would be okay, and you're the only one who ever tells me that!" To my abject horror, tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I brushed angrily at them, to no avail. I hated being so emotional, but more than that, the tears came from fear. Fear that some day, someone wouldn't be able to let me go like they needed to. Or worse, that I would be the one who couldn't let go.

Richard put his hands carefully on my arms, and when I didn't hit him, pulled me into a hug. I hugged him back, wanting something solid.

"Why does the world have to be like this?" I whispered after a few minutes.

"I don't know," Richard said. He disentangled from the hug and guided me back to the house, through the French doors, and sat me on the bed. He knelt in front of me, hands on my knees.

I sniffled. "And it's not like it's even really my world," I said. "It's all Harry's world, with its torture curses and fucked-up zombies and dark magic. How can any kid hope to survive in a world like that?"

Richard shook his head. "I don't know, Anita." He hesitated, then said, "Do you think you're still affected by the after-effects of Bellatrix's curse?

I snorted indelicately. "You think?" I said, reaching to the bedside table for the box of kleenex. I blew my nose, then stood up to throw the tissues in the wastepaper basket. When I turned back around, Richard was sitting on the bed, watching me. "Look, maybe I should go."

"If you want to," Richard said carefully. "But if you want to stay, you can stay."

I looked into those chocolaty brown eyes of his, warm with the promise of comfort. I could stay over, I'd done it before. Micah was used to phone calls from me, telling him I'd be home the next morning. Sitting on his bed like this, I knew exactly how warm Richard would be, how good it would feel to stay here and try to chase the nightmares out of my head. But it wasn't that simple. It never was.

I didn't know what to do. About any of it.


	37. Too Loud To Hear

* * *

The early morning sun was bright in my eyes as I drove home from Richard's place. Yes, I had stayed over, and yes, we'd had sex, but we'd done something we hadn't in a very long time. We talked. About the werewolves, about Jean-Claude, about Harry... and finally, about us.

There was no screaming, no yelling or accusations or anything. Caught in the sleepy unreality of waking, I'd told him things I'd been meaning to say for years, but had never had the guts to tell him. He'd listened, miracle of miracles, but then after I was done, he held me close until the sun came up and I had to leave.

The drive through my neighbourhood was quiet, too early for the downtown commuters to be on their way to work. The sunlight left the colours so vibrant, it almost hurt my eyes. As much as the night with Richard had been exactly what I needed, now all I wanted to do was to cuddle up to Nathaniel and Micah and sleep for a few hours. It used to weird me out that both my guys were fine with the idea that I'd come home from having sex with Richard and want to slip into bed with them, but I'd gotten pretty good at ignoring my own misgivings.

I slowed the jeep, and turned into my driveway. I slipped the transmission into park, then relaxed against the car seat, staring at the light paint on the front of the garage. Something Richard had said last night kept running through my mind. He was worried that by introducing Harry to the pack, wanting him to be vargamour, that he'd somehow put the teenager in more danger. I hadn't pointed out that I'd said exactly that, the day after Harry was injured, which I think gave me several brownie points. I had, however, reminded Richard that a lot of the problems we'd been through in the last two weeks were directly related to Harry's problems, not ours.

Richard told me that they were our problems now. I didn't disagree. We'd left the topic of Harry behind at that point.

As I was unbuckling my seatbelt, something occurred to me, and I swore out loud. I had forgotten to tell Richard that I was taking Harry to England at the end of the month. No matter what this new and improved Richard thought, I just knew he wasn't going to be happy with me on this.

"Goddamn it," I muttered as I got out of my car. Slamming the door, I was about to head into the house when Micah's car turned into the driveway and parked behind my car.

I frowned. Why was Micah out so early? He didn't call me, so it must not be a pard problem. I watched as Micah climbed out of the car, looking exhausted. He slammed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it, and walked over to me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

Instead of answering, Micah put his arms around my body in a hug, and rested his head on my shoulder. "Nothing's wrong," he said softly. "Just a long night."

I hugged him back, feeling part of me relax at his touch. "Coalition stuff?"

I felt him nod. "One of the werebears was in an industrial accident at work, and he started healing too fast at the hospital." Micah's hands slid down my back to rest against my hips. "His co-workers were there, and a couple of them flipped when the nurse let it slip that he was a lycanthrope. Steve needed someone to talk them down."

"Steve the werebear?" I asked. Then I giggled.

Micah pulled back, a question on his face. I couldn't help it. I just couldn't stop giggling.

"Steve the werebear," I said again. "You know? Like the Care Bears?"

Micah shook his head at me. "You've been up too long," he said in mock irritation. "To bed with thee."

We walked up the path toward the house, hand in hand like teenagers. I finally managed to bring my juvenile giggling under control when we got to the front door.

The faint sound of the television was the only noise in the house. "I'm going to take a shower and go to bed," Micah said, tiredly.

"I'll meet you there," I promised. "I'm just going to check on whoever's in the living room first."

Micah squeezed my hand gently, and stepped closer to me. Ever so gently, he brushed his lips against mine. "Don't be long," he whispered when he pulled back.

I couldn't say anything as Micah walked down the hall toward the bathroom. Only when he vanished from my sight did I pull myself back together. How did Micah's kisses always affect me so much? I wondered. I never expected it, but then there he was, lips on mine, and I just melted.

I could kiss Micah again soon, I promised myself, once I said hello to whoever was in the living room. Kicking off my heels, I walked noiselessly into the room.

I couldn't help it. I smiled. Harry was sprawled on the couch, deeply asleep. Nathaniel lay curled up into a ball on the floor by the foot of the sofa, head cushioned by one of the couch pillows. The television was on, volume low, showing an early morning news show. Video cases were strewn over the floor, next to a couple of empty popcorn bowls. Looks like these two at least had a fun night.

I knelt on the carpet beside Nathaniel, stroking his hair until finally he stirred. He opened his eyes lazily to see me, then closed them and lifted his head to my lap, so that now I was his pillow. He made a contented sound deep in this throat as he rubbed his cheek against my thigh.

"Why are you out here?" I whispered.

Nathaniel opened one eye a tiny crack. "The bed was cold," he murmured. "Harry was watching movies when I got home."

"I can see that," I said, pulling the tie in his hair loose, so I could run my fingers through that thick auburn hair. "When did you guys fall asleep?"

"Just before sunrise," Nathaniel told me. "We talked and stuff, too."

"Good." As I looked at Nathaniel, safe and happy curled up around me like this, I started thinking about what Edward had told me, about Olaf. If Olaf came after me, what would happen to Nathaniel? Would he get in the way? Would Olaf go after him first? What would happen to him, if something happened to me?

Nathaniel opened both eyes and stared up at me. "Is something wrong?" he asked, suddenly alert.

I didn't tell him about Olaf. Not yet. "Just a long night," I said with an attempt at a reassuring smile. "Maybe we'll talk about it later. Do you want to go to bed? Micah's just in the shower now."

"Are you going to come too?" Nathaniel asked, sitting up. I nodded. Slowly, Nathaniel leaned in, until his lips were hovering over mine. "Good," he said, the word moving his lips over mine, and I kissed him. The kiss was more of a promise, and when Nathaniel pulled back, his eyes were shining.

"Don't the two of you have a room around here or something?" Harry's voice, thick with sleep, sounded from the couch. Nathaniel and I turned to look at him as he struggled into an upright position.

Nathaniel laughed. "You're just grumpy because you didn't get any sleep," he said.

Harry groaned as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "What time is it?"

"Too damned early," I said. "We're going to bed, you should too." I looked around the room. "Unless you want to watch more TV."

Harry shook his head. "No, I'm done with television," he swore, standing unsteadily. "I'll see you lot in a bit."

After Harry stumbled toward the stairs, I stood, then helped Nathaniel up. After I double-checked that the front door was bolted, I led the way to the bedroom. Micah was already out of the shower and lying in bed. He blinked lazily at Nathaniel and I, as if he was too tired to do anything else.

Nathaniel stripped off his clothes with a practiced ease on his way to the bed, and was under the sheet in a matter of seconds. I smiled at him, then undid the button of my jacket. I had to undo my belt to remove the shoulder holster, and laid the Browning on top of the dresser. The Firestar, a smaller gun, was in an inner-pants holster, and that went beside the Browning.

As I pushed off my skirt, Nathaniel said, "Aren't you going to put the Firestar in the gun safe upstairs?"

My fingers slowed on the buttons of my shirt. I stared at the guns as I answered. "Not today."

"Why not?" Nathaniel asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Micah sit up.

The truth was, if Olaf came for me, I didn't want to rely on only one gun to stop him. Nathaniel knew how to fire a gun, so if it came down to that, we'd have two shooters.

I stopped. Olaf probably wasn't in town. Edward would have at least heard about that, right? I wasn't going to be attacked in my own home.

Micah, who must have gotten out of bed while I was thinking, put his hands on my arms and turned me to face him. "Is something happening?" he asked, the fatigue in his face chased back for a moment.

I let out a tired sigh. I was sick of all this shit in my life. Potentially obsessed serial killers, psychopaths raising their dead wives, just pain piled upon pain. Micah's hands were a comfort on my skin, but I just wanted to curl up against him and pretend that this wasn't my life. "I talked to Edward yesterday," I said.

Comprehension lit up his eyes. Micah had met Edward once, late last winter. Once was enough. "Bad things?"

"Maybe." I closed my eyes briefly. "Probably not."

"Then why the guns?"

"Because it would be a hell of a thing to get wrong," I said. I shook my head. "Can we not talk about this now? I just want to get some sleep."

Micah stared at me for a long moment, then helped me out of my clothes. His touch usually excited me, but I was too worn out for that today. When I was finally naked, I picked up both of my guns and carried them to the bed. The Browning went into its holster on the headboard, and I put the Firestar on the bedside table within easy reach. I was more than half-tempted to put the smaller gun under my pillow, but honestly, if Olaf came through that door, he'd already be armed.

Once I was lying down, Nathaniel scooted back so I was spooning him in the curve of my body. I wrapped my arm tight around his chest, feeling him warm and soft and alive against me. Micah curled around me from the back, so I was pressed between them. I should have felt safe, but didn't.

It was all so complicated. Edward and Olaf, Nigel Spencer, Harry... all the crazy threads of my life. I hated not being in control, or at least not having the semblance of control over my life. Not that I didn't want Harry around, but he just complicated things so much.

Micah brushed the hair back from my face and kissed my neck. "Get some sleep, and we'll figure everything out when we get up," he whispered.

I hugged Nathaniel tighter and buried my face in his long hair. As sleep sucked me down, for the first time I wondered if someday, I would lose all of this.

* * *

"... and so the place is full of people, and I think the Dursleys were trying to lose me for old times sake, which wasn't going to happen." Harry paused in his tale, of travelling with the Dursleys through Heathrow Airport, to swallow the remainder of his late lunch, just as Nathaniel pulled his plate off the table. "I mean, Dudley kept trying to hide behind people, but there was too much of him to hide."

"He really was very large," Anita said when Micah raised his eyebrows. "It can't be healthy for him."

Harry toyed with his glass. "I hadn't thought of that," he said after a moment.

Anita sipped at her coffee. "He always got everything he wanted, right?"

Harry nodded. He was surprised that, after so many years, talking about the Dursleys didn't seem to bother him. It didn't mean anything, he realized. He'd never see them again.

"What we want and what we need aren't necessarily the same thing," Anita continued. She shook her head, loose black curls falling over her shoulders. "But they didn't leave you behind, right?"

"Nope." Harry stood up and handed his glass to Nathaniel at the sink. "I even got the window seat on the plane because Dudley wouldn't fit into the seat. That was pretty neat." He noticed that Anita shuddered. "What?"

"I don't like flying," she said, voice clipped.

"Really?" Harry asked. He couldn't fathom not liking flying. "Riding in the plane was nowhere near as exciting as flying on a broom."

Anita's eyes grew huge. "Broom? Without like a net or anything?"

Micah grinned at her, then covered his mouth with his hand when she glared at him.

"Don't say it," she threatened, getting to her feet and heading for the coffee pot.

"I didn't say a thing," Micah said, still smiling.

"Uh huh." Anita sipped at her coffee, then put the cup down beside the refrigerator. "Do we have any cream?"

"Yes," Nathaniel said, still elbow deep in suds. "Third shelf."

"Thanks," Anita said from the depths of the fridge. She extracted herself from the icebox, jug of cream in one hand. "What would I do without you?"

Nathaniel smiled softly and looked down at the sink.

"Speaking of which, do you want to come to England with me?" Anita asked, her back to Nathaniel.

From his place, perched on the edge of the kitchen island, Harry watched as the smile on Nathaniel's face slid away. The wereleopard's entire body went still, like a rabbit trying to hide from danger.

"It's only for a couple of days," Anita went on blithely, setting down the creamer. "I'm sure that Jean-Claude will let you off work..." Her voice trailed off as she turned around and saw Nathaniel's face.

Nathaniel swallowed hard. The sound seemed loud in the suddenly silent room. "They don't let people like me into England," he said softly.

"What are you talking about, people like you?" Anita demanded.

Deliberately, Nathaniel picked a plate out of the sink and rinsed it off. "Don't you remember that I told you I used to do heroin when I was on the streets?" His voice held a sharp edge, a small sound, but Harry's heart was pounding so hard in his chest it hurt.

Anita licked her lips. "Yes, but--"

Nathaniel dropped the plate in the drying rack with a clatter and put his hands on the edge of the sink. "I got picked up when I was thirteen," he said, staring out the window. "The cops picked me up when they arrested one of my johns, threw me into the holding cells at the police station for possession. That's a felony offence."

Anita stared at Nathaniel, pale. Harry wondered if she'd known that before. She couldn't have, not with the way she was looking at Nathaniel. In these few weeks, Harry had learned how much Anita disliked drugs and prostitution, two things that had been such a large part of Nathaniel's former life. But she wouldn't take that to heart. Would she?

Anita took a step toward Nathaniel, who was watching her out of the corner of his eye. She put on a brave face. "Are you talking about that stupid law, where Britain won't let any lycanthrope with a felony offence into the country?" she asked. "That wouldn't matter, juvenile records are sealed to that."

Micah cleared his throat, startling Harry. "Not if the lycanthrope is outed as a juvenile," he said. He smiled unhappily. "The juvenile records are wide open then, and it goes on your passport record."

Anita looked between Micah and Nathaniel, then closed the distance between her and Nathaniel, placing her hand on his shoulder. The man let out a breath and relaxed, slumping against the counter. How much had it cost Nathaniel to tell Anita that about himself? Harry wondered. What had he thought she was going to do when she found out?

Anita laid a kiss on Nathaniel's neck, then rested her head against his shoulder. "I wish you could have come with me," she said, sounding disappointed.

"Me too." Nathaniel drained the sink. "When I was a little kid, I always wanted to go to England and stuff. I think my grandmother was from there." He reached up and squeezed Anita's hand, dripping suds on the floor. "Thanks for wanting me to go with you."

"Of course I want you to go," Anita said, although she looked rather surprised to say the words.

Micah stood up, pushing his hair back. "I can't go, either."

Anita stood back so fast that Harry was worried she would hit her head on the fridge. "What, do you have a drug conviction out there you're not telling me about?" she demanded.

"No," Micah hurried to say. "No, nothing like that. I haven't even had a speeding ticket." Then he paused. "Except that once." 

"So why can't you come?"

"Because, Anita, if you're leaving the country, someone's going to need to be here for the pard," Micah explained. "If it was just to another county or state, I could leave Merle in charge, but I don't want to risk it."

Anita still looked suspicious, but nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

"I don't mean to interrupt," Harry said, "But then what are you going to do?"

"About what?" Anita asked.

Harry tried very hard not to blush, but he couldn't help the heat that began to climb to his cheeks. "If neither Micah or Nathaniel can go with us to England, who are you going to feed the ardeur on?"

Anita blinked. "I..." She turned to Micah, a confused expression on her face. "I hadn't thought of that."

"You should talk to Jean-Claude," Nathaniel said, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Why?"

Nathaniel and Micah exchanged a glance. "If he's planning this trip the way he plans everything else, he's probably thought about this too," Nathaniel said.

Anita's eyes grew huge. "He wouldn't..." she started to say, then snapped her mouth shut. Without looking at Harry, she stalked out of the kitchen. A moment later, a door slammed somewhere in the house.

Harry winced. "She's in a fine temper," he muttered.

Micah sighed, exchanging another glance with Nathaniel. "That went better than I expected," Micah said. Picking up Anita's coffee cup, Micah took a sip. "Anyway. Harry, what are you doing this afternoon?"

With a shrug, Harry said, "Nothing special. Nathaniel and I were going to go for a run later on, I think." Nathaniel nodded in agreement. "Why?"

"How much do you know about self defence?" Micah asked.

"A bit," Harry said slowly. "Mostly with my magic and stuff..." His voice trailed off when he saw Micah shaking his head.

"I mean hand to hand," Micah clarified. "Not much, I suppose." Harry shook his head. "How would you feel about having Merle show you a bit about how to fight?"

Harry wasn't sure what to think. "Should I bother him? I mean, he's a wereleopard..." Harry realized what it must sound like, and he hurried to clarify. "It's not that I don't like wereleopards, but shouldn't one of the werewolves be showing me stuff like that?"

"Maybe, but I can't ask them to do something without potentially causing a scene," Micah said. Harry wondered if that was a wereleopard thing, or a Richard and Micah thing. "Mere is very good at street fighting, it'd be good to know."

"And he doesn't fight fair," Nathaniel added.

Harry frowned. "That's a good thing?"

Nathaniel glanced at Micah, who nodded, before answering. "How often do you get into fist fights back home?" he asked.

"Not often, only if we lose our wands," Harry said, only realizing after he spoke that this was what Nathaniel probably meant.

"So it's not really a fair fight then, is it?" Nathaniel suddenly seemed a whole lot older than Harry. "Anita and Richard are always going to want to fight fair, but it's not always like that. If you're fighting to win, sometimes you can't fight by the rules."

Harry couldn't argue with Nathaniel's logic, but it felt wrong. Gryffindors were supposed to fight fair, weren't they?

 _All that's good for these days is dying,_ Harry reminded himself. Death Eaters didn't fight fair, and neither did the Ministry of Magic.

More than a little bit disturbed, Harry asked, "What kinds of things would Merle show me?"

"Things that might help you stay alive." Micah leaned back against the counter. "That's the point, isn't it? To be able to protect yourself?"

Without looking at his friend, Harry knew Nathaniel's eyes were on him. "I suppose," he muttered.

Micah shook his head. "Don't let Anita hear you talking like that," he instructed.

Harry turned his head, and met Nathaniel's gaze. "Yeah, she'd probably shoot me or something," he said. To his relief, Nathaniel smiled slightly, and set about putting the dishes in the cupboard.

 _Great,_ Harry thought. _All I need to do now is to survive Merle's lesson too._ He couldn't help but wonder if somewhere, the fates were laughing at him.

* * *

I didn't meet anyone on my way down the Circus stairs, which was probably for the best. I'd tried reaching Jean-Claude mentally, earlier in the day, but he had walled the marks between us up tight. When I finally called the Circus, Jason had told me that Jean-Claude was indisposed.

Indisposed, my ass. The bastard was avoiding me.

The door was unlocked, and I swung it open. It was almost sunset, and the living room was empty. In half an hour, the place would be come back to life, all the vampires and lycanthropes who lived under the Circus getting ready for the night, but now, the place was quiet.

Even with Jean-Claude shielding from me, I suspected that he was in his bedroom. Walking down the cool stone corridors didn't abate my anger, however. I was angry at Jean-Claude for not consulting me about who I'd be taking to England to feed the ardeur. Nathaniel was right, this was not something Jean-Claude would have failed to plan.

Reaching Jean-Claude's bedroom door, I pounded once on the heavy wood, then pushed open the door.

"Jean-Claude, what the hell do you think you're--" I started to say, but stopped quickly when I saw Richard sitting on Jean-Claude's bed. Richard glowered at me, and for the life of me, I didn't know why.

"Ah, ma petite," Jean-Claude said, walking elegantly around the edge of the bed. They were both fully dressed, but Richard's placement puzzled me. Unless I was somehow in the mix, Richard never, ever, lounged around on Jean-Claude's bed.

"What's going on?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

"We were waiting for you, of course," Jean-Claude said smoothly. Richard's frown deepened. "Merely for a discussion, of course."

"If it's for a discussion, then why does Richard look so pissed off at me?" I demanded.

Jean-Claude strode around me to close the door, his nearness sending a shiver through me, tightening things low in my body. I stepped away. I was in no mood for a seduction tonight. "Perhaps you should ask him, ma petite."

"When the hell were you planning on telling me about this harebrained scheme to go to England?" Richard asked, springing up off the bed.

"I wasn't hiding it, if that's what you mean," I shot back. "I just forgot to tell you."

"Forgot?" Richard exclaimed. "We spent over an hour last night talking about Harry specifically! How the hell did that just slip your mind?"

"Don't talk to me like that!" I crossed my arms over my chest. "You know what happened to me yesterday, what I went through, why are you insisting on making this all about you?"

"I'm not!" Richard raked his hands through his hair, like he always did when he was frustrated. "This is about you 'forgetting' to tell me something that could seriously impact the whole pack!"

Jean-Claude stepped between us, his hands held out. "Please, stop this," he said mildly. "We have much to discuss and this argument will get you nowhere."

I breathed in through my nose, trying to calm myself. Jean-Claude was right. Getting mad at Richard wouldn't serve any purpose. I'd come in here angry at Jean-Claude, and I wanted to stay that way.

"Merci." Jean-Claude dropped his hands. "Ma petite, Jason said you called earlier today?"

I glared at him. "Just how much of this trip have you planned, anyway?" I demanded.

He put on his innocent face. "Certain aspects," he admitted. "Is there something in particular that you are wondering about?"

I should have known he wasn't going to make this easy. I tried to come up with some smooth way of asking my question, then thought, _screw it._ "Who are you planning to send with me to feed the ardeur?"

"Why, can't make up your mind?" Richard said sarcastically.

I whipped my head around, and only kept my mouth shut with much difficulty. I so wasn't going to tell Richard what Nathaniel had told me, earlier, about why he couldn't go with me. It was none of Richard's goddamned business. "I'm sure Jean-Claude has someone in mind," I told Richard as scathingly as I could.

Jean-Claude raised an eyebrow at me. "Indeed, ma petite, I do," he said carefully. "Would you care to sit?" He motioned toward the bed.

"Just tell me," I said, suddenly tired of this. "Who is it?"

Jean-Claude nodded every so slightly. "You will most likely be gone for three days," he explained. "In the interests of not overtaxing anyone, I suggest taking two individuals with you, in addition to Harry."

I stared at him. "Who?"

Jean-Claude looked behind me, just as the door opened. I twisted my head around as Jason walked into the room, a questioning expression on his face. "Hi, Anita," he said.

I whirled on Jean-Claude. "You have got to be kidding!" I said. "You want me to take Jason? Who else? Stephen?"

Jean-Claude shook his head. I heard someone else enter the room, and looked over as Requiem closed the door behind him. Now I was truly confused. I'd fed the ardeur with Requiem before, but he certainly wasn't someone I'd have chosen to fly overseas with. Requiem bowed to me, his face carefully blank.

"Ma petite, do not think I have made this choice lightly," Jean-Claude said, walking around me to place his hands on Jason's shoulders.

"Don't I get a say in this?" I asked, too perplexed to regain my annoyance.

Jean-Claude gave Jason a slight push, and the young werewolf bounced over to the bed. "This choice is as political as it is practical," Jean-Claude said, so serious. "Requiem was a part of the London court for a very long time. While the Master has changed, Requiem's influence will still be invaluable."

Requiem took a small step forward. "I know much about the court, and will be best able to read the moods of our host," he said.

I didn't know what to say about this. I got along with Requiem just fine, but the whole concept was just weird. "What about Jason?" I asked.

Jean-Claude smoothed his hands over his shirt, a nervous gesture. "Sending my pomme de sang with you, ma petite, is a sign of how highly I value you," he said after a moment. "More than a human servant. By sending Jason, I demonstrate to Christoff that I consider you an equal."

"Great, but then why is Richard so pissed?" I asked.

Richard shook his head. "I'm not pissed," he told me.

"You totally are," I contradicted. "What is it?" I looked between Richard and Jean-Claude. "It can't be that you wanted to go with me, you've got school and stuff."

Jean-Claude stepped in front of me, but didn't try to touch me. "It is because of what else I will require Jason to do, in London," he said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, my eyes flying to Jason. Yes, he was a stripper, and he fed the vamps on a regular basis, both things that annoyed Richard, but the one thing that really bugged Richard about Jean-Claude and his kind of vampire was... "You can't be serious."

"Serious about what?" Jean-Claude asked, a warning in his eyes.

Quickly, I tried to pull back from what I'd almost implied about Jason. "Nothing," I said quickly. "What are you going to want Jason to do in England?"

Instead of answering me, Jean-Claude looked at Jason, and motioned toward the door. Jason slid off the bed and headed wordlessly out of the room, tossing a smile at me on his way, which only made me feel worse. Jason wasn't fooled about what I'd thought, but it didn't bother him. Requiem left after Jason, closing the door tightly.

Jean-Claude turned away and walked across the room. "Sending my human servant into the city of another Master, particularly as one as powerful as Christoff, is always dangerous," he said, not looking at me. "Sending you with Harry will only increase the danger. If you are accompanied by my pomme de sang and my third-in-command, I still cannot guarantee your safety."

I swallowed hard. "But you're not saying no, so it's probably okay, right?"

Jean-Claude threw up his hands. "Probability is a poor thing to rely upon for your life!" he spat, his eyes glowing solid blue with emotion. "I have no doubt of your ability to protect yourself, ma petite, but if things go wrong, Jason and Requiem have another task, and that is to protect you at all costs."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "That's not going to happen."

"Yes, it is!" Jean-Claude was suddenly in front of me, skin lit with power from within. "You are their priority, above all others."

"I'm Jason's Lupa!" I shouted. "I'm supposed to protect him, not the other way around!"

"This is not open for discussion!" Jean-Claude exclaimed. "I cannot leave this city, and since you insisted on going to England, this is the only way I will be able to protect you!"

"Fuck this! We just won't see Christoff, then."

The glow left Jean-Claude's face, but in its place came a slightly self-mocking expression that I'd grown to dread. "It is too late for that, ma petite."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Christoff knows you are coming. He knows you will travel with Harry Potter, and of Harry's connection to our triumvirate through Damian," Jean-Claude said. "If you go to London and do not see him, he will be within his rights to slaughter you."

The words ringing in my ears, I just stared at him. "What will happen if Harry goes alone?" I asked when I was able to speak.

"Then Harry will die." Jean-Claude shrugged. "Or perhaps the wizards will rise up against Christoff and start a war. Christoff loathes magical humans, Anita. If he can use Harry Potter's presence as an excuse to kill these humans, he will."

"So we're fucked if we do, and fucked if we don't," I said bitterly.

"It would appear so."

I looked past Jean-Claude to Richard. "Do you have anything to say?" 

Richard wouldn't look at me. "If Jason can protect you, at any cost, he will," he said.

"You son of a bitch," I said, not sure which of them I was talking to. Without another word, I turned my back on them and walked out of the room.

Jason's bedroom door was open when I made it down the hall, and he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He looked up as I entered, as if he had been expecting me. "I guess they told you."

"What, that you're suddenly cannon fodder?" I said. "Did they even ask you?"

"Yeah, they asked me." Jason met my gaze unflinching, nothing submissive about him now. "You're one of my best friends, Anita. You know I'd do anything to help you. And Harry, too."

I'd have felt better if he had told me that it hadn't been his choice. "Since when are you so self-sacrificing?"

He didn't flinch at the ice in my voice. "I was wondering that, too." He stood in a fluid motion. "Anita, I'm serious about this. If I can help you, protect you, even a little, I'm in."

"You could die."

"We're all going to die someday," Jason pointed out. "May as well go out doing something worthwhile."

I left. Everyone in my life had gone fucking insane. I didn't encounter anyone on my way out of the Circus, which was probably for the best. My head was empty as I climbed into my jeep and turned on the air conditioning. The sun was setting, off in the distance, on another perfect St. Louis day.

I hated it when Jean-Claude did shit like this, plotting without letting me have a choice. I hated that Richard and Jason were going along with it. Under it all, though, I wondered if Jean-Claude was mad at me, for putting him in the position where he might have to sacrifice Jason to protect me.

I was supposed to protect my people. Jason was mine. It was against everything I believed in to let him throw himself in front of me in a fight. Unbidden, an image of Clay came to me, lying dead in the woods after he had jumped in front of Bellatrix's killing magic. I imagined it was Jason, dead on the forest floor, and I felt sick to my stomach.

My cell phone rang, loud in the enclosed space in the car, and I jumped. I dug out the cell phone and put it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Anita, hi," Zerbrowski said. "What are you doing?"

"Why?" I asked. "Is something wrong with the magic people?"

"No, thank God," Zerbrowski said. "Dolph wanted me to tell you we got a cremation order for Elaine Spencer, and that's already taken care of. But right now, we've got a crime scene out near the county line. Are you able to get out here?"

"What kind of crime scene?"

"Someone was shot," Zerbrowski explained. "But there's all kinds of stuff out here, preternatural artifacts and the like. Some of it might be why our victim was killed, and you've got the most background in preternaturally biology."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Have you ever seen a dragon skull?" Zerbrowski asked.

"What?" I exclaimed. "Someone in town has a dragon skull? That's like one of the most expensive things on the preternatural black market."

"I know," Zerbrowski said. "Or are you too busy with your boring old zombies to play with the big boys tonight?"

I ignored the jibe. "Where are you?" He told me, and I quickly scrawled the address down on a takeout napkin. "I'll be right over," I said, hanging up on Zerbrowski mid-sentence.

Putting the car into gear, I paused before I took my foot off the brake. There was a hell of a lot I should be dealing with. Harry, Olaf, the mess of going to England. But all of those things involved dealing with Jean-Claude, and I really didn't trust myself around him right now.

Taking a deep breath, I reversed out of my parking space. Maybe some old-fashioned police work might help me figure out what the hell I was going to do with the mess I'd gotten us all in.


	38. Only Happy When It Rains

* * *

When I turned around, Olaf was right behind me.

He was beside me as I made breakfast, standing in the middle of the kitchen, silent and menacing. He was in the passenger seat of my jeep as I drove to work. He never blinked, never looked away. While I interviewed new clients at the office, he stood by my desk, fingers brushing delicately over my stuffed penguin Sigmund. No one saw him but me, not even when he slowly tore Sigmund open, spilling fluffy stuffing and blood all over his hands.

As the day wore on, he started getting closer to me. An inch nearer while I bought a coffee. Leaning closer while I ate dinner at a restaurant. By the time I was in the graveyard, knife held over my arm to draw blood to raise a zombie, I could feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against my back and his hot breath on my hair.

I hesitated, not able to see him, but knowing he was there; then he was sliding his hands up my arms. I started to struggle, but his grip was like cold iron. He forced the point of my knife down over my arm, slicing deep into my flesh. I opened my mouth to scream from the pain, but I couldn't make a sound.

I managed to tear away from Olaf, and ran. The gravestones and marble statues seemed to stretch on forever, not offering me any place to hide. I never turned around, but I knew Olaf was gaining on me, silently and deadly.

Fear choked me, as the gravestones grew larger, more menacing. I stumbled and fell. The hands I put down to push myself up were tiny. Little girl hands.

I looked behind me. I couldn't see Olaf, but the shadows of the unfamiliar graveyard pressed on me, dank and threatening. The air itself seemed to be waiting for something evil.

Creeping forward on little bare feet, I pressed myself up against a crumbling stone monument, almost hidden behind thick overgrown bramble. As I looked around, the silence was broken by voices.

Harry's voice floated over the air. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?" he said.

"I don't know," a woman answered him.

My heart stopped. I knew that voice. "Mommy?" I whispered.

I peeked around my gravestone. Harry and my mother stood in the middle of a bare patch of ground. Beside them, lying on its side, was a silver trophy cup gleaming in the starlight.

"Wand out?" my mother suggested, looking around the graveyard. Harry hastily fumbled for his wand. As he moved, I saw blood streaming down his leg.

They both turned around at the same time, looking off into the distance past me. "Someone's coming," Harry said.

Something walked past me silently in the grass. I squeezed back against the stone, but still I felt the person's cloak scratch against my hand. The person walked steadily toward Harry and my mother, cradling something in its arms. I tried to scream at them to run away, but the words turned to ashes in my mouth and I couldn't make a sound.

Harry lowered his wand slightly. Mom looked confused as they watched the hooded person get closer. Finally, the person stopped beside a huge tombstone and for a moment, it did nothing.

Then Harry cried out in agony. He dropped his wand from boneless fingers and clutched at his head. My mom moved as if she was going to help him, but she never got the chance.

"Kill the spare!" said a cold, high voice.

Mom whipped her head around as the hooded person pointed his wand at her and screeched, "Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light barrelled across the graveyard and slammed into my mother, knocking her off her feet. A scream left my lips, and I kept on screaming as the light cleared and I saw my mother, dead on the ground.

Harry fell to his knees and retched, then he managed to open his eyes. He stared at my mother for a few long moments, then swung around. His eyes widened as he saw me.

Suddenly, huge arms picked me up from behind. I struggled and fought, but I was so tiny, it was like struggling against iron. A hand grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, then a sharp knife glinted in the air as it moved in a swift arc and buried itself in my heart.

I woke with a start. My chest hurt and the fear was thick in my throat as I clawed my hair out of my eyes. _It's not over!_ something in my head screamed at me. I grabbed my gun off the headboard and dashed out of my room for the stairs.

Somewhere in my head, I heard screaming and, over it, the bubbling of water, as my choking fears grew.

Upstairs, Harry's bedroom door was ajar, and I pushed it open with my left hand, right hand holding my gun.

The room was still. Harry lay in bed, tangled up in the sheets. He twitched in his sleep, muttering under his breath. As I put my gun on the dresser, the noise in my head reached a crescendo, peaking on a name.

 _Voldemort_.

Tripping over some clothes on the floor, I fell against the side of Harry's bed and reached for his shoulder, shaking him hard.

He came awake with a cry, green eyes almost glowing in the morning light. Taking deep breaths, he gripped my hand.

"We have to go save her!" he exclaimed. "She's--"

"It was just a dream, Harry," I said with a wavering voice as I sat on the edge of the bed. The pain over my heart faded slowly, but the still air of the graveyard lingered on my tongue.

"But she..." Harry stopped, sitting up. The sheet spilled over his bare chest to bunch at his waist.

"My mother's been dead for over twenty years," I said. In my head, I kept seeing my mother being hit by the same green light that had killed Clay, knocking her soul loose from her body, breaking her to pieces until nothing could put her back together again.

"Your... your mother?" Harry asked. He blinked hard at me. "How do you know what I was dreaming?"

I let out a shaky breath, the images in my head fading slightly. "I don't know," I admitted. "Richard sometimes gets in my head, but that's because of the triumvirate. I don't know."

Harry rubbed at the scar on his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Was that you, screaming, in my dream?" 

I nodded. Harry pushed his hair back out of his face as he slumped forward, crossing his legs under the sheet. He looked down at the blankets, then his eyes moved a bit. Moments passed before I realized he was staring at my legs.

I glanced down. I hadn't stopped to put on a robe, and was only had on the t-shirt and panties I'd worn to bed, which meant I was flashing a lot of thigh. I swallowed hard, suddenly highly aware of the inappropriateness of sitting on Harry's bed wearing next to nothing, while he was only covered by a sheet and God knew what else.

I shot to my feet. "I'll talk to you later," I said quickly, my cheeks heating up. I tried to think of something else to say, but gave up. I just wanted to get out of there.

As I reached the door, Harry asked, "Who's Olaf?"

My hand froze on the doorknob. After a couple of tries, I managed to say, "What?"

"Olaf." There was movement behind me, the sound of cloth over skin, then Harry was beside me. He'd pulled on a t-shirt and some shorts, but not his glasses. It made his eyes seem so much more real than normal, more open, as if his defences were stripped away. If I had really invaded his dreams, it wasn't a far-off description. "Who is he and why was he following you?"

So, it seemed as I wasn't the only one visiting someone else's dreams. I tried to think of something to say, some way to explain, but as I thought about it, some part of me rebelled at having to explain my dreams to someone who had no fucking right to be in my head.

Angry now, I yanked the door open. "Do you still want to go learn how to shoot a gun this afternoon?" I demanded.

"What does that have to do with Olaf?" Harry asked. I didn't answer as I walked down the hall. "Anita?"

My bare feet didn't make any noise as I hurried down the carpeted stairs and into the bathroom. I closed and locked the door, then turned on the shower with violent motions.

The anger I'd forced up, in Harry's bedroom, was fading, leaving in its place the deep chill of fear. It was just a nightmare, I told myself as I placed the gun on the counter and stripped off the t-shirt and panties. There was no Olaf here. The only reason I'd been having nightmares about him was Edward's phone call.

I stepped into the shower and tried to let the water wash away the cobwebs in my head. Gradually, the chatter slowed and I could think again.

How the hell had Harry and I been in each other's dreams? Jean-Claude often visited me in my dreams, and Richard occasionally spilled into my dreams accidentally. How did Harry, with whom I had no metaphysical connection, get into my head?

For a moment, I wished I could have asked Jean-Claude, but it had been three days since I'd walked out on him and Richard at the Circus. I still didn't know how I was going to convince him that his plan to use Jason as my lycanthropic shield in London was unnecessary. There was no way I could drop this on his lap.

Maybe it was because of Damian, I mused as I poured shampoo into my hand and began to wash my hair. Would he have some kind of connection to Harry? Tenuous as the reasoning was, it was all that I had.

But why had my mother been in Harry's dream? She'd looked just like I remembered her the last time I'd seen her alive, after she dropped me off at school. Not at all like the final time I'd seen her. At her funeral, after she'd died in a car accident, the casket had been closed. I hadn't been able to believe that my wonderful mother, the most important person in my life, was really in there, so I'd snuck away from my Aunt Katherine, who'd been in charge of handling me while my father fell apart.

I'd gotten up to the front of the church before anyone noticed me, and had pried open the casket lid with tiny hands. I still remembered how heavy the cold wood and satin was under my fingers.

I'd seen my mother's body for a few seconds before Aunt Katherine snatched me back, crying. I hadn't been crying. I'd been too shocked to cry. What I'd seen couldn't be my mother.

As I tried to stop remembering my mother's broken body, with the shower's spray beating down on my skin, the words from that horrible dream echoed in my head, just before the hooded figure killed her.

" _Kill the spare._ "

* * *

"So do you understand all the rules?" Anita asked.

Harry nodded, feeling rather nervous. "Never carry a gun with the safety off. Never put my finger on the trigger until I'm going to fire. Keep it pointed in a safe direction."

Anita leveled a long glare at Harry, as if she was suspecting that he was being flippant. "Also, until you're used to the gun, never shoot one-handed," she finally said. "They make it look easy on TV, but all you're going to do is miss your target."

"Right." Honestly, Harry couldn't imagine when he'd need to fire a gun back in the Wizarding world, but he was going to be in St. Louis for another couple of weeks. If the last few weeks had been any indication, a little more self-defence couldn't hurt.

Not that he was under any delusion that Anita would actually give him a gun. It was still nice to know that if he was in a situation where there was a gun, however, he would be able to do more than hit people with it.

"Okay," Anita was saying. She laid her smaller gun, the Firestar, on the waist-high counter on the shooting range. "I've showed you how to take the safety off the gun. Just be careful to keep your hand in the right place on the handle, or the slide will catch your hand." 

Wetting his lips, Harry stepped up to the counter. He put on the big earmuff hearing protectors. The muffled sound of guns firing in other areas of the shooting range was cut off, and his breathing sounded very loud in his ears.

Making sure Anita was still behind him, Harry picked up the gun in both hands. He did exactly what Anita had shown him, flicking off the safety, aiming the barrel at the target. When he thought he had the middle of the target in sight, he pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked in his hands as it fired, and even this far away, Harry could see that the bullet had hit the very top of the target, not the center as he was aiming for.

Harry cursed under his breath, then looked back at Anita. She raised her eyebrows at him, and motioned at him to try again. He focused hard, and fired again.

By the time the clip was spent, Harry had managed to improve his aim by only being a foot off the centre of the target. He put the gun down and removed his ear protectors.

"Not bad," Anita said, coming up to the counter.

"I completely missed what I was aiming for," Harry felt forced to point out.

Anita sighed, and pressed a little button on the wall. The paper target moved toward them on a little pulley, and Anita pulled it down and placed it on the counter. "To be fair, your first shots really sucked."

"Thanks."

"But the later ones were quite good, considering that this is your first time." Anita pointed at a few tiny holes in the paper. "You're figuring out the kickback, how the gun moves. You've also got a good eye for aiming." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "When you're aiming the wand, do you have to get a perfect lock on someone?"

Harry shook his head. "Not really. Just the general area of the person, for most spells-- I mean things."

"Fascinating," Anita said blandly. She began reloading the gun.

"Anita," Harry said tentatively. She didn't look up, just kept pushing the bullets into place. "Who's Olaf?"

Anita shoved the clip into the gun and flicked the safety on, then placed the gun on the counter. "That's none of your concern," she said in a tight voice.

"Then why are you so scared of him?"

"I'm not scared!" Anita snapped. She took a deep breath as she fitted another paper target into the clip. "Try another round."

Stubbornly, Harry didn't move. "It's better if you tell someone if there's a problem," he said. "I told you about the prophecy and you said we'd work it out together."

Anita glared at Harry. "Do not lecture me," she said in a cold voice. She grabbed her ear protectors off the counter and stalked to the back of the shooting chamber. "Pick up the damned gun and do it again."

Why wouldn't she talk to him? Harry wondered as he slipped his ear protectors back on and picked up the gun. He had told her all about his problems, so why wasn't she telling him about hers? He'd seen her dream, the parts with the big creepy guy, had felt her terror in the graveyard as she ran from him. She knew he'd seen it, so why was she blocking him now?

Later, he told himself as he squeezed the trigger, already compensating for the recoil. He'd convince her to tell him about it later.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry was buried underneath two hundred pounds of werewolf, trying to fight his way free. If only he could get his right arm free, he'd be able to twist out of Jamil's grip...

Somehow, with a burst of energy or plain luck, Harry twisted and kicked, and pushed Jamil off of him. Harry shot to his feet and backed across the mats, watching Jamil warily. He caught a glimpse of Anita and Richard, leaning up against the wall, watching them. Richard's expression was indecipherable, but Anita looked faintly amused.

The Skoll laughed heartily as he stood up. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all. Want to try it again?"

"Not particularly," Harry panted. His shoulder and hip ached from repeated falls to the mat, and his pride was stung that in the last hour and a half of Jamil showing him self-defence, he'd only managed to free himself once. Even that was only because of what Merle had shown Harry, the day before.

Now, Jamil gave a rather wolfish grin. "Too bad." He lunged across the room. Harry tried to catch Jamil's arm and pull him off center, but the other man moved faster than Harry could follow and wrapped Harry in a headlock as they crashed to the floor.

As Harry struggled against Jamil's grip, his frustration burst out into a hot animal rage. Harry forgot what he was fighting, or why. His rage writhed in his chest, growing until it was trying to claw its way out of his body, to break free and become real.

"He's going to change!" someone yelled. Many hands held him down, pressed against to the mat, as his body tried to turn itself inside out.

Someone growled next to Harry's ear, and it was like a wash of cold water over his fevered skin. The anger and rage tapered off under that soothing growl, the animal in his chest settling down, until Harry lay still on the mat.

"Harry?" 

Harry blinked up at Anita's voice. She was a bit fuzzy, and it took Harry a minute to realize that he'd lost his glasses. "What..." he broke off and started coughing. The hands holding him down released him. "What happened?"

Richard put his hands on Harry's shoulders and helped him to sit up. "You almost shifted," the Ulfric explained. "I managed to calm you down before you did."

"Oh." Harry blinked a few more times. The world tilted dangerously and Harry tried to compensate, falling against Richard.

"Put him back down," Anita said. "Give him a minute."

The flat ground was welcomingly cool against Harry's back. He concentrated on breathing slowly. The animal he'd felt in his chest moved around restlessly, quiet for the time being. How hadn't he felt it before? Harry wondered. He'd spent the last week wondering if he'd change at all, and now this happened, throwing all those thoughts into confusion.

A hand settled on Harry's shoulder. "Sorry about that, kid," Jamil said. "Didn't think that fighting like that would make your beast all crazy."

"Uh huh." Harry rubbed his eyes, then looked around the room again. "Where are my glasses?"

Anita held up Harry's glasses, crushed almost beyond recognition. "I think Richard stepped on them," she said, ignoring the glare Richard shot at her.

Taking a deep breath, Harry sat up again, and this time the world didn't twist on him. He took his glasses from Anita and looked at them morosely. "I'm not sure I can fix these," he said. He let the glasses fall to the ground and dropped his face into his hands.

Someone put an arm over his shoulder. Harry breathed in, and smelled Anita's shampoo and the scent of her skin. As much as he wanted to relax against her, he couldn't. This wasn't supposed to be his life, werewolves and necromancers. He was supposed to be in England at the Weasleys' house, spending the summer bunking in Ron's room and playing pick-up games of Quidditch.

As futile as the thought was, Harry wanted his life back.

Richard settled on Harry's other side, leaning against him. Part of Harry was almost happy like this, with his Ulfric on one side and Lupa on the other. The other part remembered the cold years living in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys, where the only touch he ever felt was in anger or irritation. Did he want to go back to that? It was part of his old life too, even if he'd never see the Dursleys again.

"We can go and get you new glasses," Anita murmured in his ear. "It's not the end of the world."

"I know," Harry muttered. He nudged at the mangled frames again. "I've had these for a long time."

They sat silently for a few minutes. Faint noises sounded in the other parts of the building, which also housed the Lunatic Cafe. That noise was becoming to familiar to Harry, too. Jason had brought him to the cafe almost every day, always introducing him to new werewolves. Harry didn't think there were as many werewolves in all of England as there were in St. Louis. Some of them, Harry didn't like. Most of them, however, were nice.

Did they all go through this? Harry wondered. Feeling their bodies change uncontrollably? What was it going to be like, changing for real? Did Remus go through all this, alone?

Richard patted Harry's back. "You held on really good, there," the Ulfric said.

"Maybe," Jamil said darkly.

"What do you mean?" Richard asked. Harry looked at Jamil curiously.

"I mean he's fighting it a bit too much," Jamil said. "If a new werewolf fights it too hard, tries to hold on to the human part too much, it makes the change harder to control."

"Are you sure?" Anita asked.

"Yeah." Jamil glanced cautiously at Richard. "Not in alphas, but in really new wolves. To really master the wolf is to give into it."

"Isn't that a bit backwards?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Jamil said. "By human standards, anyway."

Harry sighed. "How do you give in to the wolf?" he asked, a bit desperately. "All I wanted to do was fight it."

"It's not something you need to fear," Jamil said, all joking gone. "It's as much a part of us as our hands or feet." He gripped Harry's hand in his. "No one here's going to push you out for accepting the beast. That's what a pack's all about."

"I don't know if I can do that," Harry said.

"That's why we're here," Anita said. "Me, Richard, everyone. You're not in this alone."

* * *

"Sounds like Harry had a rough time," Micah said after I finished describing the day to him.

"Very rough," I agreed, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I didn't have to work tonight, and Micah and I had plans to go out to dinner, just the two of us.

"He didn't have any trouble when Merle was teaching him how to fight a few days ago," Micah said, coming up behind me. I smiled at him in the mirror.

"Harry mentioned that, too. Richard thinks it's because Jamil's a werewolf and Merle's not. Something about Jamil's beast calling to Harry's."

"Makes sense," Micah said. He ran his hands down my arms. "But I seem to recall that when I first met you, Richard's beast called to yours, even in those first weeks."

I raised my eyebrows. "I think my relationship with Richard is vastly different than Harry's relationship with Merle."

Micah laughed. "Point taken." He leaned in and kissed my neck.

I let him kiss me for a second, then playfully pushed him away. "If you keep this up, we're never going to get to eat." I headed over to the dresser where I'd left the guns. I'd cleaned the Firestar when I'd got home, and double checked to make sure it was loaded before I slipped it into the inner pants holster.

"When are you going to tell me why you're carrying two guns around everywhere?" Micah asked, all traces of warmth gone.

My fingers tightened around the Browning as I put it into the shoulder holster. "I'm always armed," I pointed out.

"Not like this," Micah said. He sat on the bed, staring at me steadily. "And don't tell me it's because of the witch. This only started the night after the ghouls attacked."

"What do you want me to say?" I demanded.

"I want you to tell me what's got you so spooked," Micah said, sitting a little too still. "I want you to let me help you."

I concentrated on adjusting my light jacket so the gun didn't show. "It's..."

"Don't say it's nothing," Micah said sharply. "Don't lie to me anymore."

"It's not a lie!" I slapped my hands onto the dresser so hard the wood broke with a sharp crack. "Fuck!"

Micah jumped off the bed and crossed the room in a few long steps. "Let me see your hands."

"I'm fine!" I said, trying to pull out of Micah's grasp. He didn't let me go until he'd made sure that I hadn't hurt myself. When I could, I pulled back and put a bit of space between us.

Micah looked at me, wounded. "You're not fine," he said quietly. "Anita, I thought you wanted me to be a part of your life."

"I do!"

"Then why won't you tell me what's happening?"

"Because I'm overreacting!" I exclaimed.

Micah shook his head. "Anita, you never overreact."

I fingered the broken wood of the dresser. "Maybe I want to be overreacting."

Micah put his hands over mine. "Tell me?"

I let out a shaky breath, and proceeded to tell Micah about Olaf. The whole story, when I'd met him in New Mexico, about Edward's phone call, all of it. It was a long story, and telling it took a while. I even found myself telling Micah about my dream, at least the first part.

When I was done, Micah didn't say anything. He walked across the room to look out the window, his back to me.

"Micah?"

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?"

I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn't see it. "We don't know where he is. He's probably not going to come within miles of St. Louis."

"Are you willing to stake your life on that?" Micah turned around. "You're not carrying these extra guns for fun, Anita. You're not carrying them because of anything Harry's brought into our lives."

"I--"

"I'm calling Jean-Claude." Micah started across the room for the phone, but I got in his way.

"No, you're not!" I exclaimed. "Jean-Claude has enough to worry about without--"

"Do not finish that sentence," Micah spat. "You know as well as I do that Jean-Claude would not let anything threaten you, including this monster!"

"He's human, Micah, I can't track him down and shoot him to make myself feel better!"

"Edward's worried that Olaf might come after you, to what? Rape and murder you? How the fuck can you say he's not a monster after that?" Micah stepped around me. I put my hand on the phone at the same time he did, stopping him from picking it up. Micah looked at me, breathing hard. "Anita."

I lifted my hand off the phone and walked out of the room. I kept going until I hit the kitchen. The sun was setting in the distance, casting warm rays through the window, but it didn't warm me.

What had I been expecting when I'd told Micah about Olaf? A hearty laugh? I leaned against the counter, staring unseeingly out the window. He'd done exactly what I would have done, if he'd come to me with this story. So why did I feel like I was making a mess out of stuff?

Deep down, I'd known I should have told Micah and Jean-Claude about Olaf as soon as I found out. I didn't really know why I hadn't. If it had been one of them, and they hadn't told me, I'd have been very pissed off.

In spite of all of that, I still found myself angry at Micah for insisting on calling Jean-Claude. I couldn't explain it to myself, so I stopped trying. Needing something to do, I went to the cupboard and found the coffee beans, to make myself something to drink.

I was halfway through my second cup when Micah appeared in the kitchen doorway. He looked older than I'd ever seen him, and it startled me.

"Jean-Claude wants to know why you didn't tell him," Micah said.

I sipped my coffee, trying to ignore the twisting in my gut.

"He said that Rafael has some bodyguards who you probably wouldn't object to," Micah went on. "But if you want it, you can have Merle. I'll be fine with Noah."

I put my cup down on the table so hard I splashed coffee on my hand. "I don't need a bodyguard!"

Micah looked at me. "Do you honestly believe that?" While I was trying to come up with a response, he came around the table. He stopped behind my chair and laid his hands on my shoulders. "This isn't a game, Anita. This is your life." 

I stared at the table, unable to say anything.

"Do you still want to go out for dinner?" Micah asked.

"I'm not really hungry anymore."

Micah took his hands off my shoulders. "Fine," he muttered. I heard him walk out of the kitchen.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, feeling the Firestar bite into my skin. I wasn't exactly in the right here, and that always made me angry at myself. I'd also undoubtedly pissed Micah and Jean-Claude off. Probably Richard, too, when he heard about this. We'd worked out a truce this afternoon, before Harry's self-defence lesson from Jamil, but this would certainly blow that out of the water.

I got up to wash the coffee off my hand, then left the kitchen. I found Micah curled up on the couch in the living room, paging through the television listings. He glanced up as I sat on the other end of the couch.

"I didn't want you to worry," I said, breaking the stillness of the house.

Micah dropped the booklet to the carpet. "What else did you think I was going to do?" he asked. He moved down the couch until he could put his arm around my shoulder. "Anita, you're not alone, you don't have to handle this on your own."

I ran my fingers over the edge of his shirt. "All that's going to do is put other people in danger," I said, a bit surprised at what I was saying. "I don't want anyone else to be in danger."

Micah slipped closer and pulled me into a hug. "There isn't anyone in your life who won't do everything they can to protect you," he murmured next to my ear.

"But they might get hurt, and I don't know if I can handle that," I whispered.

"Why do you think it's okay for the rest of us if you get hurt?" Micah asked. He kissed my cheek and drew back. He looked so sad, eyes haunted, that I wondered what else he was thinking about. "It's not okay. It's never okay."

I cuddled into Micah's embrace, letting him hold me. Part of me wished I could just find Olaf and kill him in cold blood, but I couldn't do that to anyone. Even the vampires I killed had done something to deserve a warrant of execution.

There was always the chance, however, that someone else might get hurt. I couldn't see Olaf worrying about hitting a bystander, especially if it was one of my people.

Sitting there in Micah's arms, I made a decision. If I heard even a rumour that Olaf might be around, I'd go after him before he could come after me. I wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of me. No matter what.


	39. Servir a deux mains

* * *

"She told you about Olaf?"

Harry winced at the frustration in Nathaniel's voice. "She didn't tell me, not exactly!" Harry said in a rush, dropping the shopping bags onto the kitchen counter.

"Then how do you know about him?" Nathaniel demanded, kicking the fridge door closed. "They only told me last night after you were in bed!"

Nathaniel began to move around the kitchen, pulling things out of bags with jerky motions. Harry leaned against the wall, keeping well out of Nathaniel's path. "I just knew she was worried about him," Harry said as Nathaniel began to slow down. "She was having nightmares about him following her and stuff."

Nathaniel closed a cupboard door. "When did she start telling you about her dreams?" he asked curiously. It was a bit of a change from his actions a few minutes before, and looking up, Harry realized that Nathaniel probably hadn't been angry at him at all.

 _More like he was upset that no one told him anything,_ Harry thought, not wanting to decide what he'd tell Nathaniel about the dream he shared with Anita. _I can relate to that_.

"Well?" Nathaniel prodded.

Harry took a deep breath and pushed his new glasses up his nose. "She didn't tell me about her dream," he finally said. "I, um, we kind of had the same dream."

"You both had a dream about someone chasing you?" 

"No." Harry went over to the counter and started to unload another of the shopping bags so he didn't have to look at Nathaniel. "We both had the same dream. I was in her dream, then later she was in mine."

The kitchen got a little too quiet. Harry snuck a peek at Nathaniel. The wereleopard stood staring at Harry, but instead of the confusion Harry had been expecting, Nathaniel's expression was slightly calculating.

"What?"

"Vampires don't dream, so Anita's never been in Damian's dreams like that," Nathaniel said slowly.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"But she can get into my dreams, same like she can with Richard," Nathaniel continued as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Maybe because you're Damian's grandson, she got into your dream too?"

"That is completely ridiculous!" Harry exclaimed, hoping that his face wasn't as red as it felt. "She's got those marks with you and Richard, not with me! She can't be getting inside my head!"

"How would you know? Have you ever had anyone in your dreams before?"

Nathaniel's words were like ice down Harry's spine. He carefully lowered the jar of raspberry jam to the counter, his hand shaking. "Voldemort's done that," he said tonelessly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Nathaniel edge close to him. Harry didn't need to see the wereleopard's face to know he was apologetic; he could taste it on the air.

"But that was because of this stupid scar on my head," Harry continued. "That's how he got into my dreams."

"Were they bad dreams?"

Harry nodded. Nathaniel stood right next to Harry, so that their arms touched. Even though Nathaniel had a tiny edge of _difference_ about him, didn't feel like a werewolf, the contact tempered what Harry was feeling. "Once, I was Voldemort's snake, Nagini. She..." Harry broke off. "She tried to kill Ron's dad."

"Sounds like a horrible dream."

"But it wasn't a dream!" Harry exclaimed. "She really did bite Mr. Weasley! He almost died." He absently pushed the jam jar further back on the counter. "And my dream yesterday morning, with Anita's mum, that happened too, only it was Cedric that really died, not Maria."

"What are you talking about?" Nathaniel asked. "I thought the dream was about Olaf."

Harry shook his head. "It was at first, then I was in the graveyard like I had been with Cedric, only Cedric wasn't Cedric, it was Maria, and she died the same way as Cedric did, but then Anita was there and Olaf got her--"

"Hold on," Nathaniel said. He looked very confused. "Can you start from the beginning?"

"Okay." Harry ran his hand through his hair. It was probably standing straight up, but he really didn't care about how he looked right now. "What's Anita's mother's name?"

"Maria, like you said," Nathaniel said. He returned to the neglected shopping bags. "But didn't Anita tell you that?"

"No. I just knew it." Like he'd known what Maria smelled like, a nice mix of bath powder and perfume, and that her hugs had been the best any little girl ever had, because she was the best mum ever. Watching Wormtail kill her had been like losing his own mother all over again. "How could I know that?"

"I don't know."

Harry picked up the jam jar and put it in the fridge as he began to tell Nathaniel all about the dream that he and Anita had shared. Talking about Olaf made Harry queasy, but that was still better than when he had to explain about the part of the dream in the graveyard, and then he had to tell Nathaniel all about the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Cedric, and how the other boy had died.

Nathaniel was a sympathetic listener, not bothering with any show of horror or revulsion at the tale. He asked few questions, and by the time the story was done, Harry felt as if he'd had a weight lifted from his chest.

"Why does all this kind of stuff happen to Anita?" Nathaniel asked as he began slicing up the meat.

"What do you mean?"

"She's always in danger, with crazy people fixating on her," Nathaniel said. Harry watched the sharp knife slide easily through the large slab of beef, and felt the stirrings of hunger. He had to concentrate on Nathaniel's words to respond.

"I'm the same way," Harry said. "Crazy people seem to want to kill me, too. Voldemort and Bellatrix and all them."

"Just great." Nathaniel tossed several chunks of beef into a large bowl, and turned the cutting board around to tackle the other side of the meat.

"So, who's coming over tonight?" Harry asked, changing the subject before Nathaniel asked him any more about Voldemort.

"Jason and Gregory and Stephen," Nathaniel answered. "Jason's got this idea that you need exposure to American culture before you get shipped back to the land of tea and scones." 

"What kind of culture?" Harry asked, sneaking a chunk of raw beef out of the bowl while Nathaniel's back was turned, and popping it in his mouth.

"Movies and stuff, I think," Nathaniel said. "Nothing too out there." He spotted Harry taking another bit of meat out of the bowl, and slapped the back of his hand. "Stop it!"

Harry dropped the meat and ducked back. "Sorry," he said, not very apologetic as he licked the blood off his fingers.

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "You can make the salad if you need something to do."

"Okay." Harry turned to the waiting array of vegetables. The thought of slicing it all by hand was a bit daunting. He looked at Nathaniel. "Can you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Not tell anyone what I'm about to do?"

"What are you going to..." Nathaniel's voice trailed off as Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket.

"Just watch," Harry said as he pointed his wand at the vegetables.

* * *

"It's a very elaborate salad," Stephen said dubiously, staring at the large bowl on the table.

Nathaniel covered his mouth with his hand as he snickered. Harry pretended to regard the carefully arranged bowl. "I don't know, I think it needs something else," he said. "What do you think, Nathaniel?"

"I think it looks just fine," Nathaniel said, still laughing.

Harry lifted a cherry tomato out of the bowl and placed it on top of the carrot-and-celery tower. "There. Perfect."

Jason gave Harry and Nathaniel a strange look. "You're both nuts," he said as he dropped a handful of thin cases onto the table. "Is Gregory here yet?"

"Yeah, he's getting something from upstairs," Stephen said. "What movies did you bring?"

Nathaniel pushed the cases around. "Dracula, Shadow of the Vampire, Blade, From Dusk till Dawn, Lost Boys... Did you bring any movies that aren't about vampires?"

"One, but it's for work and so Harry can't see it," Jason said.

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. "I'm not a kid."

Jason fixed him with a stare. "Hey, if you want to watch a video with a bunch of half-naked guys gyrating, feel free," he said.

Harry glared back at Jason, feeling as if he'd somehow been backed into a corner. Before he could figure out what to say, Gregory's voice called out from upstairs. "Stephen! Get up here and help me!"

Stephen edged around Jason and dashed for the stairs. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Nathaniel beat him to it. "Jason, leave him alone."

"Why?" Jason demanded. "He's welcome to watch the video, I just thought he swung more towards older women than to guys."

Half-angry, half-mortified, Harry took a step toward Jason, glaring down at the werewolf. Nathaniel quickly pushed between them. "Harry, he's just trying to push your buttons," Nathaniel said, shoving Harry back. "And Jason, you so don't want to go there right now."

Harry didn't understand the expression that ran over Jason's face. "What?" Jason shrugged. Harry looked to Nathaniel, who shook his head. "Did I miss something?"

Jason cursed under his breath. "I'm sorry I bothered you about the movie," he mumbled.

"It's okay," Harry said, growing more puzzled.

"Yeah." Jason crossed his arms over his chest, staring hard at the carpet. "It's not that."

"What is it, then?"

Nathaniel stepped up to Jason and said something in his ear, then picked up the movies and continued out of the kitchen. Jason ran his hand over his short blond hair. "I shouldn't have said that crack about older women and guys and stuff."

"I'm sure I'll live, but was Nathaniel talking about?"

Jason glanced at the doorway where Nathaniel had vanished. Harry's eyes grew wide.

"You and Nathaniel?"

"No!" Jason exclaimed, jumping back like a scalded cat. "It wasn't like that?"

"What was it like?" 

"I--" Jason stopped abruptly and looked around the kitchen. Harry watched this bizarre behaviour with growing bemusement. "I was sort of wondering, a few months ago, you know?" Harry didn't, but it didn't seem like the time to say so. "I asked Nathaniel, because he's played for both teams." Jason fidgeted, his face red. "Anyway, in case anyone asks, kissing a guy's not at all like kissing a girl," he said, trying to make it a joke, but failing slightly.

"Right." It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to tease Jason, but something about the set of Jason's shoulders gave Harry the hint that what Jason had just told him wasn't a joke, not to Jason. "It's cool."

"Yeah." Jason managed a smile, almost back to his usual self. "But you?"

Harry blinked. "Me what?"

"Ever, you know, wonder?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "I mean, no. I have enough trouble with girls." It had never really occurred to Harry about, well, _that_. "And I like girls."

"Right," Jason said as Nathaniel came back into the kitchen. The wereleopard shook his head.

"I'm going to put the grill on," Nathaniel said as he went to the fridge and removed a large plate of meat skewered on long sticks.

"Why are you cooking the meat?" Jason asked, following Nathaniel outside onto the porch. Harry trailed after them, not sure if he was still upset with Jason or not.

"You might like cold raw meat from the store, but I want it hot," Nathaniel said.

"I think I've just been insulted," Jason said to Harry. Nathaniel shook his head as he lit the grill. "Hey, where's Anita?"

"Over at Richard's place with Micah," Nathaniel said. "They're talking about getting her some bodyguards and stuff."

"For the trip to England?" Jason asked, the grin sliding off his face. "I thought Jean-Claude had all that planned out."

"Not for the trip," Nathaniel said.

"Wait a minute, why would Anita need bodyguards in London?" Harry asked. "She's not going to be in any danger, is she?"

"Not exactly," Jason said. "I mean, I'm going and so is Requiem, so she's got us around for protection."

"But why would she need you?"

"They can double up to help her feed the ardeur too," Nathaniel explained. He closed the grill's lid and turned to Harry and Jason, a very serious expression on his face. "But they're mostly going because of Christoff."

"He's the Master of London, right?" Harry asked.

Jason nodded. "Christoff's not really a fan of wizards."

"What?" Harry took a step out onto the grass. "So Anita's going to be in danger because of me?"

"No, not entirely. Christoff also apparently hates Jean-Claude," Jason said. He looked out at the setting sun, eyes screwed up against the glare. "I've been dealing with this from Jean-Claude and Richard and Anita for the last few days, so please don't start on me now, okay?"

"What do you mean, dealing with this? Dealing with what?"

"Dealing with how I'm to protect Anita if she needs it," Jason replied. "She probably won't. Jean-Claude's made it pretty clear in talking to Christoff that there will be severe trouble if anything happens to any of us. But he's still worried, really worried."

"There's something that he needs to get settled before you guys leave," Nathaniel said. "Something that Christoff's apparently holding out on him, but that Jean-Claude needs to have set up before he'll let Anita go. Otherwise, he's going with Anita and he'll leave the city with Asher."

Jason turned around, his mouth hanging open in astonishment. "What the fuck are you talking about?" he demanded. "I haven't heard any of that."

Nathaniel checked the heat on the grill, not looking at Jason. "I asked Asher."

"You asked Asher?" Jason repeated. "I thought you were avoiding Asher."

"I talked to him last night at work," Nathaniel said. "All I said was, I was worried about Anita being safe in London. Asher just told me the rest."

There was something in the set of Nathaniel's jaw that made Harry think that wasn't the entire story, but not knowing Asher, other than that the vampire seemed to dislike Harry intensely, he didn't know what to think. "Why is it that Jean-Claude leaving the city would be so bad?" Harry asked.

"Because as strong as Asher is, he's not really strong enough to hold St. Louis against a challenger," Jason said. "Jean-Claude's got Richard and the wolves as his animals to call, not to mention Anita. No one's crazy enough to go against them, but if Jean-Claude were gone..." He turned to Nathaniel. "Meng Die, you figure?"

"No, I think Meng Die knows she's still not strong enough without a human servant," Nathaniel said. "But there's a master up river, Maurice? I think I heard Byron telling Elinor that he might be a danger."

"Hold on!" Harry said. "Can we get back to the 'Christoff might be a threat to Anita' part of this conversation?" He looked from Nathaniel to Jason. "Can't I just go to England on my own? That way she won't be in any danger from Christoff."

"She tried suggesting that," Jason said. "No dice. You'll be in danger if you go back alone."

"I'm always in danger!" Harry exclaimed.

"No, this is different," Jason said urgently. "Because of Damian. Christoff knows that Damian's your grandfather, and that makes you fair game once you step foot inside London. From what I get off Requiem, once we go visit Christoff and say hi and stuff, you should be able to enter London all you like without any trouble from his vamps."

"Unless he kills you all to start with," Nathaniel said sharply. He raised the lid on the grill and began slapping the meat on the sizzling surface. "Harry, I need you to do me a favour."

"What?" Harry asked, his insides were churning. How could he have known that he'd cause all this trouble? 

"Don't get stupid about this." Nathaniel looked up at Harry, his lavender eyes hard. "Jean-Claude knows what he's doing. If anyone can get Anita in and out of London alive, it's him. Please don't try anything that will get her killed."

Harry must have hesitated too long, because Jason spoke up. "If you have anything to say, Harry, you need to talk to Jean-Claude about it now," the werewolf said. "I don't know what you're thinking, but Christoff's a real bad-ass. Jean-Claude told me he had this whole territory in Belgium for over a hundred years, but when the old London master went psycho, Christoff just bailed on Belgium and took over London. No one fought him, and considering the number of powerful vamps in England, that's saying something."

"But Anita shouldn't be put in danger because of me!" Harry said.

"Well, tough shit," Nathaniel snapped. "She's in it now, so you're doing to have to deal with it." He turned the meat skewers over, scowling at the flames. "Might be best if she leaves, with Olaf and all."

"Who's Olaf?" Jason asked curiously.

"I don't know," Nathaniel said before Harry could respond. "Why don't you go drag Stephen and Gregory down, okay? We can put the movies on and start to eat." Jason narrowed his eyes at Nathaniel, but hopped up the stairs back into the house. When he was gone, Nathaniel turned back to Harry. "Jason's right, you should talk to Jean-Claude about this whole London thing. You might be able to help out in ways that Jason and Requiem can't."

"How would I be able to do that?"

"You're not tied to Jean-Claude in any way," Nathaniel pointed out. He quickly loaded the meat skewers onto a plate. "Jason and Requiem are, but you're a free player in all this. You might be able to help keep Anita safe."

Harry frowned while Nathaniel turned off the grill and closed the lid. "I'll talk to him," Harry grudging promised. "But what are we going to do about Olaf?"

Nathaniel shushed him. "Can we not talk about Olaf right now?" he asked. "I don't want the twins worrying about that. Jason can ask Jean-Claude if he wants to know."

"Okay, I guess," Harry said, puzzled as to why Nathaniel would want to keep this quiet. But maybe Nathaniel knew something that Harry did not, which was entirely possible, considering that Anita had apparently told Nathaniel all about Olaf the previous night.

Maybe, when Anita and Micah got back from Richard's place, Harry could ask them about Olaf, and if there was anything he could do to help.

* * *

Harry had never passed a normal evening with a bunch of muggle guys, so he wasn't quite sure what to expect. He most certainly had not been expecting what happened, however.

Midway through the first movie, Stephen got bored and began to test out his new makeup on Gregory's face. Jason started talking along with the characters on the screen, making the movie into a huge melodrama. Nathaniel ignored them all, watching the film with rapt attention.

Stephen caught Harry watching him apply makeup to his twin's face, and offered to do the same for Harry. Harry managed to catch himself before he replied, making his refusal a little less vehement than it would have been otherwise. He had no interest in getting made up. Only girls did that, right? Although, Harry had to admit, the makeup on Gregory's face didn't look half-bad.

The idea had crossed his mind, about the Weasley twins doing something similar in their spare time, and Harry had to choke down a laugh at the thought of Fred and George in eye makeup. They wouldn't be able to wear it as well as Gregory was.

As the movie ended, Jason jumped up and took a bow to scattered applause from Harry and Nathaniel. "What do you all want to watch now?" he asked.

"Can we please not watch Lost Boys?" Stephen asked. "Vivian and Cherry watched that movie over and over, it drives me nuts."

"Why do they watch it so much?" Harry asked as Jason began sorting through his movies.

"Kiefer Sutherland," Gregory said in a falsetto voice, batting his darkened eyelashes. "They also watch 24 every week, too," he added in his normal voice. "They always go on about it the next day."

"Careful what you talk about," Jason warned Gregory. "You're the one who watches Oprah."

"Oprah's got good stuff on!" Gregory protested over Stephen's giggling. "Like that werewolf author last month."

"Uh huh." Jason slipped the silver disc into the drive and settled back on the couch. "Time for some Dracula."

The movie began and Harry watched the opening credits roll. The movie seemed a little campy, which was to be expected from a movie made decades before Harry was born, and he found his eyes wandering away from the screen, across the carpet, and stopping at a pair of feet in the doorway.

Harry jumped in surprise as he realized that Damian was watching them from the hall. The man's long red hair hung down on either side of his unnaturally still face.

"Hi, Damian," Nathaniel called, pausing the movie. "Do you want to join us?"

The twins stared at Nathaniel. Even Jason looked rather surprised by the offer. "I should not interrupt you," Damian said, not moving.

Nathaniel pushed Harry's feet off the couch. "You're not interrupting," he said. "We're just watching Dracula. Ever seen it?"

Something about Nathaniel's voice, the way he was speaking, made Harry wonder if this was the first time Nathaniel had tried to get Damian to join in something. As Harry wanted to spend more time with Damian, Harry tried to look welcoming as well.

"I have not seen any movie by that name," Damian said, slowly coming into the room. Nathaniel shoved at Harry until he crowded closer to Jason, letting Nathaniel slip over on the couch to leave enough room for Damian at one end.

"You can see it now," Nathaniel said. He waited until Damian sat uneasily on the edge of the couch cushions, then pressed the remote control.

The mood in the room had gone from causally laid-back to rather tense with Damian's arrival. The twins went back to their makeup, and Jason sat beside Harry, very still and very quiet.

After about ten minutes, Damian turned his head toward Nathaniel. "Are you sure this is Dracula?" he asked. "This has very little to do with the book."

"They wrote a book about this?" Harry asked.

Damian frowned at him. "The book was written a very long time ago," he said, slightly condescending.

Jason hit Harry's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Yeah, where did you grow up, under a rock?"

"Surrey, actually," Harry retorted, shoving Jason's hand away. "You've read the book?"

"When it came out," Damian said. "It was a ridiculous telling of the Dracula story, but still better than this..." he waved his hand at the screen. "This drivel."

"Hey, this drivel scared the crap out of me when I was ten," Jason said easily. "It's got Christopher Lee! What else could you want?"

Gregory groaned. "Can we not talk about Christopher Lee?" he asked. "Byron discovered Christopher Lee movies last month. He's been driving me crazy at work, telling me which ones he's seen." Gregory switched his voice into a very good imitation of Byron's accent. "Did you see what he did in Lord of the Rings? Do you know how many endings they filmed? Bah."

Harry smiled as the tension in the room eased off. Damian still made scathing comments as the movie progressed, and Nathaniel easily deflected most of them, but everything felt better. Harry hadn't realized until then how ill-at-ease he still felt with Damian. But this was good, this casual stuff. There wasn't a point to it, they were all just in the same room at the same time.

With a twinge of worry, Harry wondered if he'd ever see Damian again, once he left for England. If things with Voldemort went as badly as Harry expected, then these next few weeks might be all the time Harry ever got with his grandfather.

It didn't seem fair.

* * *

I knocked at John Burke's office door, trying to shove away my irritation at Richard. To say the meeting at Richard's hadn't gone well was an understatement of massive proportions. Once Micah had outlined the "Olaf" problem to Richard and Jamil, Richard had gotten very pissed off at Micah, then at me, then at Jean-Claude for not telling him sooner.

Since the whole thing was really my problem, I'd done what I normally do when confronted with an irate Richard. I flipped, and in a major way.

After Micah and Jamil separated me and Richard, Micah had proceeded to chastise us both for "behaving like children," I think he said, then flatly laid out our options. Since Edward had no idea where Olaf might be, those options were limited.

The least annoying of those options was currently sitting in the waiting room of Animators Inc. Miguel, one of Rafael's wererats, was my current bodyguard, at least until Richard and Micah and Jean-Claude could iron out the details on who I'd get as my permanent bodyguard.

As one might guess, this was not sitting well with me at all. But right now, I had bigger things to worry about, and if having Miguel sitting around drinking coffee and taking up space in the lobby got Micah out of my hair for long enough to do what I needed to do, I'd live with it for a while.

I knocked again. Finally John opened the door, frowning when he saw me.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked.

"Why?"

"I have something to ask you."

John swung the door open and let me inside his office. I hadn't been in here in months, and looked curiously at the long silver knife lying on the desk. He closed the door behind me and hurried to pick up the knife. "I was cleaning it," he said brusquely, sliding the knife back into a sheath.

"Right." I sat in the client chair without being asked, and waited until John sat down. "I need to ask you something."

"You already said that," John pointed out. "What do you want?"

I took a slow breath, and let it out. "I need to ask you about the Bokor Majeur."

John looked at me for a moment, then stood up. "I'm sorry, I not sure what you're talking about, Marshal Blake," he said, not able to hide the anger in his voice.

"This isn't some kind of set-up!" I exclaimed, gripping the chair so hard my fingers turned white. "I need to know!"

"Why?"

The clipped word fell into the silence of the office. I tried to stop the fluttering of fear in my chest, but wasn't very successful. Seems like my grandmother's warnings were still paying off, after all these years.

"I think someone might be using it to commit a crime," I lied.

John sat down warily, as if he was waiting for a SWAT team to burst through the door. "How did you even hear about the Bokor Majeur, anyway?" he demanded. "Of everyone in this office, I think Manny might be the only one who's ever heard of it."

"My grandmother told me, when I went to see her in Mexico as a teenager," I said.

"What did she tell you? About how it's more evil than most anything vaudun?" John asked. He'd wrapped his hands around the knife sheath in front of him. I'm not even sure he knew he was doing it. "Most of us serve with both hands, Anita, dancing on this side of evil, but no one who's ever touched Bokor Majeur has ever come back unchanged."

"I know that!" I said. I pried my hands off the chair, wishing I could reach for the silver cross around my neck, but knowing it would only put John further on edge. "I need to know about it, to make sure that I can stop it if I need to."

It was a lie. No one was using the Bokor Majeur at all, and as I looked into John's eyes, I think he knew that.

Bokor Majeur was the most powerful vaudun force that anyone had ever heard of. Most vaudun priests used it as a bedtime story to scare their little acolytes straight. But I'd been wracking my brains for a way to protect myself and my people in case Olaf came after me, or in case I couldn't handle the next bad guy down the road with a gun alone. I was a necromancer, and I held the ardeur within me, and I'd been okay with those powers so far. Most people who had those powers let them go to their heads, driving them evil with power. I'd held off on that, and I knew I could do it with the Bokor Majeur.

John sat back in his chair. "You do realize that if this goes wrong, I'm going to have to kill you," he said, his voice flat.

My skin broke out in goose bumps at his tone, but I was counting on it. "I just need to know about it," I said when I could speak.

He didn't believe me, of course, but as he stood up and walked to his bookcase, I didn't really care. If I could get what I needed to protect my people, then I'd take what I could get.


	40. Darkness Inside

* * *

A tap at his bedroom door made Harry to look up from the pile of clothes on his bed. Damian stood framed in the door, his broad shoulders almost brushing both sides of the frame.

"What are you doing?" Damian asked, turning a small flat box over in his hands.

"Trying to figure if I need to take all this stuff with me," Harry replied. "A lot of it made sense to buy at the time, you know, but I can't see ever needing this," he brandished a grey 'Animators Inc.' t-shirt in the air, "Back home."

"You use it when you run, do you not?" When Harry nodded, Damian continued. "Do you not plan to run when you return to England?"

Harry shrugged as he tossed the shirt onto the window seat. "Don't see when I'll have the time. Breakfast is early, then I've got classes all day, then homework and Quidditch practice." It belatedly occurred to him that Damian was still standing on the threshold. "Would you like to come in?"

Damian stepped carefully into the room, then went over to the desk and sat in the chair to watch Harry dither over his possessions. Considering that Harry had arrived at Anita's house with a tiny suitcase and little more than the clothes on his back, it was almost an embarrassment of riches.

Dropping a dark red dress shirt back onto the bed, Harry made a space in the mess and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'll figure it out, I suppose," he said. "I've still got a few days until we leave."

"Six days, correct?" Damian asked. "You are leaving on the thirtieth in the evening."

Harry nodded. "Two days after the full moon." Even the mention of the full moon made his heart flutter in his chest. Four more nights until Harry learned once and for all if he was a werewolf or not.

Even though he'd spent the last week with the lycanthropes, running or lifting weights or any of a million things, he hadn't been able to sleep the last few nights, worrying about the change. Jason and Stephen had taken to spending the night at Anita's house, usually bunking in with Harry. The first time Harry woke up beside the two blond werewolves, he had freaked out because he hadn't been freaked out. He'd slept over at Ron's house, sure, but not in Ron's bed.

That he couldn't fall asleep anymore unless there was someone else in the bed was starting to worry him. Sure, they were all fully clothed, but what was he going to do back in England? 

"It might not be as bad as you are anticipating," Damian offered, bringing Harry back from his worrying. "Nathaniel says that he is more at ease as a wereleopard than he was before."

"But he's here, with a pard and people around him," Harry pointed out. "I'm going to be alone! I can't tell anyone! Dumbledore said that it'll be okay, but if I change--" Harry buried his face in his hands. "What if I hurt someone?"

"If this is your worry, you can take steps to ensure that you will not," Damian said. "You said you had a friend, a werewolf. How does he not hurt people?"

Harry sat back up. "He's not really my friend, so much," he said, not looking at Damian. "He was my parents' friend, them and Sirius." The thought of Sirius made Harry's guts twist. Sirius would have made the best of Harry being a werewolf, setting up a place for the full moon, and changing into his Animagus form to keep Harry company. Sirius wouldn't have worried about the 'what-if's, he'd have focused on the 'what is'.

Not able to sit still any longer, Harry sprang to his feet and strode the few steps to the window, looking out onto the darkened night. "Remus takes this potion, to help keep him calm during the change," he said in a hurry, hoping desperately that his grandfather hadn't noticed anything. "It's got Wolfsbane in it, and other stuff."

"Would they make you take this drug during the full moon?" Damian asked.

Harry winced. If Dumbledore wanted Harry to take the Wolfsbane potion, that meant that Snape would have to know that Harry was a werewolf. _What a fucking disaster!_ Harry thought. "I don't know."

"Is there a way you can refuse?" There was a hint of urgency in Damian's voice, and it made Harry turn around.

"What do you mean?"

Damian stood up. "The humans have brought us into their world. Instead of attempting to destroy us with guns and fire, they now try to make us harmless with their laws and their drugs. They do not understand that such measures are not a control, they are a facade."

"But they have to do something," Harry argued, not really sure why. "They can't just send Anita out to kill all the vampires and werewolves."

"That's not what I mean," Damian said. "The humans have rules for the vampires, on who we can feed on and what damage we can do. They think these rules contain us, when in fact we are controlled by what has always controlled us."

"What's that?" Harry demanded.

"Fear. Power. Our masters still hold our reins, as they have forever." Damian shook his head, blood-red hair spilling over his shoulders. "If this city was held by another Master, one who craves bloodshed as Christoff does, even the presence of Anita would not stop the monsters."

"But the lycanthropes aren't controlled by their alphas like vampires are, right?"

"Unless they are the Master's animal to call." Damian sat back in the chair, not looking at Harry. "I did not mean to talk about this. I only wanted to say that you should look into options to protect the people around you, that do not dull your faculties through drug."

Harry stared at the vampire. "Wait, you said something about Christoff. The Christoff that we'll be seeing in London?"

Damian went still, like vampires sometimes did. "Yes."

"But there haven't been any problems with vampires in London, have there?"

"No." Damian picked up the thin box he'd laid on the desk and turned it over in his hands again. "London is a special case."

When no further detail seemed to be forthcoming, Harry asked, "How is it a special case?"

Damian raised an eyebrow. "Christoff did not come to the city by the usual means. In fact, the Council decreed that whoever hold London keep the city calm, to human eyes. They do not wish to have the vampires in the only country other than America declared monster again, when they can prevent it."

"Are me and Anita human eyes?"

"No." Damian looked up at Harry. "When you and Anita visit London, it is under Jean-Claude's banner."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Has everything been set up?" 

"How do you mean?"

"Last week, Nathaniel said that Jean-Claude still had to get some kind of negotiations done," Harry said. "Did he do that? Is everything going to be okay?"

"From what I gather, things are all planned," Damian said. "Jean-Claude has indicated that all is in readiness."

The way Damian said it, didn't really calm Harry's nerves. "Great."

"It is," Damian said. "Jean-Claude has said that you will be protected, and that is good enough for me."

Harry stared at Damian in surprise. The vampire looked very hard at the doorjamb, the faintest hint of pink in his cheeks in what looked suspiciously like he was blushing.

Obviously uncomfortable, Damian stood and held the thin box out to Harry. Harry got to his feet and took the box from Damian. "What's this?"

"It is a gift," Damian said formally. "It was a tradition of my people, for a father to give this to his son when his son reached the age of a warrior."

Harry lifted the cover of the box. Inside lay a long metal knife. The handle was two snakes with red eyes twined together, their tails melting into the knife blade.

Lifting the knife from the box, Harry was surprised that the handle fit into his palm as if it was made for him.

"My father gave this to me," Damian continued. "From what I hear of your mother--" He stopped when Harry looked up at him. "Had I known, I would have given the knife to her."

"I think she would have liked that," Harry said, stunned. "I... Thank you."

"There is no need to thank me," Damian said. "It is I who need to thank you, for standing with Anita in battle."

"I was just doing what I had to," Harry stammered

Damian smiled wryly. "That is the mark of a warrior," he said.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. "I should get that," Harry said. "Anita's over at the Circus, and Nathaniel and Micah are at work."

"Of course," Damian said.

Harry laid the knife box carefully on the desk. "Thanks for this," he said. "It really means a lot."

The doorbell rang again. "You should get that," Damian said.

With a sudden grin, Harry dashed down the stairs. He drew his wand out of his shorts, just in case, and held it behind his back as he pulled open the front door to reveal Tammy Reynolds, who smiled tiredly at Harry.

"Hi, Harry," Tammy said.

"Detective Reynolds, hi," Harry replied, sticking his wand into his back pocket. "Anita's not here."

"Oh." Tammy frowned. "Actually, I needed to talk to you, too."

"Of course, come in," Harry said, opening the door wider. "Would you like some tea?"

"Only if it's herbal," Tammy said as she followed Harry to the kitchen. "Even though she's on formula now, Tannis gets cranky when I drink too much caffeine. Don't ask me how she knows."

"Are you not working anymore?" Harry asked as he set the kettle on the stove.

"Today was my last day," Tammy said. She slipped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, watching Harry take a pair of mugs out of the cupboard. "We let the wizards go."

Harry set down the mugs a little too hard. "You let them go?" he demanded incredulously as Damian came into the kitchen.

"They made bail," Tammy said. For all that she appeared exhausted, her eyes were sharp as she made eye contact with Harry. "Off the record, someone made a deal to get them out."

"What sort of deal?" Harry demanded. In his head, he was frantically trying to remember where he had put that card Dumbledore had given him, for the American solicitor.

"The kind where no one is happy," Tammy said. "We had a lawyer for those two idiots appear at the station a few days ago. The D.A. made us let them go."

"But what about what they did to Zerbrowski?"

"All dealt with." Tammy accepted the cup of chamomile tea that Harry placed on the table. "I'm not any happier with this than you are, Harry, trust me. But at least they got fired."

"They told you that?" Harry asked, getting out the sugar as he waited for his cup of tea to steep.

"No, a friend of a friend did." Tammy glanced over at Damian. "It didn't hurt that they finally figured out who you were."

"What do you mean?" 

Tammy took a sip of tea. "From what I hear, when the head of the Auror department learned that two of his men were disarmed by _Harry Potter_ , he was a little less than impressed. Add to that the fact that they both ended up in a non-magical jail with no way to get out, and they're out of a job."

"Will they come after Harry because of that?" Damian asked from the corner.

Tammy shook her head. "Attacking another wizard in the course of their job is one thing," she said. "Going after someone like Harry as part of a vendetta is suicide. Their wands would be snapped and they'd be imprisoned for life."

"Someone like me?" Harry's words fell into a sudden silence. "What kind of person do you mean?"

Tammy set her cup down and spread her hands wide on the table. "Like it or not, Harry, you're a symbol to a lot of people."

"But no one here had to deal with Voldemort," Harry protested.

"No, they didn't, but they had to deal with Grindelwald."

That name was familiar, but it took Harry a few seconds to remember why. "I thought Professor Dumbledore dealt with him."

"Oh, Albus Dumbledore killed Grindelwald, but he wasn't the only one in that fight," Tammy snapped. "Just like with everyone else back then, any solider with magical ability was sent to the front in World War II, but they were fighting Grindelwald's men. Didn't matter if they had wands or not. Considering what they were up against, they took anyone they could get."

"But what does that have to do with me?" Even though he didn't want the drink anymore, Harry measured two spoons of sugar into his tea and stirred slowly. "No one from America is fighting Voldemort, I thought."

"They're not, but I talked to my great-uncle, who was over in Germany in 1945. The current head of the American Aurors is John Cassidy. He was one of those war heroes, single-handedly took out a whole squadron of Grindelwald's wizards when his squad was overrun. He's taken over the Spencer case for the Aurors."

"Have you been talking to him?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Tammy said slowly. "He showed up at the station to get his Aurors this morning. If he says that you're out of it, you are."

"But why do you trust him?" Harry pressed. "Couldn't he just have been saying that to get his people back?"

"I don't think so," Tammy said. "A lot of my older relatives will only have anything to do with certain of those type of wizard, and Auror Cassidy's one of them."

"So Harry is out of it," Damian murmured.

"Yes." Tammy fixed Harry with a glare. "As long as he keeps out of trouble."

Harry shrugged. "I'm going back home in a week," he said, trying to keep a blank face.

"Well, that's all I've got to say," Tammy said as she stood up. "Will you tell Anita?"

"Sure thing." Harry hesitated, then asked, "Did Auror Cassidy say anything about Anita? When you talked with him this morning?"

"No," Tammy said. "He didn't mention her, and I wasn't going to bring it up."

"Oh. Okay, I guess."

Tammy smiled at Harry. "I need to go home before Larry starts wondering where I am. Thanks for the tea."

"You're welcome," Harry said automatically. "Thanks for coming to tell me, about the Aurors and stuff."

"You had a right to know." Again Tammy glanced at Damian, but spoke to Harry. "It's too bad we couldn't get together for dinner while you were in town. Maybe if you're ever back in town."

After Tammy had driven away, Harry stood on the porch and stared up at the quarter moon. "It's weird," he said.

"What is?" Damian asked.

"What Tammy told me, about Grindelwald and stuff. About thinking those Aurors are out there."

"She seemed very confidant that they would not come after you," Damian said.

"I guess." 

"I wonder what Anita will think of this," Damian continued.

Harry bit his lower lip, thinking. "Maybe I should call her? To tell her?"

"I do not think that will be necessary," Damian said. "She is with Jean-Claude this evening, in the Master's lair. Nothing can harm her tonight."

"I guess you're right." Still, Harry couldn't shake the vaguely uneasy feeling in his stomach, when he thought about Anita.

* * *

"Tell me where we're going again?" I asked, pulling my hand out of Jean-Claude's.

He turned to me, the flickering light from our only candle casting odd shadows on his face. "There is something I wanted you to see, ma petite, that is all," he said. He held his hand out to me again.

"Why don't you just tell me what it is?" I asked. The darkness of the stone hallways, far below the living quarters in the Circus, pressed in on me as I looked back the way we had come. I couldn't even make out the rough stone steps we'd just climbed down.

"Because it is something you must see for yourself," Jean-Claude said patiently. "We are almost there."

This really wasn't what I had been expecting when I arrived at the Circus tonight. My bodyguard for the night, a wererat named Alvaro, was stretched out on the couches up in the living room, waiting for my return. Jean-Claude had said he wanted to show me something, but hadn't told me what. I'd been sort of leery about it, but had taken his hand and gone with him.

Now, I was wondering what was possessing me to follow him deeper and deeper into the stone bowels of the Circus. This had gone beyond Jean-Claude's normal surprises.

We reached a crude wooden door set in the stone wall. Jean-Claude handed me the candle, then pulled a large metal key from somewhere and put it in the door. The metal creaked and groaned as he turned the key in the lock. "Would you care to step inside?"

What I wanted to do was to run back upstairs, but I wasn't going to tell Jean-Claude that. Holding the candle out in front of me, I asked, "What's in there?"

"Nothing but rock, ma petite," Jean-Claude assured me. "Shall I go first?"

"No," I grumbled. I really didn't think Jean-Claude would do anything that would surprise me too much. I just didn't like going into unfamiliar places, especially in the dark.

Keeping a careful eye on the uneven floor, I stepped into the room. It was more of a dry cavern, with a ceiling that went as high as I could see in the dim light. There was a wide path cut in the wall from the door down to the floor of the cavern, and I followed it down.

I hadn't known this place existed under the Circus. Lifting the candle, I looked around. The room had to be large enough to put my entire house in it.

The place was silent, so silent I could hear my heartbeat drumming in my chest. Giving the cavern one last look, I was about to turn to go back up the path to the door, when all of a sudden there was the large metal clang of the door locking, echoing in the chamber.

I whirled around, the candle wavering dangerously in my haste to see Jean-Claude calmly sliding the metal key into his pocket.

He'd locked us in.

My heart pounding so hard now it was hard to speak. "I've had enough of this," I said. "Let's go."

"Enough?" Jean-Claude asked, sauntering down the stone path. "Are you certain? Have you taken the opportunity to stare into the darkness, Anita? To see what lies there?"

"This isn't fucking funny, Jean-Claude," I exclaimed. I marched over to him and held out my hand. "Give me the key, now!"

Jean-Claude looked at me, an empty amused mask on his face. "But I am not ready to leave, not yet." In a blur of motion so my eyes couldn't follow, he grabbed the candle from me and had danced away before I could make a grab for him.

I stood, frozen, as Jean-Claude placed the candle on a rock outcropping, and walked away from me. This couldn't be happening... Hell, I didn't even know what was happening. All I knew was that I was getting scared.

"About a hundred years ago, in Haiti, there was a voodoo priest, who was very evil," Jean-Claude said, as if he was reading from a child's story book. "So very evil. Do you know what this man did, Anita?"

That was the second time he'd used my real name. "I don't care," I said fiercely, not letting any tremor of what I was feeling creep into my voice. "I've had enough of whatever the fuck you're doing!"

"This evil man raised whole cemeteries, killed women and children, in his quest for power," Jean-Claude continued, as if I hadn't said a word. "And do you know how he did it?"

Jean-Claude waited for my answer. I didn't have any clue what he was talking about, and the dark was pressing in on me, so I pressed my lips together to keep from screaming.

"Bokor Majeur, ma petite," Jean-Claude said mockingly. A chill ran though my body as I stared at him. I hadn't mentioned that to anyone, besides John Burke, and God knew he wasn't going to mention it. How did Jean-Claude know what I'd been doing?

Jean-Claude stared at me for a long time, as still as death. The air around us seemed to move with the darkness, and I fought not to shrink back.

"Finally, the vampires of Haiti sent for help," Jean-Claude said, still mocking. He moved jerkily toward me, as if he were a marionette with broken strings. "The Council sent an army to Haiti, to stop the voodoo priest. They couldn't kill him, so do you know what they did?"

By this time, he had gotten so close to me that I could smell his aftershave, overlying the faint scent of blood on his breath. I swallowed hard. "No," I ground out.

The expression bled off his face, until he looked all the world like a corpse. "They locked him up, in a room like this one." Jean-Claude spread his hands to the ceiling. "No food, no water, but the Bokor Majeur made sure that he could not die. They say that on clear nights, you can still hear him screaming."

I shoved Jean-Claude away from me, hard. His chest felt like stone under my hands, and he stumbled as he went back, but he kept on his feet. "What the fuck is this?" I demanded. "Give me the key and let me out of here!"

"Why?" he asked. "I thought you would be interested in what the Council does to those who deal in Bokor Majeur. After all, that now includes you."

I stared at him. "I don't know what you're talking--"

"Do not lie to me!" Jean-Claude shouted, voice echoing off the stones and driving into my chest. I curled over myself, gasping under the weight of his rage. "Do not stand there and lie to me about this!"

On the heels of his rage came a sorrow and pain so great, it stole my breath away. Shaking, I sank to my knees.

In an instant, Jean-Claude was in front of me, not touching. "I am sorry, ma petite," he murmured. He reached his hands out to me, but I jerked back at his touch. He didn't try again. "I did not mean for you to feel that."

"Then what the hell were you doing?" I demanded. My voice broke, but I didn't care.

"Do you not understand what they will do to you? To all of us?" Jean-Claude asked. "If the Council finds you have been dabbling with Bokor Majeur, not a thing in this world, nothing I can do, will save you. If there is anything left for you to save."

"I'm not--"

"Not what?" Jean-Claude interrupted. "Not seeking out this insane power? Or do you simply not understand?"

"I know what I'm doing!" I protested. "I'm not in any danger!"

"Not in any danger," Jean-Claude repeated faintly. "Ma petite, a lot of what you do is not evil, it's just power. But this..." He sat back on the stone floor, mindless of his clothes. "Bokor Majeur is nothing but evil, Anita. What could you hope to gain, to risk us all like this?"

"I haven't done anything like that," I sad, scrambling to my feet. "No one's at risk of anything!" I held out my hand again. "Give me the key and let me out of here."

Jean-Claude didn't move for the longest time, then he pulled the key out of his pocket and hurled it at the door. It hit the wood with a thunk.

All I wanted to do was get out of this room and away from Jean-Claude, but as I reached the door and groped around for the key, I felt the beginnings something I didn't like very much, growing in my chest.

Guilt.

The key, heavy and cold in my hand, helped me come to a decision. Knowing I could walk out of here at any time made the panic ease a little.

I retraced my steps. Jean-Claude hadn't moved. I sat cross-legged on the stone floor behind Jean-Claude. I wasn't sure what I wanted to say. "You scared me."

"And you are scaring me, ma petite." Jean-Claude had walled up the marks between us tight, but I could hear the emotion in his voice. "What have you been doing? What has driven you to something like this?"

I ran my fingers over the key, feeling the intricate designs. "I'm just trying to find out ways to protect everyone," I said.

Jean-Claude let out a sigh. "You cannot fight evil with evil, ma petite. Of all people, you are the one I thought would never make this mistake."

"I'm not doing that," I said.

"Then what are you doing?" Jean-Claude turned around slightly, so his profile was cast into shadows by the flickering candle. "Never before have you sought out more power, when danger arose. It has always been a gun, or a knife. Never anything like this."

I laid the key on the ground. "I'm only trying to find out more about Bokor Majeur. It's not like I'm going to raise it or anything."

"Why now?" Jean-Claude asked. "Why, after all we have been through, do you seek this power now? Is it because of Olaf?" He shifted around to face me. "Or is it because of something else?"

I pulled my knees up to my chest. I really didn't want to talk about this, but I couldn't find the words to ask him to stop.

Slowly, as if he was afraid I might push him away, Jean-Claude took my hands in his, and pressed them over his heart. I could feel the slow, sluggish pounding in his chest beneath my fingers.

"Gaining power like this will not make what Bellatrix did to you go away."

Jean-Claude's shirt trembled against my fingertips, and it took me a minute to realize that I was shaking. "I'm not doing that," I whispered.

Jean-Claude drew me into his arms, and I let him. Here, in the silent dark, the thoughts that had been lurking, hidden, in my head for the last couple of weeks, came back to me.

"She cannot hurt you anymore," Jean-Claude whispered, rocking me in his arms.

"What about the next time?" I had to ask. "What about the next witch who comes after us?"

Jean-Claude pressed his lips against my hair. "This is not the answer, and you know it." His hand smoothed my hair back from my cheek, and I realized I'd been crying.

"But if I can't stop them, we all might die." The thought of causing Nathaniel's death, or Jean-Claude's death, hurt so much that my breath caught in my throat.

"Ma petite, you are the strongest person I know," Jean-Claude told me. "We will find a way, that does not involve you going down this path."

From Jean-Claude's arms, I watched the candle burning steadily. "You didn't have to bring me down here just to scare me," I said, faintly accusatory as I sat up.

He looked away, brushing at some dirt on his pant leg. "It was not my intention to scare you, ma petite, but I needed privacy to speak with you about this."

"Why?"

"Because of the nature of the conversation." He stared off into the darkness, as if he could see something hidden. "If any of my vampires had heard even a mention of Bokor Majeur, you would have been in great danger."

"But they didn't, so I'm fine, right?"

"You may be." Jean-Claude looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "If you stop now."

I looked back at him, not saying anything. He closed his eyes.

"You're not going to stop, are you?"

I sprang to my feet. "All I'm doing is finding out about it, not actually doing anything with it!"

"And so that makes it all right?" Jean-Claude asked heatedly. "After all I have told you, you will continue on this path?"

"It's information--"

"It's temptation!" Jean-Claude crawled over to the candle and picked it up. "You are the one person, ma petite, who I thought would never fall prey to the temptation of evil like this!"

"I'm not going to do anything stupid, I'm just trying to find out about..." I let my voice trail off. I didn't have any idea what I was going to do.

Jean-Claude pulled himself to his feet and came over to me. Laying one hand on my shoulder, he said, "Ma petite, I have seldom asked you for anything, you know that. I am going to ask one thing of you, only this."

"What?" I asked, even though I think I knew what he wanted.

"I need you to stop in your pursuit of Bokor Majeur. Let it be in our past. We will find other ways to protect ourselves and our people."

I swallowed hard. He was right, he never asked me for anything, not unless it was really important. In his place, I'd have demanded that he do the same thing as he was asking of me. As much as I hated it, I didn't have a choice, not really.

"Okay," I said, almost inaudibly.

Relief flowed across his face. "Merci, ma petite. Merci." He kissed my forehead, then started across the floor.

I didn't move. "Jean-Claude?"

"Oui, ma petite?"

I twisted my fingers together. "I, um... I already know a lot about Bokor Majeur."

He turned back to me. "How much?"

"A lot?"

He sighed as he set the candle down. "Ma petite, you have the most amazing talent of complicating our lives," he said, wrapping me in his arms.

"Tell me about it." The fabric of his shirt was rough against my cheek. "But it's only information. Nothing evil."

"I believe you," he whispered.

After another kiss, Jean-Claude pulled me along with him to the door. Halfway there, I realized that I'd left the key on the ground, and pulled out of his grasp to go back for it. Lifting the weight in my hand, I glanced up into the blackness above us.

"You do not like the dark," Jean-Claude said. It wasn't really a question.

"There's too much of it," I said. "There's no lighting down this far?"

"Non. Nikolaos preferred these rooms to be dark, lit only by her pleasure." Jean-Claude held out the candle. "Candles and torches were the only light sources allowed down here."

"Charming. You should really get someone to put flashlights down here or something."

"Perhaps Asher can attend to it while I am away."

I stopped. "Away? Where are you going?"

Jean-Claude shrugged that lovely Gaelic shrug of his, which told me nothing. "I am going to England with you, ma petite."

"Since when?" I demanded. "I thought you were negotiating so you didn't have to leave? What changed?"

"Christoff gave me his final demand, for your safety, and the continued safety of Monsieur Potter," Jean-Claude said.

"Was that demand for you to go?"

"Non."

"Then why are you going? What did he ask for?"

Jean-Claude smoothed the sleeve of his shirt, paying close attention to his cufflink. "He asked for something that I will not ask you to do."

A growing unease settled in my stomach. "Sex or torture?"

"What?" Jean-Claude asked, startled enough to look up.

"Sex or torture?" I said again. "It's got to be something real squicky, or you'd at least have told me about it before you decided that you were coming with us."

"It is neither, ma petite," Jean-Claude reassured me. "He started negotiations by asking for Jason as a slave--"

"What??"

"-- but when I refused vehemently," Jean-Claude continued over my protest, "he asked for your blood."

On the heels of what I had first thought, a bit of blood didn't seem too bad. Unless.... "How much blood?"

"Three mouthfuls," Jean-Claude said, eyeing me for the reaction he wasn't getting. "From your neck, he was very specific about that. If he receives that, he will not only guarantee your safe passage to London for the next ten years, but Harry will be safe from Christoff's vampires for the same amount of time."

"Ten years for a bit of blood?" I asked. It seemed too easy. "What's the catch?"

"The catch is you need to let him suck the blood from your neck," Jean-Claude said. "He desires a taste of your blood, and that it will indicate a truce on our parts."

"I thought he hated your guts," I said, still confused. There was a missing piece here, but what? 

"Oh, he does." Jean-Claude shook his head. "But you have a reputation, ma petite, as a power. I am a Sourde De Sang, which Christoff is not. By this gesture, it will show all vampires that I consider him as a peer. He may hate me, ma petite, but he craves power. He will set aside his feelings on a personal matter, for this display."

I wanted to ask what the personal matter between them was, but frankly, I really didn't want to know. "Why didn't you tell me this before deciding?"

Jean-Claude took my arm and guided me to the door. I grabbed the candle as we passed. "Because I could not imagine a way that you would agree to it, not after what happened with the witch," he explained as he unlocked the door.

"Yeah, well, you know I've gotten a lot more practical in the last year," I told him as we walked down the hall.

"I know, but this..."

"Hey." I squeezed his arm. "If this protects Harry for ten years, I'd consider it. Is there anything you will gain?"

Jean-Claude was quiet for so long I knew there was something. "If you do this, ma petite, I will gain an ally in Europe," he finally said. "If it comes down to it, Christoff will be bound to consider my interests in anything he does."

I groaned. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Because I did not want you doing this because you felt it an obligation," Jean-Claude said. "You would do it, but always you would wonder if you had been forced into it by me."

I stopped and made Jean-Claude face me. "Loving you is not an obligation," I said softly as I cupped his cheek in my hand. "We're in this together, remember? You and me, not just you."

Jean-Claude kissed my palm, then lowered my hand from his face. "I should know by now that I cannot anticipate your reactions, ma petite," he said.

I went up on tip-toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "That's right. Besides, you have to stay here and protect everyone here." 

Jean-Claude let out a breath. "If this is what you wish, ma petite, then I will conclude negotiations with Christoff."

"It is, I guess."

"If you have any hesitations..."

"No, nothing like that," I promised him. "It's just... a lot's happened in the last hour." I frowned. "And I think I'm still a bit pissed off at you about scaring me."

"Then I will give you a day, ma petite, to think about this, before I contact Christoff," Jean-Claude said. "Come. You should have some dinner while you think on this matter."

The way he said it, so blandly, made me suspicious. "What's for dinner?"

"Oh, many summer foods," he said, voice blank. "A delightful salad, followed by a perfect steak, medium rare, with fresh blackberries for dessert."

In spite of all that had just happened, I had to smile. "Blackberries, huh?"

"Oui, I seem to recall that they are your favourite..."

"You mean they're your favourite," I retorted. "You and your food fetish."

"My humblest apologies."

I smiled at him, but it didn't do much to lighten my tumbling thoughts. Would I be able to let Christoff munch on my neck, even to keep Harry safe and to give Jean-Claude a much-needed advantage? I needed to figure that out, and soon.

Behind all that, what I'd learned of Bokor Majeur in the last week floated on the edge of my consciousness. I'd promised Jean-Claude that I wouldn't continue... but I really didn't think it mattered.

I already knew enough.


	41. Headaches

* * *

Harry stopped dead in the middle of the kitchen, in front of the second-biggest woman he had ever seen. "Where's Anita?" he demanded.

Claudia, Anita's wererat bodyguard, gave Harry the once-over. "She's downstairs," the woman finally said.

Keeping a wary eye on the bodyguard, Harry headed for the door in the kitchen that led to the basement. _I suppose asking her if she's part-giant is out,_ Harry grumbled to himself. The first time he had seen Claudia, he had been reminded of Madame Maxime, the headmistress at Beauxbatons, the French wizarding school. But Claudia had been a lot scarier and also a whole lot prettier than Madame Maxime.

In fact, there seemed to be a lot more pretty women around St. Louis than in England. _I wonder if I can blame this on the werewolf?_ he wondered as he clattered down the wooden steps.

The door to Damian's bedroom was closed. On the other side of the basement, Anita was knee-deep in scattered boxes.

"Lose something?" Harry asked, stepping over a pile of stuffed penguins and a winter jacket.

Anita growled at him. "About two hours of my life. I should never have let Nathaniel reorganize this place. I'm never going to find my suitcases!"

"Why not just wait until he gets back to ask him?" Harry suggested, hopping up on the large freezer.

"That would be too easy," Anita snapped. She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. "Plus, now he's going get all pouty that I made this mess." Eying Harry hopefully, Anita asked, "Can you do some kind of magic that would clean this place up? Like in Mary Poppins?"

"Who?"

"Never mind." Anita pulled a cardboard box off a shelf, and let out a sigh of relief. "Finally!" She dumped the box on the ground and pulled out three long suitcases.

"I thought you were only going for a couple of days," Harry said. "Are those for me, too?"

"No, all mine." Anita put the suitcases off to the side and started loading things back on the shelves. "You're meeting Jason later, right? Tell him to get you some suitcases from the mall tomorrow."

"Why do you need three suitcases for two days?" Harry asked, puzzled. He leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. "I can just shrink my clothes and stuff and put them in the suitcase I've got."

Anita gave him a look. "There is no way you're going to the airport with that tiny bag. You tell the customs officials you've been here for a month, they're going to take you aside and ask you some questions. Then they're going to open your suitcase and ask you why you've got doll clothes. _Then_ we're going to miss our flight and make Christoff angry. I'd just as soon avoid the mess, and have Jason buy you a couple of suitcases. You've got enough to fill them."

"I guess..." Harry didn't really want to tell Anita how bad he felt about all the money he'd already borrowed from Jason. However, he had a plan to fix that. He had to go to Diagon Alley to get his books for the new school year, as well as new school robes. He could just go into Gringott's at the same time and get some gold changed into muggle money. Jason would have to deal with the British pounds. Although Harry wasn't sure of the exchange rate. Was one pound worth one dollar? All Harry knew was that things seemed more expensive in America, at least according to Uncle Vernon's mutterings when he had to pay for things.

"Earth to Harry."

"Huh?"

Anita shook her head at him. "Come give me a hand with this, it's awkward."

Harry slid off the freezer and helped Anita lift a sports bag, almost as long as Harry was tall, up onto the top shelf. "What's in this, a body?" Harry asked as he struggled to shove the bag into place.

"No, it's Noah's Christmas present." Anita went on tip-toe to tuck the bag's handle out of the way. "It's a snowboard Micah got on sale back in April. He picked it up and is keeping it here until Christmas."

"That's a long time to plan," Harry said. Jason had told him about snowboarding, that it was like skiing on one wide ski, rather than two thin ones. Harry rather fancied the idea, but hadn't let himself think much about it. When the snow began, he'd be far away at Hogwarts.

Anita smiled to herself. "Micah's like that. Now that he can, he likes to buy stuff for the pard that they'd really like. He got Vivian a set of watercolour paints for her birthday." The smile faded. "I didn't even know she liked art, but she was so excited."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked when Anita continued to stare into the distance.

With a start, Anita shook herself and went back to putting things back on the shelf. "It's nothing."

When nothing else was forthcoming, Harry started putting loose objects into a half-empty box. Even though it was before noon, the only light in the basement came from the overhead light bulbs. Nathaniel had explained to Harry that, the year before, they'd started to fix up the space above the garage as an apartment for Damian, but it wasn't light-proof enough, and the vampire had decided to remain in the basement under the house where the walls were a foot thick and the windows had been bricked up.

"I just don't get how Micah understands people," Anita said after a few minutes. "Like, he can find stuff to talk about with everyone. He knows what to get people for Christmas and birthdays. He even remembered what kinds of food they like." She looked down at the stuffed penguin in her hand, then shoved it into a box with its companions. "I can't do that."

Harry sat back on his heels. "I can't either," he offered. "The only way I got something good for Hermione was with Jason. Ron's the only person I can buy stuff for, and that's because I just get him stuff I'd like."

Anita put the penguin box onto a high shelf. "So you have experience at buying teenage boys birthday presents?" she asked hopefully.

"Well, just the one. Why?"

Anita shrugged. "My little brother, it's his birthday in a few weeks, that's all. I can't figure what to get him. I used to get him clothes that his mother hated, but that's sort of getting old."

"How old is he?" Harry asked. He vaguely remembered someone mentioning that Anita had a step-sister and a half-brother. "My age?"

"A bit older," Anita replied. "He'll be turning eighteen."

A birthday present for an eighteen-year-old muggle... Harry frowned at the jacket in his hands. The first thing that sprang to mind was a collection of presents from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but he suspected that Anita would veto that idea in a snap. "What does he think of vampires and lycanthropes and stuff?"

"I'm not sure, but I think he's curious," Anita said slowly. "He always asks me questions about my job, but then there are no vampires where they live. Do you think that maybe I should get him a book on them?"

Harry grinned. "No. Take him to the Circus."

Anita stared at him for a heartbeat. "Are you fucking insane?" she demanded. "I'm not taking my brother into the Circus of the Damned!"

"You took me there," Harry reminded her.

"That's different!" Anita snapped. "You're a wizard and can protect yourself!"

"He'd be going with you!" Harry snapped back. "Byron said you're the scariest thing in this town, and there is no one at the Circus who would harm anyone under your protection!"

Anita pulled up short. "He said that about me?" she said in a small voice.

Harry nodded. "He was sort of joking, but not really."

Anita turned back to the mess. "Do you think I'm scary?" she asked, hanging a blue feather boa on the wall.

Harry picked up a box and put it on the freezer. "I don't think you're scary," he said carefully, "But I do think you're a very good protector. Everyone thinks that." He flipped open the lid on the box. The box held a jumble of handcuffs and whips and things that Harry couldn't assign a purpose. He closed the box quickly. He really did not want to know.

Anita was silent for a long while. Harry helped her clean up the mess in the basement, until the floor was bare and the shelves were packed. Instead of going back upstairs, Anita went over to an open lawn chair by the wall and sat down.

Harry was hot and sweaty and wanted to go for a shower, but he settled on laying down, starfish-like, on the cool floor. The basement was quiet. The occasional footstep sounded in the kitchen above.

"What are you doing tonight?" Anita asked after a while.

Harry had to think about that. "Um, Jason's coming to get me to give me a headache?"

"How's that?"

He raised his head. "We're going to the Circus so I can give it one last go at not being enthralled by vampires."

"Vampires?" Anita repeated, stressing the plural. "More than Jean-Claude?"

"Yeah." Harry put his head back down. "He wants to make sure it's not just him I can fight off. So tonight it's Requiem and... who was it? Someone with a weird name. Wicked Truth?"

"Jean-Claude's putting you up against Wicked and Truth?" Anita asked. She sounded puzzled. "They're powerful, but not as powerful as Jean-Claude is." Harry opened his eyes a crack to see Anita staring at him, frowning. "But they do come from a different bloodline. That might be it."

"Maybe." Harry rolled into a sitting position. "I can ask him tonight. He answers most of my questions."

Anita gave him a half-smile. "He likes you," she said.

"Huh?" That was... well, maybe not unexpected, but Harry hadn't really thought about it. He only thought Jean-Claude put up with him because of Anita.

"He thinks you're a good kid," Anita said.

"I do what I can," Harry said automatically. "Just... huh."

"A lot of people around here like you," Anita said. "They'll miss you when you're gone."

Harry examined his trainers, not really sure what to say. "I'll miss them too." 

"Then you won't mind if Nathaniel has a going-away party for you here?" Anita asked.

Harry's head shot up. "A party? For me?"

Anita nodded. "Nothing fancy, just whoever can come by," she said. "One last chance for Nathaniel to use that grill while you're around." She paused. "I mean, if you want to. If you'd rather not, we can just, you know, do something else."

"No, I'd really like a party," Harry said hastily. "No one's ever given me a going-away party before. The Dursleys used to rejoice when I was gone, but not like this."

"Good!" Anita said. "I'll tell Nathaniel. He was worried that you wouldn't want a big deal made out of leaving."

Harry felt a tendril of worry growing in his chest. "Nathaniel's not going to do anything big, right?" he asked. "Maybe just some food, right?"

"I suppose so." Anita stretched out in the creaky chair. "But you know Nathaniel. He really likes to do things for other people. Maybe you should talk to him about what you'd like."

"Yeah." Harry scuffed his shoe against the floor. His rear-end was beginning to go numb, sitting like this. "It'd be the day before we leave, right?"

"I think so. The flight is on the thirtieth, unless Jean-Claude's changed things around on me."

Above them, the floor creaked again, and another voice blended in with Claudia's, vaguely familiar. _Micah must be home._ "Are your bodyguards going to go with us?" Harry asked.

Anita looked down at her hands. "No," she muttered. "They're staying here. Requiem and Jason are going to do enough body-guarding I'll need." 

"So there's no possibility of Olaf being in England?"

Anita sat up so quickly that her chair cracked. "Who have you been talking to?" she demanded, struggling to her feet. "Did Nathaniel tell you that?"

"No, he didn't!" Harry glared up at Anita. "I'm not stupid, you know! Nathaniel doesn't want to talk about it, you don't want to talk about it, but suddenly you have a round-the-clock bodyguard after the subject of Olaf comes up?" Harry stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "What kind of danger are you in with him?"

Anita had gone pale in the bare electric light overhead. "You don't need to worry about Olaf."

"Why not?"

"Because he's my problem!" Anita yelled suddenly. "Not yours! Not anyone's but mine!"

Harry flung his hands out, then turned on his heel and paced the length of the room. He could feel the animal in his chest well up, certain that someone close to him, someone important, was in danger. The animal wanted to protect the pack. The part of Harry that was still human wanted to listen to Anita, but today, the animal didn't want to be ignored.

Harry paced across the room, concentrating on the part of his Occlumency that let him hold the animal in check. Richard and Jamil had talked him into letting the animal come up when this happened, but the animal had always before been frustrated or curious, never so... afraid.

_Afraid to lose Anita. Afraid a predator will kill her and eat her and there will be no more Anita to protect me or anybody else._

Even with his eyes shut, Harry could smell Anita, whole and warm and breathing. As his pace slowed, Harry smelled another in the room. It wasn't as familiar a smell as Anita, and the safety Harry associated with the smell was tinged with a bit of something else that he didn't quite understand, but it was still a safe person.

_Micah._

Harry opened his eyes. At some point, he'd sunk to his knees on the floor. Now, Micah crouched right in front of him, Anita at his side. But Harry only had eyes for the alpha male.

Micah leaned forward. His hair hung down in his face, framing his bright yellow-green cat's eyes. Power radiated off of him like a drug, and, mesmerized, Harry crouched down and rubbed his head against Micah's arm.

Micah pulled Harry against him, purring low in his chest. Although the animal in Harry wasn't a leopard, it reacted to the humanness and the power in Micah.

Another body pressed against Harry's other side. There was power there as well, but it felt a little like wolf and all like comfort. Anita. Slowly, the fear in Harry bled away.

Harry let out a long sigh and relaxed against Micah. The Nimir-Raj ran his hand down Harry's back. "Are you there, Harry?" Micah asked.

Harry nodded. "It's quiet, now," he said, meaning the animal.

"Good."

Gradually, Harry became aware that he could smell someone else in the room. The smell was sharp. Not unpleasant, but definitely a different flavour of creature than leopard or wolf.

Harry raised his head. Claudia, the wererat bodyguard, stood on the bottom step watching them. Her gaze was cool and professional. She didn't look curious, or even as if she cared. The expression was foreign to Harry, and oddly reassuring.

When he tried to sit up, Anita was slow to move back from him. Sliding out from under Micah's arm, Harry met her gaze straight on. "I'm not going to apologize for asking about Olaf," he said when he found his voice.

Anita pressed her lips together, but didn't have a chance to respond before Micah spoke. "Harry, we're taking care of Anita. We'll protect her against Olaf, if he comes after her."

"Oh, you will, will you?" Anita said coldly. "Why not just lock me in a box and only take me out for special occasions, won't that make me safer?"

"Anita--"

"Don't even start this again." Anita jumped to her feet and stormed over to the stairs. She glared at Claudia, who wordlessly turned around and mounted the steps, Anita in her wake.

When they were gone, Harry ducked his head and scraped his fingernails over the concrete floor. "Sorry about that," he said.

Micah shook his head, pushing his hair out of his face. "It's a continuing argument, never mind." He brought up one knee and wrapped his arms around his leg, looking completely at home on the hard floor. "What were you two talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "Stuff." At Micah's raised eyebrow, he clarified. "England and bodyguards and stuff."

"Ah. What was the consensus?"

Harry reviewed that part of the conversation in his head. He hadn't picked up on it the first time, but now that he thought about it, it seemed as if Anita had been on the verge of telling him something, when he'd started in on Olaf.

"Is the thing with Christoff all ready?" Harry asked.

Micah blinked at him. "What thing with Christoff?" 

"The thing Nathaniel was talking about, the last bit of negotiations to make sure Anita was safe in England?"

Micah nodded, never taking his eyes off Harry's face. "Everything is all set and prepared."

So, Micah didn't want to tell him either. Harry squashed his irritation. "So Anita's going to be safe while she's overseas?"

"Anita and you," Micah corrected. "As well as Jason and Requiem. Jean-Claude would never let anything happen to his people. Any of you. Harry, you have to understand, there's going to be vampire politics all over this trip. If you have any questions, ask Jean-Claude now."

"I'm going to see him tonight, so I'll talk to him then," Harry said grudgingly. He still felt as if they weren't telling him everything.

"Good." Micah stood up. "I need to go..." he pointed to the floor above them.

"Yeah." Harry didn't envy Micah having to talk to Anita at that moment. As the man walked up the stairs, Harry dragged himself to his feet and walked over to the broken lawn chair.

Harry completely understood Anita's irritation at being protected. He'd gone through this his entire life... well, at Hogwarts. All the adults wanted to protect Harry, never understanding that by not telling him stuff, he only ended up getting in more danger.

Pulling out his wand, Harry muttered a quick spell. The lawn chair straightened out, folded itself up, and hung itself back on the wall. Satisfied, Harry stowed away his wand. Instead of going back upstairs, Harry went and sat on the bottom step.

 _Even Sirius wanted to protect me,_ Harry thought, all of his good thoughts evaporating. _But at least he told me stuff, and let me sit in on the Order of the Phoenix meetings at the Black house_.

Harry missed Sirius desperately. He wished he could have talked to his godfather, wanted to tell him about maybe being a werewolf and about Damian and Anita and Meng-Die and everyone. Somehow, Harry knew that Sirius would find the whole situation greatly hilarious and chalk it up to Harry's ability to get into the most interesting muddles.

 _At least one person in my life would have been on my side with the werewolf thing._

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that everyone he knew was going to be disappointed in him for becoming a werewolf. Remus, Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall... Ron might find it entertaining for about a week, but Hermione would be horrified. Even Dumbledore would probably be disappointed that this was what Harry's life came down to.

 _It probably won't affect the prophecy, though,_ Harry thought glumly.

A shadow appeared in the doorway overhead. "Harry, you down there?" Jason called.

Harry twisted his head around. "Yeah. I thought you weren't coming over until tonight?"

"I was up early," Jason said. "Want to go for a run? Then were could swing by the Cafe, get some lunch and hang out and stuff?"

Compared with staying in the house with an unhappy Anita, that sounded like a great idea. "I'll go get my stuff," Harry said, hurrying up the steps.

"Get something to wear tonight in case we don't come back here first," Jason called after Harry.

Harry was packed and ready to go in five minutes. He grabbed his borrowed sports bag and hopped down the steps, dropping the bag by the front door before going in search of Jason.

The werewolf in question was on the living room floor, making strange faces at Anita, who was trying very hard not to smile. "Stop it!" Anita demanded.

Jason shook his head and stuck out his tongue at her. A laugh escaped Anita's lips. "See?" Jason said, putting his chin on her knee. "You're not as grumpy as you pretend."

Anita swatted Jason on the side of the head. Spotting Harry, she said, "This goof says you're going into town for the day?"

"That's the plan," Harry said. "Is that okay?"

Anita gave him a look. "Of course it's okay. Just stick with Jason, all right? And give me a call when you're done, I may be able to give you a ride home. I'll be at work tonight."

Harry's eyes flicked to the kitchen, where he knew Claudia was, but he didn't say anything. "I'll talk to you later, then."

"Come on," Jason prodded, tugging Harry along. "I was talking to Jamil, and you would not _believe_ what Sylvie's doing now..."

* * *

"How could she even think that?" Harry demanded, wincing as the volume of his own voice set off the throbbing in his head again. "She's putting herself in danger for me, and she didn't even tell me about it!"

Jason was already on the other side of his bedroom, and if the wall hadn't been made of solid rock, would probably have kept going. "This isn't about you, Harry--"

"The hell it's not!" Harry shouted in frustration. "Anita's going to England because of me! Because Christoff hates wizards, she needs to put her neck on the line so I don't get killed! How is that not about me?"

Jason ducked his head. "Did Jean-Claude tell you that?" he asked nervously.

Harry growled and dropped to a crouch, burying his aching head in his hands. "Yes," he said after a minute. "After I'd successfully managed to fend off him, and Requiem, and those two brothers."

"Wicked Truth."

"Whatever their names were. I can avoid being enthralled by them, which is good, but then Jean-Claude tells me this!"

"You are completely missing the part of this where this isn't about you," Jason said, creeping closer.

Harry glared at the werewolf.

"No, really." Jason crouched down. "This is about power. How long were you in England? Christoff never did anything to you while you were there. Yeah, having Damian as your grandfather sounds like a nice way for him to threaten you, but it's not about that. It's about Christoff and Jean-Claude. Christoff saw an opportunity to make a power play on Jean-Claude."

"Because of my presence."

"Well, yes," Jason allowed. "But Christoff's not the only one to benefit from this. Jean-Claude gets an ally in England, and you can never have too many allies."

"But it's still Anita's neck!" Harry protested. "Maybe I can talk to Jean-Claude, maybe Christoff can bite me instead."

"No!" Jason exclaimed. "Don't you get it? We're still going to be in danger when we're over there! Jean-Claude knows Christoff, knows what he might do. If you break the plan..." He shook his head. "Bad things. You can't do that!"

"Then maybe I'll talk to Jean-Claude myself, maybe I can convince him."

"Good idea," Jason snapped back.

"I will."

"Great."

"Right now."

"I'll be right behind you."

Harry stumbled up. The last thing he wanted to was to face Jean-Claude again, but he had no choice. He had to convince the vampire that Anita shouldn't be putting herself at risk for him.

Jason trailed along after Harry, down the halls under the Circus of the Damned. They arrived at Jean-Claude's bedroom too soon. Harry raised his hand, then hesitated. He looked around at Jason, who made knocking motion with his hand. Right.

Harry knocked hard on the wooden door, then lowered his hand. The door creaked open dramatically, so much like in a bad movie that Harry had to swallow a nervous giggle.

Jean-Claude stood in the doorway. "A second visit in one night?"

Harry met the vampire's amuse gaze. "I need to talk to you some more about the trip to London."

"Really?" came a mocking voice from deeper into the room. Harry looked past Jean-Claude to see Asher sitting slumped on a chair in the room. "Are you having second thoughts about letting Anita protect you?"

"Asher!" Jean-Claude whipped out. Asher glared at Jean-Claude from behind a curtain of gold hair, then shot to his feet. He stalked across the room and brushed past Jean-Claude. To get past Harry, Asher could have just stepped out the door, but he glared down at the boy, his pale blue eyes glowing.

Harry hadn't been practicing fighting off vampires for nothing. Although he wasn't sure why Asher seemed to hate him so much, he returned the vampire's glare with one of his own.

Asher curled his lip up in an unhappy smirk, then continued down the hall, knocking Jason off balance on his way. Harry stared after the retreating vampire's back. What the hell was that all about?

"Please, come in," Jean-Claude said pleasantly, as if Asher hadn't just stomped out like an angry bear. Harry and Jason exchanged glances, but still went into the room.

Leaving the door open, Jean-Claude gestured for Harry to take the chair Asher had just vacated. Jason went and jumped onto the immaculately made bed.

"You wished to talk?" Jean-Claude asked, settling on the bed beside Jason.

"Yeah." The incident with Asher had shaken Harry a bit more than he wanted to admit, and he needed a moment to figure out what he wanted to say. It wasn't smooth or suave, like Jean-Claude might have said, but it was all he had. "Is there some other way, in London, other than putting Anita in danger?"

Jean-Claude raised his eyebrows. "What brings this on, mon moitié–loup?"

"I can't let her be in danger when I can stop it!" Harry said hotly. "There has to be something I can do! Some way I can help!"

Jean-Claude regarded Harry carefully. "And what would you do?" he finally asked.

"Something, anything!"

"Anything?" Jean-Claude asked quickly, leaning forward. "Do you mean that?"

Feeling trapped, but knowing he couldn't go back, Harry nodded.

Jean-Claude smiled. "If you are willing to do anything, to protect Anita in London, then we have much to discuss."


	42. Bad Moon Rising

* * *

The sun rose early on the day of the full moon, but Harry was already up and ready to confront the day. He had showered and dressed before anyone else even stirred. By the time the first wereleopard stumbled into the kitchen, Harry had loaded the table with a huge breakfast.

"What are you doing?" Gregory asked, slumping into the first chair he could find. "Did you invite more people over? Are we feeding a horde?"

"I couldn't sleep," Harry admitted, setting a plate of sausages on the table. "Why are you so tired?"

Gregory grumbled something uncomplimentary toward his employer. "Jean-Claude had me and Stephen on the late shift. I only had three hours of sleep."

"So why are you up?"

"There's food," Gregory said, as if Harry was extremely stupid.

"Food?" came another bleary voice. Zane loped into the kitchen a step ahead of Cherry. "I like food."

"Really?" Cherry said dryly. She appeared to be more alert than her pardmates, and gave Harry a wink as she headed to the coffee maker. "I never would have guessed.

Zane made a face at her. Amid her giggles, Harry pulled a pitcher of orange juice out of the fridge. He almost crashed into Anita as he went to put it to the table. "Oh! Hi, Anita."

She glared half-heartedly up at him. "Are you responsible for this brouhaha?" she asked, taking the mug of coffee Cherry handed her.

"Yeah," Harry said, too wired to be put off by her tone. "Want some orange juice? Fresh squeezed."

Micah, who had just entered the kitchen, peered into the pitcher. "How early were you up?" he asked. "That's a lot of juice."

Harry shrugged, almost slopping juice out of the pitcher to the floor. "The juice was easy. The rest just sort of happened."

Anita shook her head. "You're the only person I know who could make a meal for ten and say it 'just happened'."

Nathaniel appeared from around the door, braiding his hair. "Do I need to remind you about your first full moon?" he asked Anita, giving her a smile.

Anita blushed and buried her nose in her coffee cup. Harry looked around at the wereleopards all trying to hide smirks. "What did she do?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Anita said. Zane snorted. Giving him an evil glare, Anita continued. "I went for a ten-mile run and then washed everyone's cars."

Harry perked up. "We could go for a run after breakfast, right?"

"If you want," Nathaniel said. He patted Harry on the shoulder as he passed by. "Just so you know, these energy spurts are going to keep going all day. If you start to crash, don't fight it, okay?"

Harry nodded. He was aware that he wasn't acting normally, but he felt so energized that he didn't care. It was like a Quidditch adrenaline high, mixed in with the world's best sugar rush. He felt better than he had in weeks.

"Come on, Harry," Nathaniel said, taking Harry's hand and pulling him over to the table. "You need to eat, too."

"Eat lots," Gregory advised, looking up from his plate of eggs. "You're less likely to start eating people that way."

The grin slid off Harry's face. "Eat... people?" His energy bubble pricked, he let Nathaniel push him into a chair. "I'm not going to eat anyone, am I?"

"No, you're not," Anita said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He leaned against her, taking reassurance from her presence. "We're going to be with you all day. Tonight, we'll go to the Lupanar, where we're all together. No humans."

"We'll be sticking to you like glue all day," Micah added. "So even if you do change early, we'll be able to keep you from hurting anyone."

"Okay." Harry moved away from Anita and stared at the empty plate on the table. He didn't want to hurt anyone, but how was he going to keep from hurting people when he was a werewolf? Remus never could.

Harry frowned. That first night in the woods, with Bellatrix, Jason had changed into a werewolf, but hadn't attacked Harry, or the helpless Anita. And those other times...

"Something wrong?" Micah asked.

"Huh?" Harry mumbled, his mouth full of food. At some point, he'd loaded his plate up and began eating, and hadn't even noticed. Was he losing time, or was he just preoccupied? Swallowing hard, he said, "Am I always going to be a danger to people?"

"Not at all," Micah said immediately. "For the first few months, you probably won't recall a thing on the night of the full moon. But then you'll start to be aware of what you're doing. You can control the beast, even on the full moon. You won't be able to stop slipping your skin, but you'll be yourself in there."

"Why are you asking that now?" Nathaniel asked. "What's on your mind?"

Harry took another mouthful of food. "Remus, my werewolf friend, he still can't control the wolf. Not like you're talking about," he said.

Anita and Micah exchanged glances. "How long has he been a lycanthrope?" Micah asked.

"A long time," Harry said. "He was while he was at school with my parents. So when he was younger than me."

Gregory's head snapped up. Harry now had everyone's attention. "Wait, he still can't control the wolf?" Gregory demanded. "Why the hell not? Even Stephen can control the wolf, and he's like the most submissive werewolf there is."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Gregory. "Don't talk about Remus like that!" he exclaimed, suddenly very protective of his former teacher.

Gregory put his hands in the air. "I was just saying."

"Harry," Micah said, pulling Harry's attention back. "Gregory does have a point." He waited until Harry slumped back down before continuing. "Stephen is not an alpha, and he does have a very good handle on his wolf during the full moon. It's a bit surprising to hear that your friend does not."

Harry pushed a rasher of bacon around his plate, aware of everyone's gaze on him. "Maybe it's different. Remus was really young when he was infected..."

"Stephen was nine," Gregory said flatly.

Anita whipped her head around. "Nine?" she exclaimed. "He was infected when he was nine years old?"

"Yes." Gregory hunched over, making it very clear that he didn't wish to continue the conversation. Anita set her cup down with a clatter and went around the table. She awkwardly placed her hand on Gregory's head. The wereleopard sighed and relaxed against the contact.

"Sorry about that," Anita said gently. "I didn't mean anything."

"I know." 

"Harry," Micah said, pouring some more juice into his cup, "Is your friend an alpha?"

"I..." Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said he didn't have a pack," Anita said. "Is he a dominant personality? Or is he more submissive?"

Harry had to think about that. In the time it took him to devour the remaining food on his plate, he'd run over everything he could remember about Remus. "I just don't know," he finally confessed. "I probably wouldn't be able to tell. I mean, I was a kid and he was an adult, right?"

"I'm not even sure if Harry would be able to answer," Nathaniel said. He pulled his legs up on the chair and wrapped his arms around his knees. "With Harry's personality, he may not even notice."

"What do you mean?" Anita asked.

Nathaniel opened his lavender eyes wide, the picture of innocence. "Harry's such an alpha personality that he probably wouldn't notice the little differences between alpha and submissive characteristics in the adults around him."

Gregory nodded agreement. "We are better at it."

Anita looked between Gregory and Nathaniel, slightly lost. "I've got a good judge of character, and I don't think anyone's going to accuse me of being submissive."

"It's not the same, Anita," Cherry spoke up. "Those who aren't as dominant spend a lot of time watching the others, to see what's going on, who's angry, who would be the best protector." She stared into the depths of her glass, as if looking for an answer. "The dominant ones only do that to see where everyone is, or if they think someone might be vulnerable. It's not an all-time thing."

"I..." Anita's voice trailed off, a trouble expression on her face.

Zane hastened to jump in. "She doesn't mean it like a bad thing, Anita," he said. "And you are always looking out for us." He flashed a sharp smile at her. "Promise."

"He's not," Harry said suddenly.

"Pardon?" Micah asked, while Anita tried to recover.

"Remus. He's not really dominant, not like Anita or you," Harry said. "There was this time, when he was with my dad and Sirius, and... well, something happened, and he seemed not to like it, but he let it happen."

Harry had just remembered what he had seen in Snape's pensive in his fifth year during the failed Occlumency lessons, when his dad and Sirius had tormented Snape after their OWLs. He didn't want to think about it, but he had to. Something part of him just _knew_ that Remus's behaviour was important.

Face flaming, because he knew what it felt like to be at the centre of a circle of bullies, Harry said, "It wasn't a nice thing, right, and Remus knew it, but he also never stopped them."

Nathaniel scooted his chair around the table until he was sitting right next to Harry. "It's hard to stand up to people more powerful than yourself, Harry."

"But that doesn't make it right," Harry snapped. He dropped his head to his hands, energy leaking away, leaving him lethargic.

"Did he ever talk about other werewolves?" Anita asked, mercifully changing the subject. "Or how other werewolves he knew reacted to the change?"

Harry couldn't even manage to shrug. "I don't know if he knew any other wolves."

"You know," Micah said slowly, "Most werewolves can't be solitary. There's the occasional lone alpha out there, but most crave pack contact. That might have something to do with his control."

Anita, however, did not appear convinced. "What about other wizards who are werewolves?" she asked. "Have you met any others?"

Harry didn't answer until Nathaniel poked his arm. "No." He made himself lift his head. "But the books at school, they're all full of how werewolves are dangerous creatures."

Anita smiled unhappily. "Ask Richard to show you what drivel the school board had in its textbooks ten years ago." She drained her coffee. "Speaking of which, I need to call him. You guys going to be okay until I get back?"

Harry let his head drop to the table when she was gone. He wanted to keep thinking about Remus, but all his thoughts kept turning to the physical sensations around him. The smell of the bacon mixing with the strong coffee; the hard chair, even the scratchiness of his shirt against his skin.

"Come on, Harry," Nathaniel said. "We're going for a run."

"Now?" Harry mumbled. "Can't we just sleep?"

"Not a chance," Nathaniel said, pulling Harry to his feet. "Gregory and Zane can clean up the kitchen. You're going to run off all that food."

"I'm going to fall asleep," Harry said as he stumbled toward the front hall. He was vaguely aware that Micah was right behind him.

"So we'll go slow," Nathaniel said, laughter in his voice. "You'll feel better, I promise." He handed Harry his trainers and pushed the teenager onto the bench. "Now, lace up your shoes."

"For someone who's supposed to be meek, you're awfully bossy," Harry complained, but he did as he was told.

"I spend too much time around Anita," Nathaniel said with a grin. Micah laughed at that. "Come on, last one to the dam has to clean up after lunch."

Just as they were about to leave, the front door opened and the other half of the pard spilled in. Micah grabbed Noah's shoulder and pulled him right back out the door, Harry noticed distantly.

As soon as he was outside, all of those thoughts seemed to fade. The sun was hot, there was a slight breeze that carried the scent of some far-away flower, along with the smell of petrol and oil from a passing car. The colours were too bright, too real, and Harry knew that the only thing that would make it real would be to run.

So he ran.

* * *

I was stretched out on the couch, Cherry on one side and Violet on the other, when the boys got back from running. Merle, Micah's main bodyguard, who had been in the kitchen swapping old war stories with Claudia, came out as soon as the door opened.

Harry didn't even wave or take off his shoes, just stumbled upstairs. Nathaniel gave me a smile and made a bee-line for our bathroom. Micah shook his head, and came over to me.

"How was the run?" I asked, kissing him gently on the lips.

"Great," he said, dropping back to the carpet. "Noah was the only one who managed to keep up with Harry for the first few miles."

I looked over Micah's head, to where Noah was conferring with Merle. Noah stood six foot two, with really long legs. He used to be a track star in high school, before he was infected. "Harry was going that fast?"

"He was." Noah's voice was surprisingly soft. "He started lagging after a bit, but he wanted to keep on going. I told him that if he kept on like that, he'd be too tired for tonight."

"Not that he listened," Micah said.

The shower upstairs turned on. "How can you guys be so energetic about moving around today?" Cherry asked sleepily. "It's hot out."

Noah pulled off his sweaty t-shirt. "It's a challenge, to not be out-run by someone who's not even changed for the first time yet," he said.

Violet stirred at my side. "Does anyone want some iced tea?" she asked, her manner hesitant. Violet was the most submissive person in the pard, like Nathaniel used to be before I started making him be more outgoing.

"Yeah, I'll go help," Noah said, trailing her into the kitchen. Merle watched them go, then looked back to Micah.

"Harry out-raced you guys, or you let him out-race you?" Merle asked.

Micah leaned against my legs. "I decided to let him burn off his energy on his own," he said, voice going a little cold. "Nathaniel and I could have caught up if there was any trouble. Noah was right with him the entire time."

I frowned. Why was Merle staring at Micah like that?

"No matter what you might think," Micah continued, "I have no problem with keeping an eye on Harry today, or any other day."

"He's wolf, not leopard," Merle said stiffly. "He's not our responsibility to take care of. The Ulfric infected him, and the Ulfric should be here, not Noah and you and Nathaniel."

Micah stood up. "Merle, I want to talk to you about this outside." I watched as Merle turned around and stalked out the front door. Micah looked down at me and gave me a reassuring smile. "I'll be right back."

"The hell you will!" I hissed. "How long has this been going on? Did you know about this before?"

"Anita, I'll handle this." Micah's tone brooked no argument. I have no idea why I didn't follow him, demanding answers, but I just sat on the sofa, open-mouthed, as Micah went after Merle.

I looked at Cherry, who was all of a sudden very intent on watching the television. "Did you know about this?" I demanded.

Cherry, looking quite miserable, said, "I know Merle's been worried about the pard."

"Cherry..."

"He doesn't like how a lot of Micah's time is taken up with Harry these days," she continued. "I guess having Noah go out made him say something."

"But I'm spending way more time with Harry than Micah is." For some reason, I felt hurt that Merle was thinking about Micah, not me. I was supposed to be his Nimir-Ra.

"But you're the Lupa, too, and so Harry's technically your responsibility," Cherry pointed out. She gradually met my eyes, and gave me a nervous smile. "Merle know that."

I was still smarting when Harry stumbled down the stairs. He'd put on dry clothes, but his hair was still wet. I noticed right away that he'd left his glasses somewhere. He seemed like more of an adult, without those glasses hiding his eyes.

"Hi Anita," he said sleepily. I didn't have time to say anything when he dropped onto the empty spot on the couch beside me, curling up into a ball on his side and resting his cheek on my thigh. He let out a happy sigh and fell asleep almost at once.

I sat frozen. I didn't know what to do. I'd never had a young man suddenly drop his head in my lap, Jason excluded, and fall asleep. Cherry was no help at all, as she simply leaned back against the cushions and started flipping channels.

Violet came back out of the kitchen, carrying a large pitcher on a tray with glasses. She set the tray down and sat on the carpet at my feet, not minding the sleeping boy at my side.

Noah spotted Harry and grinned. "I'm going to go use the shower upstairs," he said, and bounded from the room. I was left on the sofa, one hand hovering over Harry's wet hair. He was completely relaxed in unconsciousness, and his head seemed very heavy against my leg.

Cherry settled on a late morning talk show. I didn't really pay attention to the screen. Once I became accustomed to Harry's weight, I let myself start to think about tonight. Micah and Merle seemed so convinced that Harry was going to change into a werewolf, but something Nathaniel had said this morning made me wonder. So far, Harry was acting exactly like I had on the first full moon after Gregory accidentally sank his claws into me. The energy spurts, the craziness with the beast, the changed eating habits.

There were things that Harry was not doing, however, that a new lycanthrope should. He hadn't gone catatonic with blood lust. He wasn't smelling or hearing as well as he should. And, I noted as I carefully touched his cheek, his temperature wasn't spiking. Next to me, Cherry was burning up, normal for her on the day of a full moon. Harry's skin was human-normal.

The more I thought of it, the more convinced I was that Harry would not shift into a werewolf. Not enough to lay anyone's life on it, but almost. _Lucky kid,_ I thought as I ran my thumb over his cheek. He'd been through enough in his life. He didn't need this added complication.

Nathaniel padded into the living room on bare feet. He'd changed into his most ragged pair of shorts and nothing else. As usual, the sight of him caught my breath in my throat. He smiled when he saw my reaction. He loved that he could do this to me.

He came right up to me, and leaning down, kissed me. The kiss wasn't as gentle as it was with Micah, and I felt his desire, through his lips and his tongue. I almost fell into his kiss, but made myself pull back. He left me gasping.

"What the hell was that?" I demanded when I could talk again.

He grinned cheekily at me. "It's the full moon."

"Which is why you know I won't kiss you," I pointed out.

Cherry leaned over. "Oh really?"

I blushed as red as a fire-engine. "Never mind," I snapped. "Nathaniel, help me get Harry off me." 

"Why?" Nathaniel asked, squeezing between me and Cherry.

"Because it's not right," I sputtered.

"You've got clothes on," Nathaniel said. He coaxed me to sit back and lean against him. "Besides, he just wants to be near pack. You're the only person who's anywhere near pack in this house."

"I guess," I grumbled. I didn't like it, but it was the least complicated thing I could do. Right now, I didn't really want complications.

After about half an hour, I began to get nervous. Micah and Merle still hadn't come back inside. I couldn't get up to go check on them, trapped as I was by various bodies pressing against me. When the door finally opened my head snapped up.

Merle walked past the living room entrance without a word. Micah shut the door behind them and came over to me. "What?" he asked in response to my glare.

"Is everything okay?" I demanded.

Micah nodded. "Everything's fine," he said. The certainty in his voice calmed me, although I wasn't sure why.

"Good," I said. Now wasn't the time to ask questions, but I told myself that I was going to get answers before the night was over.

Claudia made an appearance in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. "Anita, I'm leaving now," she said.

"Okay," I said. "Good luck with the full moon."

"Thanks." Claudia was always very economical with her words; trust that a full moon wouldn't change that. "I'll be here tomorrow for the party." She paused. "And Rafael will also come."

Rafael, the king of the wererats, was an old friend of mine. I'd saved his life, and he'd provided the manpower to save mine time and time again. He was not, however, much for socialization. "Why is he coming?" I asked.

Claudia raised an eyebrow. "He didn't say. Will it be a problem?"

I glanced with Micah. From the expression on his face, he didn't get it either. "No, he's always welcome here," I said. "I guess we'll see you tomorrow."

Claudia nodded and continued on her way out of the house. I absently brushed Harry's drying hair off his face as the door closed.

"It's going to be okay," Nathaniel said. I looked up at him. "Tonight. No matter what happens. It'll be okay."

"Promise?" I whispered.

Nathaniel kissed my cheek, then put his head on my shoulder. "I promise."

It was the most reassuring I'd heard all day, and for just a moment, I let myself believe.

* * *

Harry sat in the backseat of Anita's jeep, sandwiched between Noah and Nathaniel on the way to the Lupanar. He had never felt so nervous in his entire life, not even when he'd been called in front of the entire Wizengamot to explain using underage magic when Dementors attacked in Little Whinging.

 _Just stay calm,_ Harry tried to sooth himself. _One minute at a time. I can't do anything to change what happens tonight. If I shift, it happens. If I don't, well, that happens too._

"Are we there yet?" Harry blurted out.

Micah laughed. Over his shoulder, he said, "We'll be there soon enough. Just try and relax."

"Right." Harry sat back and managed to be quiet for half a minute. "Why are the wereleopards coming the Lupanar?" he then asked.

"Because we always go the Lupanar," Nathaniel said. "This way, Anita doesn't need to be in two places at once."

"Oh." Harry frowned. "But don't you get into fights? Like cats and dogs?" Before anyone could respond, Harry went on. "I don't know about cats and dogs, but Hermione's cat, Crookshanks, used to chase after Ron's rat, which wasn't really a rat at all but--"

"Harry," Anita interrupted, "if you don't shut up, I'm going to come back there and sedate you, understand?"

"Yeah," he grumbled, sinking back between Nathaniel and Noah. Nathaniel was shaking with silent laughter, which Harry wasn't really sure was necessary.

"Don't mind her," Nathaniel said in a soft voice. "You're going to do fine."

"What's it like, again?" Harry had to ask. He couldn't sit quietly with only his own thoughts. Not now.

Nathaniel put his arm over Harry's shoulders, like a brother might. "It's like there's a part of you inside, that no one's ever seen and that you have to keep hidden, comes out. And it hurts, but it's real, you know?"

Harry nodded. "Does it keep hurting after the change?"

"No, not at all," Nathaniel said reassuringly. "It's like you've got a brand-new body, one that can't ever hurt or grow old or be sick. You're more than you ever thought possible, but it's still just you."

Harry let out a wavering breath. "Sounds nice."

"It's what we are."

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Anita turned off the paved road and the jeep slowly rumbled along the gravel path until it reached the meadow Harry had been in a few weeks before. The place was packed with cars, and with people. People was greeting other people, slapping backs or giving hugs. A couple was locked in a passionate kiss until, as Harry watched out the window, Jamil dragged the couple apart and pointed them in the direction of the Lupanar, through the woods.

"Here we are," Anita said unnecessarily. She turned off the jeep and began checking her weaponry.

Micah pulled his shirt off over his head, leaving him in a pair of cut-off shorts. "All right, everyone, let's find Merle and the others, and head in together."

Noah opened his door and slipped outside, undoing his shirt. "I think I saw Caleb," he said, tossing the shirt back into the jeep. "Want me to go get him?"

"Sure," Micah said. Noah weaved his way between the cars, until he disappeared in the twilight.

"Do I.... do I have to take off my clothes?" Harry asked. He really didn't want to be getting naked quite yet. Not in front of the others. _Or Anita._

"You can leave them on until the change, if you'd like," Micah said. "We always bring extras in the cars just in case."

"But you should give me your wand and your glasses, once we get in," Anita added. She pocketed another clip of bullets. "The glasses are just a pain to get replaced, and, well, your wand..."

"Once we're in," Harry agreed. He got out of the jeep into the warm evening. The sun had just set in the west. Looking to the east, where the full moon would soon appear, all Harry saw were huge hills, almost big enough to be mountains. "When will it happen?"

"We've got some time yet," Micah said. He slapped Harry on the back and urged him onward. "Time to go."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered sarcastically, but he went with Nathaniel, Anita and Micah toward the forest. He saw the rest of the pard gathered together, near a large oak. He recognized everyone there, with the exception of a tall, beautiful woman lounging against the tree. She looked him up and down as if determining if he'd be any good to eat, in the way that Melanie, the lamia, did whenever Harry was at the Circus of the Damned.

"Elizabeth," Anita said, her tone threatening.

The woman, Elizabeth, glared heatedly at Anita, but then bowed her head. "Nimir-Ra," she said.

"Everyone's here, let's go in," Micah said. He didn't say anything, but Noah stepped between Elizabeth and Anita.

Harry hadn't known there was a wereleopard he hadn't met in St. Louis. No one had ever mentioned Elizabeth, and Harry spent most of the walk to the Lupanar watching Elizabeth's back. She was dangerous, he knew instinctively. She walked like a predator, utterly angry at the world. _Sort of like Snape_ , Harry's mind supplied. They walked nothing alike, and this woman was a million times better looking than that greasy git, but still, the similarity was there.

Harry wanted to know where she came from, why she made Anita so upset, why Nathaniel stayed far away from her. But he couldn't ask.

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry turned around and was promptly tackled by Jason. Harry managed to push the man off of him after a few seconds of rolling around in the dirt. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, climbing to his feet.

"Come on, it's the full moon!" Jason said, bouncing around like a happy puppy. "It's great, isn't it?"

Anita shook her head. "You're like a kid on a chocolate binge," she said. "How are you?"

Jason grinned at her, his face barely visible in the dying light. "I'm great!" He pulled on Harry's arm. "Come on, let's go!"

"Go on," Micah said. "We'll see you there."

Harry didn't have a change to say anything before Jason yanked him into the woods. He didn't think, he just followed Jason as the blond sprinted over the forest floor. There were others running, but not many. Harry just let himself enjoy the sensation as they ran.

Soon, too soon, they spilled out into the clearing of the Lupanar. Jason guided Harry around the flaming torches to the empty stone throne. "You stay here," he ordered good-naturedly. "First-timers have to be here."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously. This was Jason, after all.

Jason grinned. "Because this is where you stand," he said, as if it was obvious. "Sylvie will be over in a minute."

Jason made as if he was going to dart away. Harry panicked and grabbed Jason's arm. "Wait!"

"Hey, it'll be okay," Jason said reassuringly. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Harry stood by the throne, feeling very alone. People kept glancing toward him, and Harry was very glad that he had kept his shorts and shirt on.

After a few minutes, Paul and Suzanne emerged from the growing crowd and came toward Harry. Harry gave a small wave as they approached.

"Hi, Harry," Paul said. He sounded as nervous as Harry felt. "How are you?"

"Doing okay. You?"

Paul nodded. Suzanne gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then backed away. "I'll be right here," she promised.

"So, um, why are you over here?" Harry asked to fill the silence.

"Suzanne said this is where you have to stand when it's your first time," Paul said. "Not sure why. Maybe they're going to make us dance like chickens."

"Chickens?" Harry echoed, incredulous. He was not dancing like a chicken, no matter what Richard said.

"I don't know," Paul said. "Something like that, like an initiation. They made us do it on my volleyball team in high school." 

"That had better not be it," Harry muttered.

They watched the werewolves arrive for a little while. After the pard had arrived in the clearing, Paul asked, "So, how many times have you changed?"

Harry gave him a look. "What kind of change?"

"You know," Paul said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Shifted accidentally?"

"Um, I haven't," Harry said slowly. Even in the darkness, he could see the uncomfortable expression on Paul's face.

"Yeah, well... yeah." He turned away a bit from Harry.

Harry had no idea what he'd done to offend the man. All he wanted right then was for Jason to come back over, so he'd have someone he knew to talk to. He was sick of all the werewolves looking at him like he was on display.

As if in answer to his silent plea, Sylvie appeared out of the darkness. "Hello, you two," she said. Harry smiled shyly. "Ready for tonight?" 

Looking as if he was headed for his own execution, Paul nodded. Sylvie let out a sigh and stepped closer to him. Paul flinched when Sylvie laid her hand on his arm.

"You don't have anything to fear tonight, Paul," she said soothingly, warm power radiating off of her. "You're with the pack tonight. You are not alone."

Paul shuddered. "Thank you," he whispered.

Not letting go of Paul, Sylvie turned to Harry and held out her other hand. "And how are you doing?"

Harry took the offered hand, feeling power rush over him as if he'd stepped into a warm bath. "I'm good," he said. "Don't know if I'm ready."

"You'll be fine," Sylvie said. "Both of you will be fine."

Sylvie stayed with them as the numbers of werewolves continued to grow, until Harry was driven to ask, "How many werewolves _are_ there in St. Louis?"

"Almost seven hundred," Sylvie said. "We are as strong as we have ever been."

"We?"

Sylvie smiled. In the torchlight, it made her look fierce. "The Thronnos Rokke clan."

A wave of motion swept across the gathered werewolves, who all turned to look at the stone throne. Appearing as if by magic, Richard stood on the stone steps, an armed Anita at his side. "We are here!" Richard shouted in greeting. Everyone stopped talking. "The Thronnos Rokke Clan is here, and we are not alone!"

From above came a rush of wind, and Jean-Claude dropped from the sky to Richard's side. Everyone gasped.

Richard didn't flinch when Jean-Claude landed, which made Harry think the vampire's dramatic arrival had been planned. "Tonight, of all nights, our power is strongest! Our clan continues to be strong and protected!"

A few shouts of agreement came from the crowd. Harry noticed that people were beginning to disrobe, but he made himself watch Richard.

"We have two new packmates!" Richard continued. He pointed toward Paul and Harry. "We have lost one of our number, but our enemy has been destroyed!" 

A mournful howl went up toward the sky. _Clay,_ Harry realized. _He's talking about Clay and Bellatrix._

"Tonight, we welcome the moon. Tonight, we reveal our true selves!" Richard turned and flung his hand toward the mountains, where the first hint of moonlight was beginning to glow.

Anita left her place by Richard's side and dashed across to Harry. "Give me your glasses and wand, hurry," she said, holding out her hands. Harry tore off his glasses and gave them to her, then fumbled in his pocket for his wand. Beside them, Paul began to convulse and doubled over. Sylvie pulled him away from Anita and Harry.

His vision a little blurry now, but nowhere as near as bad as it was supposed to be, Harry saw Jean-Claude arrive at Anita's side. A wave of motion swept over pack and pard. The clearing was full of the sound of bones cracking, clothing tearing, and gradually, muttered sounds from animal throats.

Harry saw none of it. He'd turned around and stared at the eastern hills. He watched as the glow of moonlight became a sliver of light, then as more and more of the large glowing orb was revealed as it drifted slowly higher in the sky.

He was bathed in moonlight, surrounded by shifted lycanthropes, and he didn't change.

A bitterness as large as anything he'd ever felt consumed him. He wasn't going to change. He wasn't a werewolf. He didn't belong here.

Bitter tears burned in his eyes as he sunk to his knees and dropped his head into still-human hands. He didn't belong here.

A warm body pressed itself to Harry's side, and something cool was placed in his hands. "Harry, put these on," Anita said softly. Dimly, Harry slid his glasses back on, then stared back up at the offending moon. It wasn't beautiful now. It was just an object, one that had taken his last chance at a family away. He didn't belong with these people. He hadn't realized until then, but he was so tired of being alone.

"Shh," Anita said, hugging him close. "It's okay."

"It's not okay," Harry said dully. "I should go. I don't belong here." He closes his eyes in desperation. "I can't even become a werewolf the right way. I'm never going to belong anywhere."

"That is not true," Jean-Claude said softly. He knelt in front of Harry and placed his hand on Harry's chest. "You have the wolf. I feel it in you."

"Like Anita," came a growling voice. A huge wolf-man padded around Jean-Claude. Somehow, Harry knew it was Richard. "You've got the beast like she does, you've felt it. I've felt it."

Harry blinked at Richard. "But..."

A large black leopard padded up to them. It rubbed its head against Anita's leg, then leaned in and licked Harry's face.

"The wolf lives within you, Harry, and it always will," Jean-Claude said.

"And you belong to us," Richard said in that painfully low voice. "No matter what happens, you've been part of the pack since you killed the witch."

"See?" Anita said. "It's going to be fine. You're still Damian's grandson; nothing can take that away. Like it or not, you're stuck with us."

"That's okay," Harry whispered. It was more than okay. As wolf howls rose to the sky, mingled with the screams from the leopards, Harry felt his troubles falling away. The animal in his chest rumbled its approval, at the moon and the pack and the potential of a good chase on the fine night air.

As Richard reared back and bayed up at the moon, Harry thought to himself, _I belong here._ As clear as if in a prophecy, Harry knew now what he had to do. He had to go back to Hogwarts, write his NEWTs and stop Voldemort, not necessarily in that order, and learn all he could to help the pack.

Then, one day, he'd come back to St. Louis, to the Thronnos Rokke clan, and this new family he had.

With his pack around him, Harry threw his head back and howled defiantly at the full moon.

* * *


	43. Party Animals

* * *

I slowly mangled a paper napkin between my fingers while I thought. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, Richard and Micah and Jean-Claude.

The fifth person in the basement, Rafael, leader of the local wererats, leaned against the wall. He'd laid down his proposition; the decision was mine.

"What if I say no to this?" I asked Rafael, ignoring the astonishment on Richard's face.

Rafael must have known I'd ask, and he merely smiled. "Then we look for a long-term bodyguard among the wolves or leopards for you."

That wasn't an option. Noah and Merle, the only two of the wereleopards with the temperament to be bodyguards, were Micah's. There wasn't anyone among the werewolves besides Shang-Da and Jamil who I'd trust with my life. They had their hands full protecting Richard these days.

I dropped the shredded napkin to the top of the freezer. "Fine," I said grudgingly. I didn't like this, not one bit, but what other option did I have?

"Then it's all settled," Rafael said. "Once you return from England, I'll arrange a steady bodyguard for you, one at all times, until we settle this matter with Olaf."

"If that's what Anita has decided," Jean-Claude said graciously. I threw him a dark glare.

"Why don't all of you go back upstairs and enjoy the party?" I snapped.

Micah took a step toward me, but Jean-Claude caught his arm. "Let us go partake in the festivities," Jean-Claude suggested. "I am sure Anita will join us shortly."

"Anita?" Micah asked. I could hear the worry in his voice, but I wasn't in the mood to be handled right now.

"Come on, it's obvious she doesn't want our help," Richard spat. His eyes were flashing with anger. Since he had no right to be mad at me, I was hard-pressed to stop myself taking the next step and turning it into a fight.

Richard stormed up the stairs. I whirled around and faced the opposite wall, steadying myself on the freezer. After a moment, Micah's steps sounded on the stairs. I didn't hear Jean-Claude leave, but the air in the room grew slightly warmer and I knew he was gone.

However, I was not alone. "They are only worried about you," Rafael offered.

I turned back to him. He had dressed up a little for the party, wearing a short-sleeved button-up shirt over a pair of khakis. He looked more suited to an office somewhere than running the most paramilitary of St. Louis's lycanthrope communities. Great camouflage.

"Them being worried about me isn't going to make this all go away," I said. "They want to keep me safe, but all they're doing is suffocating me."

Rafael crossed his arms over his chest, watching me closely. "Richard does not really comprehend what is going on with Olaf, does he?" he asked.

Overhead, there was a muffled crash. Harry's going-away party had been in full swing since a few hours before sunset. If the house survived the convergence of such a large group of lycanthropes without any broken furniture, I'd be very surprised.

I shook my head. "Jean-Claude told Richard most of it."

"That is not what I mean," Rafael interrupted. "Richard is not the type of person to comprehend what Olaf is."

I hopped up onto the freezer, smoothing down my jean skirt. "Do you?"

Rafael shrugged. "Most of my wererats understand killing, or damage, for rewards such as money or bounty. But we do not have anyone like Olaf, and that is for a reason."

Another exuberant crash came from upstairs, and I winced. In the stillness of the basement, we seemed somehow removed from all of the happy chaos above our heads. "Did I tell you why this has got me so spooked?" I asked.

"Not in depth, no."

I stared for a moment at my bare feet. When I looked back up at Rafael, my face was blank. "You know I met Olaf in New Mexico, when I went down to see Edward."

Rafael knew all about Edward, and I had already told him about the New Mexico trip. It was all on the police record, and Rafael had ways of learning about such things.

"Edward needed his expertise. At first, I didn't know what it was, but I later figured out that Olaf was an expert on dissection, dismemberment. Those kinds of things." I drew a breath, hoping to calm myself. It didn't work "Edward later told me that I fit Olaf's victim profile. He liked to rape and kill small, dark-haired women."

"Like you." Rafael's voice was soft, but relentless.

I couldn't bring myself to agree with him. "Before I left New Mexico, Olaf sent us a note. He wanted me to become his little serial killer girlfriend, or something."

"And when you turn him down, you think he will try and kill you."

"Or else he'll come to that conclusion first and decide to skip right to the 'raping and killing me' part of the night." 

With an unhappy hiss, Rafael walked slowly over to me. He stopped about a foot away from me, giving me very serious eyes. "Why are you so certain that he'll come here? To St. Louis?" he asked.

"God, I wish I knew," I exclaimed. "Even Edward said that there's been no sign of him. I've got no evidence, but...." I left my voice trail off. "I've just got a bad feeling about this whole thing. I've got no evidence, no proof, but something about this all seems dreadfully wrong."

Rafael accepted that without comment. "I have well-trained bodyguards to spare, Anita. Until such times as Olaf is no longer a potential threat, they are yours." He gave me a tiny smile, the curve of his lip softening his handsome face. "Even without Olaf, you are in far too much danger these days, it seems, to be left unguarded. You are important to too many people."

"Right," I said with an inelegant snort.

"Like me," Rafael continued.

I blinked at him. What on earth was he talking about?

"You have always stood by my side, even in situations far too dangerous. I consider you a friend, Anita, and I do not let my true friends walk defenceless into the night, when I can help it." He gave me a cheeky grin, then added in a bad Mexican accent, "Besides, we Latinos got to stick together, eh?"

I smiled in spite of myself. "Thank you," I said as I slid off the freezer. "This really means a lot to me."

He nodded, then went back upstairs to join the party. I was left alone in the basement. I should have gone up, to see what damage the party was doing to my house, but I really didn't want the company right now. I hadn't been alone for more than five minute in over a week. There was always at least one other person around me. At night, it was Nathaniel and Micah, or Jean-Claude and Micah. During the day, there was a bodyguard, plus whoever else was around. In the past couple of years, I'd gotten used to other people being around all the time, especially the pard, but this was too much.

I wandered over to the wall, where we stored items that didn't fit in boxes. A feather boa, a couple of winter jackets, a clown outfit. While I ran my fingers over the boa, I tried to figure out why it was that Jean-Claude and Micah and Richard's attitudes over protecting me were so grating.

 _Because I should be protecting myself._ That was one reason why Jean-Claude said he loved me so much, because I was able to take care of myself. Bellatrix had proven that wasn't exactly true.

But Bellatrix and that magic didn't explain why my guys were so worried for me. I think it was the human desire to understand an opponent. Once you understand what your foe wants, and get a bit of a handle on how they might try to kill you, it's a little less scary. When the person who wants to kill you is, for lack of a better word, insane, not knowing how he might come at you is more terrifying.

When I got back from England, I planned to call Edward and get more information on Olaf. I'd been trying to avoid thinking about Olaf, but frankly, if I was going to let Rafael put his people's lives on the line for me, I needed to take this thing seriously. I always paid more attention to other people's safety than my own, even bodyguards. Wererats can take more damage than the average bodyguard, but they can still bleed; still die.

One person had died for me in the past month. I wasn't going to let it happen again.

* * *

Although he tried not to make it obvious, as he played his first poker game ever, Harry had been keeping an eye on the kitchen. When Rafael exited the room in search of Jean-Claude, without Anita, Harry wasn't really worried. But as the minutes passed and there was no Anita, he started to become a little concerned.

As quickly as he could, Harry begged off the round, giving up all his pretzel sticks which the players were using after they'd eaten all the chips, and began picking up plates. Carrying the stack into the kitchen, Harry was surprised to see Nathaniel slowly washing plates by hand, back turned to the open basement door.

"Want some help with that?" Harry asked as he sidled up to the wereleopard.

"No, it's okay," Nathaniel said morosely. He carefully rinsed the soap suds off a large white plate, and placed it in the drying rack. "I've got nothing else to do."

Harry set the plates on the counter, then pulled over the trash bin. "What do you mean?" he demanded, scraping the plates before putting them beside Nathaniel. "The poker game still going on, and the girls are on the porch doing girl stuff. Richard and Jean-Claude are on the stairs talking, and I think Jason was going to find some different music to put on."

Nathaniel shrugged, setting his braid into a violent motion. "Don't really want to do any of that."

Harry glanced at the basement door. "Anita still hasn't come up?" he ventured a guess.

Nathaniel pressed his lips together. "She doesn't want any company. If she did, she'd have come up here when Rafael did. I don't want to bother her."

"Well, maybe you should," Harry said. "She's probably down there stewing. Get her up here to have some fun."

Nathaniel didn't respond, only washed the dishes with renewed concentration.

Harry sighed. He went to the fridge and pulled out a cola, then darted to the stairs before Nathaniel could say anything. It took a moment for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dimmer light. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, he could see clearly.

Anita sat slumped on the same lawn chair she'd broken a few days before. She looked up as Harry approached. "What?" she snapped, a glower on her pretty face.

Harry pulled a box over and sat down. "You're missing the party."

"Hadn't it occurred to any of you that I don't want to be at a party right now?" she said sharply. "That maybe I just want to be alone?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "To what, stare at the walls?"

Anita's glare intensified. Harry was very glad the full moon was passed and his desire to appease the Lupa was lessening. He tossed her the can of cola, and she instinctively caught it. After looking at the drink for a long moment, she popped the top of the can and took a tiny sip. "Thanks."

"No worries," Harry said, trying out a phrase he'd heard Jason use. "Are you thinking about the plane trip tomorrow?"

"A little." Anita tapped the side of the can with her fingernail. "I'm all packed. All I need is to get all my guns past security and survive the plane trip. Then the fun begins."

"It won't be that bad," Harry offered. "You've got all the paperwork for your guns?" Anita nodded. "And we're in first class, with big seats. It'll be just like a long train ride."

"Except thirty thousand feet in the air," Anita pointed out.

Harry leaned his elbows on his knees. This was the last day he'd get to wear shorts, and it made him realize what else he'd miss about St. Louis. No making his own tea in the morning. No shopping trips with Nathaniel to the grocery store, or trying to help out around the house. No talks with Micah about the state of the world, or awkward conversations with Damian about how things used to be.

No more Anita, fiercely trying to protect everyone all at once.

"I promise, it'll be fine. Safe as houses."

Anita set the cola on the floor and got to her feet. "If we live through the plane ride and British customs, we still need to survive the night with Christoff," she said as she paced across the cold concrete floor.

Harry was very glad that she was facing away from him, and couldn't see his face. He wasn't about to go back on his secret agreement with Jean-Claude, but he'd had a few days to think about it, and he'd decided that a slight modification was in order. Not that he planned to tell Jean-Claude about that.

"Then, the return trip," Anita concluded. "I swear, this trip might be it for me."

"You don't have to go," Harry felt it necessary to point out. As she whirled on him, he hurried on. "We could take Richard and dress him up in that gown Jean-Claude made for you. Put a curly wig on him and say you had a growth spurt."

Anita stared at Harry for a moment before her unhappy expression cracked. "You could say the five o'clock shadow was because of the plane trip," she said as she began to giggle. "God, can you see Richard in my dress?"

Harry attempted to picture Richard in the dark burgundy outfit that Jean-Claude was making Anita take to England for the reception with Christoff. "The waist of the corset wouldn't fit over one of his legs, let alone his waist," Harry said with a chuckle.

Anita kept laughing. "And with a wig..." She put a hand on the wall to steady herself and had to draw a few deep breaths to calm herself. "Oh God, that's funny."

"I do what I can," Harry said, standing up. "Please come upstairs? Nathaniel misses you."

Anita smiled softly. "Okay."

Harry waited for her while she retrieved her cola can, and was about to mount the steps when Anita caught his shirt. "Harry..."

"Yes?" Harry asked. She was so close to him that he could see the shine of her lipstick, could breathe in how she smelled like safety and warmth.

"It was good, having you here this summer," Anita said as she let go of his shirt.

"It was good to be here," Harry replied honestly. "Even with all that's happened, I... I got to know everyone, and the pack, and Damian..."

"You did good things while you were here, even if you didn't change into a werewolf," Anita said. "You know, if you ever want to come back or anything, all you need to do is call."

"Do you mean that?"

The fervour in his voice brought Anita up short. "Yes, I do," she said seriously. "Any time. Everyone would be glad to see you. The pack, the pard, Damian, everyone."

"I may have to take you up on that," Harry said. He tried to make his words sound light, but inside he was so happy he almost couldn't speak. He had a place here.

Anita gave him another smile, then hopped up the steps. Harry followed more slowly, trying to collect himself. This party, his party, was supposed to be a happy time. No one needed him to start blubbering like a baby about how great his visit had been.

Once in the light of the kitchen, Harry closed the basement door behind him. Anita, two steps ahead of him, made a beeline to Nathaniel at the sink, wrapping her arms around his waist and molding herself to his body. "Why are you cleaning up?" she asked lightly.

Nathaniel turned his head, and now he was smiling. "Someone needs to," he replied.

As Harry padded quietly out of the kitchen, Anita tugged Nathaniel around and gave him a sloppy kiss. Wistfully, Harry averted his eyes. Nathaniel was so lucky, Harry reflected as he was hailed by the poker players, who were now playing for hard candies. Nathaniel had Anita to love him, and she loved him back. _It must be nice to have someone love you like that,_ Harry thought as he took Jamil's place at the poker table. _Someone who can protect you and you can protect and do nice things for._

Harry fancied that it would be nice, to have a life with someone to love him like that.

"Hey, Harry, are you in on this hand?"

"Sure."

* * *

I leaned over the porch railing, cup of punch in my hand. The boys had lit up a bunch of tiki torches in the backyard and were playing a game of touch football in the dark. They were having so much fun that I'd stayed out here to watch them.

A cool presence at my side told me that Damian was watching, too. "So, have you figure out how you're going to say goodbye to Harry?" I asked, draining my cup.

It's difficult to silently express awkwardness in the dark, but Damian managed it. "I am not good with words," he said quietly. "I talked to Harry tonight and wished him well."

I put my cup down, then slipped my hand into Damian's. "He had a good time this summer." I paused to watch Harry throw the ball to Jason. The ball wobbled in the air, and he was mocked by the other players for the throw, but it didn't stop the huge grin on the boy's face. "Even with the abandonment and the lycanthropy and the murder attempts."

"He is a good man." 

We continued to watch the game for a while, until I asked, "Did the other vampires leave?"

"Requiem left with Graham," Damian said. "With both Requiem and Jason to be gone for two days, the work schedule at Guilty Pleasures has apparently been thrown out of order."

"Yeah, I heard. Gregory was complaining about it all afternoon." I paused. "So, um, did Asher ever come by?"

Damian went still. "No, he did not," he finally said.

I was glad it was dark. No one saw the way I was pouting, like a spoiled child. "But I haven't seen hardly any of him all month," I said, trying to keep the whine out of my voice. "I thought he'd at least come by and say goodbye."

"I do not think Asher would voluntarily attend an event where Harry was present," Damian said.

I frowned. "What?" I demanded. "What are you talking about?"

Damian carefully withdrew his hand from mine. "I think you should ask Jean-Claude about--"

"No, Damian, you know something, just tell me!"

Damian heaved a tiny sigh. "Asher does not like Harry."

"Yeah, that much I got," I retorted. "But why not?"

Damian placed his hands on the railing, carefully not looking at me. "Asher is jealous of Harry."

"Asher's what?" I exclaimed loudly. The football players stopped and looked at me for a second, all except Jason, who kept his head very carefully down.

"I cannot--" Damian started, but I was already heading into the house.

I found Jean-Claude lounging on the stairs, deep in conversation with Micah. "Why isn't Asher here?" I asked, planting my feet firmly on the ground.

Jean-Claude closed his eyes as if in pain. "Ma petite, he simply--"

"Don't give me any of that 'he simply couldn't find the time' crap," I spat. My head was spinning. "Is this about Harry?"

Jean-Claude leveled his dark blue eyes at me. His expression was carefully blank, which only made my heart beat faster. He only did that with me when he knew that I'd be pissed off with what he had to tell me. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private," he said.

I spun on my heel and marched into my bedroom. Jean-Claude came into the room after me, alone, and closed the door. "Where's Micah?" I asked.

Jean-Claude spread his hands wide. "I want to have this conversation without an audience," he said.

"What conversation?" I demanded. "What the fuck is going on? Damian said that Asher was jealous of Harry. What the hell was he talking about?"

Jean-Claude fiddled with one of his cufflinks. "Ma petite, you know how much time you have been spending with Harry this past month," he said carefully.

"So what? There's been a lot of stuff going on, but there is absolutely no reason for Asher to be jealous!" I paced across the room, wanting to kick something. "What could Asher be jealous of? Harry's just a kid!"

"I will spare you a list of Asher's exploits when he was seventeen, ma petite." Jean-Claude intercepted my path and put his hands on my arms. "In our time, a young man of seventeen, spending so much time in the company of a lady--"

"What the fuck is wrong with Asher?" I interrupted. "And you! Letting him think like that? God! You know I'd never do anything to Harry!" I pulled away from him and put some distance between us. "What is wrong with everyone?"

"Ma petite..." Jean-Claude gradually moved in, and this time when he touched my back, I didn't push him away. "I know you would never do anything to Harry, and I know how he considers you. Nevertheless, in spite of all my attempts to convince Asher to the contrary, he persists in believing there is some basis to his suspicions."

"That's insane!" I said. Hearing this was like a kick to the stomach. How could Asher even think these things about me? "Why is he doing this? I thought he knew me better than that."

Jean-Claude rubbed circles on my back. After a few moments, I turned and wrapped my arms around him. "Asher misses you, ma petite. He still fears the day that you will leave him, and he has convinced himself that Harry will be the man to make you to look elsewhere."

"Well, Asher's stupid," I said, voice muffled by Jean-Claude's shirt.

Jean-Claude sighed, tightening his embrace around me. "Please, ma petite, for both our sakes, do not use that as your main argument with Asher."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to say to him? And when? I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

Jean-Claude touched my face. I lifted my head to look at him. "You will simply have to come back and tell Asher then," he said.

There it was, the tiniest hint of worry. This wasn't about Asher, or Olaf. "You know I will." I raised up to kiss him gently, but he took my face in his hands and deepened the kiss. I opened my mouth to him, kissing him back just as fiercely. I didn't stop until I felt the press of his fangs against my lip.

He let me pull back, but not far, and pressed his forehead against mine. "In spite of all I have done to ensure your safety, ma petite, I do not want to you leave," he whispered.

"It'll be okay," I promised. "I'll come back, then we can go out to that restaurant for dinner again. I'll let you order anything you like for me."

Jean-Claude smiled a little, but the worry never left his face. "Even wine?" he teased.

I slapped him gently on the butt. "I'm going to England to drop Harry off, not have a lobotomy," I said. "No wine."

"Good." Jean-Claude ran his hand over my hair, pulling me close to him. "If you had agreed to that, I would have been quite worried for you." 

I closed my eyes and tried to imprint this moment on my memory, the feel of Jean-Claude holding me. "I love you," I had to say.

"Je t'aime aussi, ma petite." He kissed me again. This time, we both knew it meant something more than the first kiss. When he pulled me over to the bed, I went willingly. He kept kissing me, as if he couldn't bear to stop, as he undressed us both. I managed to yank the sheets down as we tumbled naked onto the mattress.

Jean-Claude finally broke from the kiss, leaving me gasping for air. "Wait, wait," I said, putting my hand on his chest. "I'm just going away for two days."

He smiled fondly at me, and there was sadness in his eyes. "Even two days is an eternity to be away from you, ma petite."

Neither of us could say it out loud. There was a very real possibility, however small, that something would go wrong over in London and I wouldn't be coming home.

I reached for Jean-Claude, pulled him down into my embrace. Even as I swore to myself that I'd make sure that everyone got home safe, I still kissed him as if this was the last time.

* * *

The party had wound down. Most of the werewolves had left, but not until Sylvie had done what she'd promised, and taught Harry how to dance. It was like how to dance when you can't dance, she'd said. Gwen had laughed at that one. Harry spent the better part of that half hour wondering who led, when two women were dancing, but never got up the nerve to ask. But at least now he knew how to dance. It wasn't as hard as it seemed in fourth year. It probably helped to be seventeen, rather than just a kid of fourteen. He wasn't so worried about everyone staring at him anymore.

Harry's train of thought was interrupted as Richard plopped down on the sofa next to him. "Good party," the Ulfric said tiredly.

"Yeah," Harry said, yawning. "It was interesting."

Richard chuckled. "So, how much did you lose at poker?"

"More candy than I could eat," Harry confessed. "I think Jamil was doing that on purpose."

"Never gamble with a Skoll," Richard said.

"I only gamble with my life," Harry said absently.

Richard shot him a glare. "Not anymore, I hope."

"No." Harry drew a deep breath. "I mean, Jean-Claude talked to me, about the trip. He told me what Anita would do if she thought I was in danger."

Richard sat forward, not looking at anything. "She's important to me," he said heavily, after a long silence.

"I know." Harry swallowed. He'd told Jean-Claude that he wouldn't tell Richard or Anita about their contingency plan, even to ease their minds, but he found that he wanted to. He wanted Richard's approval, but knew he wouldn't get it, not with this plan. He'd react like Anita would, by demanding that Harry give up such a foolhardy idea.

"But she'll be okay," Richard said, as if he was trying to convince himself. "I wish I could go..."

"She'll be okay," Harry had to say. "We all will."

Richard gave Harry a small smile. "As long as you manage to keep Jason out of trouble."

"We'll try. Somehow."

"Good." Richard glanced toward the pile of sleeping wereleopards in the corner. "Look, if things go badly at school... I mean, you know you can always come back here, right?"

Although Richard had said so before, Harry felt happiness bubble up in him to hear Richard say it again, even after finding out that Harry wasn't going to be a real werewolf. "I do, thanks."

Richard stood up. "Good. Look, I need to get going, but... thanks. For everything." He held out his hand.

Harry shot to his feet. He didn't know what to say, and he fumbled out, "It's okay." 

Shaking Richard's hand was an experience, full of power and warmth, and it made Harry's knees a bit weak. Richard slapped Harry on the back with his free hand. "Take care of yourself."

Harry nodded. After Richard had closed the front door behind him, Harry stood in the quiet living room. As he looked around, he realized that he was really going to miss this place. In St. Louis, he'd been able to be himself, and no one had made him feel out of place. Quite the opposite. Even though the thought filled Harry with guilt, he knew that even at the Weasleys' house, he'd never felt as much a part of things as he had here, at Anita's house. It felt good.

Everything about the house was familiar now. The sleeping wereleopards, piled in a boneless heap; the sound of Micah and Nathaniel's laughter from the kitchen; even the faint noises coming from Anita's bedroom. Harry smiled to himself. A month ago, if he knew anyone was having sex nearby, he'd have been completely mortified. Now, it was just normal, if still a bit embarrassing.

With a last look around, Harry headed for the kitchen to have one last late-night talk with Micah and Nathaniel.

If only for a little while, it had felt like Harry had a real home.


	44. Blood Debt

* * *

"What do you think?"

Harry turned around from where he'd been staring out the shop's window at the bustling London street, and glanced at Jason. The werewolf held up a blue shirt up to his chest for Harry's approval. Harry raised his eyebrows. "I think it's almost the same as the one you tried on four minutes ago," he pointed out. "And the one before that. Are you going to be doing this all day?"

Jason put the shirt back on the rack, then took Harry's arm and pulled him out of the chic clothing shop. "Will you lighten up?" Jason demanded as they walked along the street in the crisp late-summer morning. The air was exceptionally clear for London, and the sun shone upon them as they strode along the sidewalk. "We've got five hours until we need to be back to Christoff's place."

Harry pushed his hair back from his face. "I don't like that we just left Anita there."

"She's awake, well-armed, and waiting for Requiem to wake up," Jason said patiently. "Remember the part where she told us to go out and have fun?"

"I remember the part where she told us to get the fuck out of her face." Harry shook his head at the memory. Anita had been oddly quiet and subdued on the twelve-hour plane ride to London, then in the car Christoff had sent to bring them to his house, an estate on the outskirts of London. It was only after they'd been shown their rooms by one of Christoff's wererats, and Jason started bouncing around, that Anita had cracked and shouted at the boys to leave her alone.

Jason slapped Harry's back as they crossed the street to a paved square. "That was Anita's sparkling personality reasserting herself after the plane trip." He pointed at a restaurant a few shops down. "Come on, it's almost lunchtime."

"It isn't even eleven yet," Harry said, but he let himself be dragged toward the restaurant. "And I'm not hungry."

"Yes, you are," Jason contradicted. "You didn't have any breakfast, and the last thing you ate was that horrible meal on the plane. You may not be a--" Jason checked his words as they entered the restaurant and a smiling girl approached them. "Like me, but you need to eat to feel better."

"For the two of you, then?" the girl asked. "Right this way."

She led Harry and Jason to a table next to the windows, where they could watch the people passing outside. Jason flashed her a huge smile, and she almost melted as she stammered out the daily specials, then escaped back to her station.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked in a low voice once they were alone.

"What was what?" Jason asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Harry leaned forward over the table. "That thing with the woman up front."

Jason rolled his eyes. "It's called flirting, Harry. It's a verb. You know, as in to flirt? Smile at the pretty girls and have them smile back at you, and you know that you've still got it."

"Got what?" Harry pulled his glasses off his face and rubbed his eyes tiredly. He hadn't slept in a whole day, since before he left St. Louis, but he was too worried to be able to rest.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jason asked.

"Yeah." Harry shoved his glasses back on, even though he really didn't need them, not anymore. They only made things a little less blurry. _It has to be the werewolf,_ Harry thought. _But why this, and not the other stuff? Why didn't I shift, but parts of me still changed?_

The waiter came, and Jason ordered for the two of them. Harry stared out the window at the mass of English humanity, rushing about the square, with cabs and bicycles and the occasional skateboard. _So many muggles,_ Harry mused. _All with their lives, that don't involve vampires or werewolves or magic._

Sort of the opposite of his summer. As the waiter came back with tea, Harry thought about his goodbyes at the St. Louis airport. Nathaniel and Micah and Richard had all gone to help Anita and Jason with the luggage and Requiem's coffin, bound up tightly for an international flight. Nathaniel had spent most of the time in the waiting lounge rubbing Anita's back, listening to her nervous chattering. Micah had taken Nathaniel's place to let the young man say goodbye to Harry.

Harry hadn't really thought about how much time he'd spent with Nathaniel over the summer, until the moment when Nathaniel was standing in front of him, trying to figure out how to say goodbye. Harry had spent more time with Nathaniel than with Jason, or even Anita. Feeling as if he needed to say something profound, but suddenly tongue-tied, Harry foundered.

In the end, Nathaniel had taken the initiative, giving Harry a hug in the middle of the lounge. "Come back and see us sometime," was all Nathaniel said.

Harry had wanted to tell Nathaniel that he'd make sure Anita came home safely, and that he'd miss Nathaniel, but he held his tongue and just wished Nathaniel well. Nathaniel knew he'd protect Anita. Perhaps more than any of the others.

Saying farewell to Micah hadn't been as easy as Harry had supposed, either. The Nimir-Raj had told Harry that it was good to have had him at the house during the summer, and Harry knew he really meant it. He'd shaken Harry's hand, just like Harry was an alpha or an adult, like Micah. It made Harry feel about five years older.

Richard had spent most of the time in the waiting lounge talking to Jason, out of Harry's earshot. The Ulfric had shook Harry's hand just before the trio had to head through customs. Later on the plane, when Harry asked Jason, what the lecture was about, Jason shook his head and said Richard was telling him how to suck eggs. Harry left that one alone.

Muggle customs had been an interesting experience. When he came to America with the Dursleys, the customs officials hadn't paid too much attention to Harry's meager belongings, focusing mostly the electronics in Dudley's knapsack.

Travelling with Anita was very different. To carry a gun onto the plane and into England, she'd had to show her paperwork, her Federal Marshal's badge, all her bullets, and go through the metal detector four times. Since Harry and Jason were with her, they were subject to the same close scrutiny, including their luggage. Harry had needed to do some quick thinking, and explained his defence against the dark arts book as a fictional handbook to a fantasy game. Much to Harry's relief, the customs guard running a metal detector over his suitcase hadn't opened his photo album to see the pictures moving about.

The oddest thing was that the customs people treated Harry the same as Jason, like someone who might be important. They knew he was only seventeen, they'd seen his passport, but it didn't seem to matter. Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Harry blinked, letting his eyes follow an pair of old ladies across the square. They were slow, and easy to track, and Harry wasn't sure why he kept watching them. The smell of food in the restaurant was beginning to smell appetizing, and his stomach rumbled.

The meals on the plane were excellent, no matter what Jason said. Harry had thought the entire plane ride was great. He'd had the window seat, and watched as the plane took off, as St. Louis grew smaller and smaller as they rose into the clouds. The feeling of movement, whipping so fast through the sky, was wonderful, almost like flying on his broom. They'd only gone through a bit of turbulence, but Harry didn't have the chance to enjoy it properly. Anita had gone sheet-white, gripping Jason's hand so hard that she'd bruised him. The werewolf hadn't teased her; he'd rubbed her back with his free hand, much like Nathaniel had at the airport, and talked to Anita in a low voice. Soon, she let go of Jason's hand, but she hadn't looked over at Harry for quite some time.

 _She didn't have anything to be ashamed of,_ Harry thought. _She's not afraid of anything else. I wouldn't tease her about being afraid to fly. I don't tease Ron about being afraid of spiders._

The clatter of plates brought his attention back to the table. "How much did you order?" Harry asked, dismayed at the amount of food before him. He took a fortifying gulp of tea before deciding what to eat first.

Jason folded a shiny brochure he'd been examining and slipped it under his plate. "Enough to get us through the afternoon," he said. "Christoff's planned some kind of dinner, for midnight, but I don't know how hungry you're going to be then."

"Dinner?" Harry repeated. "I thought we were going to go have Anita-- I mean, have Anita and Christoff meet, then that was it."

Jason snorted. "Not likely. There's a whole event planned. I thought Jean-Claude told you that."

"He told me that I needed to be ready for anything."

"And you stopped listening after that?" Jason sighed. "Pass the salt, would you? You need to pay more attention to gossip. I talked to Byron, who talked to Requiem, and he said that Christoff's almost as bad as Jean-Claude when it comes to these dinner and junk. I think we start at ten tonight, in some kind of reception, then dinner's at midnight, then the main event is at one in the morning."

The thought of staying up so late was almost painful to Harry. "I have to be on the train at eleven tomorrow morning," Harry protested. "And I have need to go school shopping before that, right when all the shops open on Diagon Alley."

Jason shrugged, mouth full of sandwich. "Have a nap this afternoon," he suggested after he had swallowed.

Affronted, Harry violently speared a lettuce leaf from his salad. "I don't need a nap," he said sullenly.

"Even old men like me need to nap," Jason said. "You're not the only one who's been up for two days. I was on Anita duty on the plane, remember?. That can take a lot out of a guy."

Harry didn't feel like apologizing, so he set his attention to the task of eating all the food Jason had ordered.

The two hungry travelers made quick work of the meal. When they were finished Jason ordered an expensive coffee drink, and Harry took another cup of tea. The werewolf had been right. With food in his belly, things really did seem better.

"So, hours to go until we need to get back to Christoff's." Harry swirled the amber liquid in his cup.

"Yup." Jason grinned. "Hey, want to be tourists?"

"How do you mean?" 

"You know! Do touristy stuff. Go places and see things that the locals will never do. I can't come to London for the first time in my life and only do preternatural politics. I need something to dilute the drama."

Harry glanced down at the folded brochure on the table. "Such as?" he asked pointedly.

"Well, you know," Jason said, cheeks growing red. "Someone was telling me about the British Museum."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Oh really?"

"Shut up," Jason said. "I might be a stripper, but I'm allowed to look at things."

He and Jason might still not yet live out the night, but at least they could spend a few hours like normal people. Harry's heart lightened. "You're sure Anita will be all right?"

"Completely sure," Jason said immediately. "I'll call her to make sure, but yeah."

Going to the Museum.... Tomorrow at this time, Harry would be on the train back to Hogwarts, back to being Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, with all its surrounding danger. Today, he could be muggle Harry, showing a friend from America around town. "You've got a deal."

"Great!" Jason beamed. "Can we take that Underground thing?"

Harry rolled his eyes. This was going to be a trying day.

* * *

Harry stared at himself in the full-length mirror, with something approaching horror. "You want me to wear this?"

Jason looked up from where he was donning a similar outfit. "What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong?" Harry held his arms out. "I look like a total fake!"

Jason finished buttoning up his shirt and came over to Harry. "You do not look like a fake," he said as he removed the cufflinks that Harry had inexpertly put in, and redid the cuffs up correctly. "Compared to what I had to wear to the last shindig in St. Louis, we're dressed like monks." He turned Harry around to look him over. "Why are you complaining? You look great."

Harry looked at his reflection. Jean-Claude had provided outfits for both Harry and Jason, black suits that fit very nicely, although a little too tight on the butt for Harry's taste. The shirts were dark red silk, to match Anita's dress. Luckily, there were no ties. Harry had never worn one, but he was sure it would strangle him.

He couldn't help turning a bit to look at the back of his trousers, one more time. Jason noticed what he was doing. "I swear to God, Harry, if you ask me if those pants make your butt look big, I will shift and eat you."

Harry blushed as red as his shirt. "But what if people look?" The second the words left his mouth, he wished he'd kept quiet. Jason was going to tease him to no end, he just knew.

However, Harry was wrong. Jason helped Harry slip into the jacket, then stepped back. "The jacket makes it look okay," Jason said. "Trust me on this. You look hot. Nothing out of place."

"Good," Harry muttered. He fingered the handle of his wand, which he'd strapped to his left arm, hidden under his shirt sleeve. He could pull it out at any moment, as long as his right hand remained free.

Jason pulled on his own jacket, and spent a moment running his fingers through his short blond hair." Okay, we're all set. Let's go bother Anita."

They stepped out of their room into a long corridor. The wererat guard stationed outside their door watched them with cool eyes, as they crossed the corridor to knock on Anita's door.

There was movement within, then Requiem answered the door. He was still dressed in his usual cloak, which made Jason frown at him. "Why aren't you dressed?"

"Anita and I were finishing a few last minute things," Requiem said. "She is in the bath. I wished to wait for you to arrive before I go and prepare myself." He opened the door to let Harry and Jason into the room.

Jason let out a whistle as he walked in. "Why does Anita rank the sweet room?" he demanded, turning checking out the enormous apartment. "Harry and I got to share a place the size of my room back home."

Requiem closed the door. "You are not to sleep there," he said, not able to keep the condescension out of his voice. "You are with Anita, and you are to sleep in here. That was merely your dressing chamber."

Harry blinked. "Sleep in here? With Anita?" 

Jason spared Harry a glance. "You can sleep on the ground if you want," he said. "Hey, is that chocolate?"

A flat unopened box lay on the dressing table. Jason plopped into the chair and undid the bow.

"Are those for us?" Harry asked. He tried to focus on something other than the uncomfortable squiggles in his stomach, from the thought of sleeping in the same room as Anita.

Jason plucked the note from the top of the box. "For Anita," he read. "Welcome to my city." He flipped the note over, then shrugged. "I guess it's from Christoff."

"It is," Requiem said softly.

"Are they poisoned?" Jason asked, pulling off the lid and giving the contents of the box a cautious sniff.

"They will be safe," Requiem said. "We are Christoff's guests, and he will not harm us, unless we do not hold up our end of the bargain."

"Okay," Jason said. He popped one chocolate in his mouth, and closed his eyes in appreciation. "Oh man, this is good."

A door in the wall opened, and Anita, emerged in a rush of warm, moist air. "I'm glad you're enjoying them," she said, a flush on her cheeks that Harry doubted was from the bath. "Now put them down and help me." She held out a hairbrush and a blow-dryer to Jason.

"I will leave you to prepare," Requiem said with a bow. "I will return at quarter to ten to take you to the reception." 

Anita nodded at him. "We'll see you then." With another bow, Requiem departed.

Once the door clicked shut, Anita stood in the middle of the room, looking rather uncertain. Her wet curly hair tumbled down her back. Wrapped in the over-large blue robe, she looked younger than Harry.

"Come on," Jason said, putting the chocolates to the side. "We haven't got a lot of time to get your hair dry."

"Who fucking cares?" Anita said. She tossed the brush and hair-dryer onto a large couch, and wandered over to the window. "None of this feels right. Everyone's being too nice."

Jason and Harry exchanged a glance. "Requiem said everything would be fine, as long as we did our part," Jason said slowly. "Do you think this is going to go south?"

Anita shrugged, pulling back the drapes a little to look out onto the huge garden, lit with sparkling lights in the dark. "I've got this feeling that everything will be okay, which I don't like."

Harry watched Anita stare out the window, a twisting in his guts. He knew what Jean-Claude needed him to do, in case things went bad, but he suddenly had a flash of memory, of what happened when Bellatrix had confronted him and Anita in the woods, and Anita hadn't known what would happen...

"Anita, there's something I need to tell you," Harry said quickly, before he lost his nerve. Jason whipped his head around to glare a warning at Harry, but Anita had already let go of the drapes and was coming toward him.

"What about?" Anita asked, concerned. "Did something happen to you guys today? Are you okay?"

Harry nodded. "We're fine, really. It's just..." He took a deep breath. "Jean-Claude asked me to do something, tonight, and you need to know about it."

Anita froze in the middle of the room. Her expression changed from one of confusion to extreme suspicion. "What did Jean-Claude want you to do?" she demanded. "He didn't tell me that you needed to do anything."

Harry wasn't afraid of Anita, not really. Not even when she was glaring daggers at him liked this. "In case things go odd, he wanted to make sure things were okay."

Jason sunk back, making himself very small in the chair, as Anita took a careful step toward Harry. "Okay how?" Anita demanded.

Harry stood up straight, looking down at Anita. He opened his mouth to speak, then remembering the wererat across the hall, pulled his wand out of his sleeve and cast a silencing spell on the room. Once the room was secure against eavesdroppers, Harry said, "If things go to bad, I'm supposed to get you and get the hell out of here, get you somewhere safe."

Anita paled. She had to take a couple of breaths herself before she could respond. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" she demanded.

"No, I'm not!" Harry shot back. "If things get fucked up, you're not going to be able to shoot your way out of here! I can blow a hole in the wall, maybe get us to the Ministry of Magic. We'd be safe from vampires there."

Anita took another step toward Harry, hands clenched at her sides. "Jean-Claude asked you to do this?" she asked, voice gone cold. Harry nodded. "And for what fucking reason didn't either of you tell me?"

"Because he knew you'd freak out," Harry said. "It probably wouldn't happen, but just in case--"

Anita whirled around and stalked across the room, anger radiating from her with every movement. "God damn Jean-Claude!" she shouted. "And damn you too! What the fuck were you thinking? That I'd go easily, without Jason?"

"Who said anything about leaving Jason?" Harry shouted back.

"You said Jean-Claude--"

"You can't think I'd leave Jason behind?" Jason's head shot up, confusion on his features. He'd known about Jean-Claude's plans, and this was new to him. "In what world would you leave without Jason? Of course I'd make sure he was with us!"

Anita was momentarily robbed of something to say. Harry pushed his hands through his carefully brushed hair, making it stand up on end.

"I can't not do something, Anita, if you're in danger, okay? I need you to know that," he pleaded. "I know you'll do everything you can, but if things go bad, we're in a bad place here, with bad people all around us. We need a way out."

"I don't like this idea," Anita said. She'd stopped by Jason and put her hands on his shoulders. He took her hand and rubbed his cheek against it, although he only had eyes for Harry.

"You don't have to like it," Harry said. "But if you're willing to do... what you're willing to do, for me, the very least I can do it have a way to protect you if it messes up."

Anita let Jason touch her hand for a few more moments. "I can't believe Jean-Claude didn't tell me about this," she complained.

Jason craned his head up to look at her. "He didn't want you to know how worried he was," he said.

"Like that's a good reason," Anita said. She nudged Jason to stand up, then took his seat in front of the mirror. Jason went to get the hairdryer and brush from the sofa.

Harry circled around until he stood behind Anita. She stared at him in the mirror. No longer did she look like a young child. Now, she was all woman, and very dangerous.

"I can't let you come to harm, because of me," Harry said softly, for her ears only.

She gazed at his reflection. "I won't." Her eyes slid to the side, to where Jason was untangling the hairdryer's cord. "If anything happens..."

"I can probably get two of you out," Harry said.

"Jason and Requiem." Her dark eyes were burning, but Harry shook his head. He might not have had the force of will that Anita did, but he knew what he had to do.

"You and Jason."

"Requiem--"

"I don't care about him like I care about you," Harry blurted. Anita's eyes grew wide in her face. "You and Jason," Harry hastily amended. "Requiem's a vampire, he knew how dangerous it was going to be here."

"No," Anita said, shaking her head.

"Do you think I feel good about this?" Harry asked, crouching beside the chair. The wolf in him wanted her approval, and knew he'd never get it. Unlike the wolf, that wouldn't change his mind. "Requiem's the best able to protect himself. He's a powerful vampire. You're powerful, but you're still human."

Anita's fingers gripped the chair arms hard as she stared silently at Harry.

"Harry's right," Jason said, plugging in the hairdryer and standing behind Anita.

"I don't care if Harry's right," Anita said sharply.

"Well, it's what I'm doing," Harry said, standing up. He flicked his wand to take down the silencing charm, and put his finger to his lips to indicate that Anita should stop talking about it. She narrowed her eyes at him, then abruptly stood up and stalked over to him. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket to pull him down to her.

"Listen to me carefully," she said in a menacing whisper. "I am not happy. With you, with Jean-Claude, or with Jason. If there is trouble, we all walk out of here, or none of us do. You will not try and stop me from getting Requiem out. Do you understand?"

Harry swallowed. How could Anita be so mad at him for trying to protect her?

She shook him, a sharp little rattle. "Answer me!" she hissed.

"Fine!" Harry snapped, and jerked away from her. They glared at each other until Jason tentatively stepped up.

"Anita, we have to get you ready," he said cautiously.

Stiffly, Anita went back to the dressing table. Harry walked to the other end of the large room, not looking at Anita. _She's being totally unfair!_ Harry thought. _Requiem's a vampire, he can protect himself. Right?_

He ran his fingers over the gilt scrolled wallpaper. He'd tried hard to make the right decision. He'd promised Jean-Claude that he'd look after Anita, if he could. Jason hadn't been part of the deal, but Harry had reasoned that Jean-Claude must have known that Anita wouldn't go anywhere without Jason, so it had to be in there. But Harry hadn't thought about Requiem.

The hairdryer started up, a soothing sound. Harry took a deep breath. _The only reason Requiem's here is because of me,_ he recalled glumly. _Anita's right._ If Ron and, say, Mrs. Weasley, were with Harry, would Harry be okay with Anita leaving Mrs. Weasley in danger because she was able to take care of herself? Or would Harry want Anita to wait until both Ron and Mrs. Weasley were safe?

Harry squared his shoulders and walked back across the room, sitting on the edge of the couch beside the dressing table. Anita was very careful not to look at him, as Jason held a section of her hair up to the hair dryer.

"All of us or none of us," Harry said as way of apology. Anita glanced toward him, and gave him a tiny smile. He smiled back. The wolf in him was ridiculously pleased with her approval. _How long will this animal thing last?_ Harry wondered, despairing.

"Harry, can you give me a hand?" Jason asked. "I forgot how long it takes to dry curly hair, and we are running out of time."

"And when was the last time you dried long curly hair?" Harry asked as he stood up.

"There was a Stephen thing. Don't ask," Jason said when he saw Anita's questioning expression.

"I don't even want to know," Harry said. He pulled out his wand and quickly uttered a spell Hermione had shown him, to dry his Quidditch clothes after a rainstorm. The water in Anita's hair fell to the ground with a splash, leaving her hair dry and Harry's shoes soaked. "Damn it."

"Serves you right," Jason said. "And thanks. We've got to get Anita presentable. Although I don't know if we've got nearly enough time for that," he said with a cheeky grin.

Anita glared at him. "I'm sitting right here!"

* * *

Harry stood beside Anita in the drafty hall, staring at the huge wooden door. The face of the ancient clock on the wall showed that it was one minute to ten.

"Do you know what we're going to do?" Anita asked.

"For the third time, yes," Harry said in a low voice. "We go in, act all nice for two hours, then eat, then you get bitten."

"Right." Anita smoothed her skirt under her hands nervously. She'd been so angry when Requiem had told her she could only carry knives with her tonight. Just because he could, Harry ran his eyes over her one more time. The dark red silk of the skirt dipped in at her waist, reaching up to cove her stomach and chest tightly. The dress only had thin straps running over her shoulders, exposing all of the shiny white scars on her arms and collarbone. Her hair was down, and Jason had run a thin gold thread around it to keep most of it out of her face. She looked amazing, and she was in absolutely no mood to hear that.

"It'll be fine," Harry reassured her. "What could go wrong?"

Anita whipped her head around, as the clock chimed the hour and the door began to open. "Why did you say that?" she hissed.

"Anita," Requiem said softly, and Anita faced the opening doors again, with a clenched jaw. Then the doors opened all the way, and Harry felt his stomach drop in surprise.

The underground room behind the doors was huge. No, Harry realized, "huge" was an understatement. The room, hewn out of solid rock, had to be larger than the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It was so large that the number of people inside seemed insignificant. Then Anita took her first step forward, and Harry concentrated on keeping pace with her.

They walked as a group across the hard marble floor, the sound of Anita's shoes the only noise in the room. Requiem was on Anita's other side, with Jason bringing up the rear. The unnaturally still crowd lined the room, leading to the far end of the chamber, where a man sat on a raised dais, watching them approach.

Harry kept his eyes on that man, but every sense took in what was happening around him. The people in the room were mostly vampires, he knew, but there were also lycanthropes about. They didn't feel like wolves, or leopards, and Harry suspected that they were wererats, Christoff's animal to call.

Anita stopped about ten yards from the dais, and Harry got his first good look at the vampire everyone seemed to be so afraid of.

Christoff appeared rather ordinary-looking. He wasn't very tall. His hair was a flat brown, combed over his forehead. He didn't look young or old. Not a threat at all.

Then he spoke. "Anita," he said in a greeting. His voice moved over the room like an icy wind, carrying intense power with it. Suddenly, Harry understood why Jean-Claude had been so worried.

"Christoff," Anita said. A child, a little girl, sat primly on the edge of the step, watching them with malicious interest. On the other side of Christoff's chair, standing on the bottom step, stood an exotic-looking vampire draped in red and gold silks, gold jewellery twinned on every limb. At first Harry thought the vampire was a woman, but on second glance, Harry wasn't so sure.

"You bring word from Jean-Claude, Master of St. Louis?" Christoff continued. His voice was no less cold, but his words curved up in mock surprise. A rustle of whispers rose up in the room. Harry refrained from turning his head to look at the chattering vampires. The danger was in front of him, not behind.

"I do." Anita lifted her chin. Silently, Harry steeled himself to be strong in case she needed him. "Jean-Claude has sent you greetings, and he wishes you all the best in your new city."

Christoff stared at her with flat brown eyes. The whispers slowly tapered off into a pregnant silence. "You will, of course, take my regards back to St. Louis to your master," he said slowly. His voice held no malice, but his words sent a thrill of adrenaline through Harry. "But you did not come all this way simply to bring that message."

Christoff leaned forward in his chair, and now his hungry gaze was all for Harry. For his part, Harry met Christoff's eyes unflinchingly. He felt the vampire's power push at him, but compared to Jean-Claude, a Sourde de Sang, Christoff was easy to hold at bay.

The power eased, and the vampire curled up the side of his mouth in a wry grimace. "Who are you, to come before my house?" he demanded.

 _This must be some part of the ceremony,_ Harry guessed, although Anita hadn't told him anything like this would be happening. "I am Harry," he said simply, sticking to his first name, just like Anita.

The girl on the dais at Christoff's feet burst into laughter. The sound sent a shiver down Harry's spine, but he closed his mouth and said nothing.

"The great Harry Potter comes before my house," Christoff said after the girl's laughter died away. "And why is this?"

Unease was giving way to panic. Harry had no idea what to do. He was about to turn his head to Anita, to see what she was doing, when Anita said, "Harry is under my protection."

That bit of information sent a shockwave through the watching crowd. Voices raised, loud and echoing in the hall, until Christoff yelled, "Silence!" The noise stopped instantly, as if someone had thrown a switch. "And why is he under your protection?" Christoff asked patiently.

Anita took a slow breath, then let it out through her nose. "Harry's grandfather is... tied to me," she said, trying to stay calm. "So Harry is mine to protect."

"And you come seeking his leave, in London," Christoff said.

Staring hard at Christoff, Harry had a moment of clarity. All the bits of conversation he'd had with Jason and Jean-Claude over the past week suddenly fell into place, as if he'd had a thought, not his own, that pulled it all together. Christoff craved power, everyone said, power and respectability. Maybe, just maybe...

Harry took a step forward, hands at his side. Christoff's eyes flew to him, as the child on the steps jerked forward, ready to leap at Harry if he moved further.

"I want to thank you, Christoff, for your hospitality," Harry said, ignoring the glare Anita was shooting his way. "It is much appreciated."

Christoff tilted his head as he looked at Harry. The man appeared genuinely puzzled by Harry's behaviour. "Who is your grandfather?" Christoff asked.

Harry felt pressure on his wrist. Anita had taken hold of his hand, and was pushing gently on his skin. Hoping he was reading her correctly, Harry answered, "Damian." It was the only name he had. He didn't know if his grandfather even had a last name.

Although, from the voices moving around the room, no last name was necessary. The voices swept Damian's name around in a gale, curious and uncertain, until Christoff silenced them with a glance.

"Damian, most recently of Moroven's kiss." When the name of Damian's former master fell from Christoff's lips, the room fell cold. Not for the first time, Harry wondered why Moroven scared so many people like this.

Harry stepped back, until he was level with Anita and Requiem once more. Anita didn't let go of his hand, however.

Christoff beckoned with his hand, and the girl on the steps bounced to her feet and went to his side. Standing, she was as tall as he was seated. "This is Elsa, my human servant," Christoff said.

Anita's hand tightened around Harry's so hard he almost cried out. He squeezed back, partly to let her know what she was doing, and partly to avoid having his hand hurt. She let go almost immediately, but Harry could sense her anger. He squeezed her hand again in warning.

Christoff seemed more than amused by the whole thing. He put one hand on Elsa's back, and held the other out toward the silk-swathed vampire on the steps. "This is Siva, a visitor in my city from the East," he said. "Anita, you and your people are welcome in my house," he said, signaling with his hand. The faint sounds of music started up. "Please, enjoy my hospitality." With that, he stood and walked down the dais, the girl at his side. They walked past Anita and her group. As they passed, Harry felt a strange and yet familiar vibe coming from Elsa. It was so familiar he felt he should know what it was, but the knowledge eluded him.

The crowd began to stir and mingle, until Master and servant were swallowed up by the guests.

Anita let out a short breath, a silent scream, and dropped Harry's hand as Jason came over and touched Harry's back.

"Anita?" Jason asked softly, under the growing noise. She looked at him. "What's wrong? Is it the kid?" 

She nodded tightly. Requiem held out his arm to her. "Any discussion of Christoff's human servant should take place at a later time," he suggested. "I suggest we go partake in the reception. If we do not, it will seem as if we are rejecting Christoff's hospitality. That is inadvisable."

"Right," Anita muttered. "Harry, Jason, you stick to us like glue, got it?" Jason smiled faintly, and Harry blinked at Anita, exhausted. The two-hour nap he'd had that afternoon no longer seemed adequate. And he had to deal with at least four more hours of this?

Later, Harry's recollection of the reception was a blur. Vampires and lycanthropes and a strange collection of humans, Christoff's entourage, walked around them, ogling Harry and Anita. Harry didn't understand why any human would want to hang around such a place, but decided, watching the movements of the crowd, it had to be Christoff's power.

Christoff and his human servant didn't approach Anita's group again, but Siva, the vampire who had been on the dais with Christoff, approached them after about half an hour. Upon closer inspection, Harry decided that the vampire had to be a man. There was something about the vampire that felt a bit male.

"Siva," Requiem said. The vampire raised a hand in greeting. What Harry had thought was a gold bracelet shifted around, and slowly uncoiled. It was a thin white snake with a gold stripe painted on its back, Harry realized with a start.

" _Greetings._ " It took Harry a moment to understand that the word, spoken in Parseltongue, did not come from the snake.

He looked at Siva, startled. " _Hello_ ," he replied.

Siva smiled lazily, perhaps amused by the bewilderment on Requiem's face. " _I was told you were of my tongue,_ " Siva said. " _It has been so long since I have found one who properly speaks._ "

Harry gulped. " _Have you been in England long?_ " he asked.

Siva waved his hand, setting the snake into an angry hissing. " _If you mean that thing that crawls in the forest, then I know of him,_ " Siva said. " _He does not understand his place._ "

Not disagreeing with Siva's low opinion of Voldemort, but not really reassured, Harry cast a glance at Anita. She was watching the exchange, wide-eyed and silent.

" _There is a rumour, young one, that you have seen a basilisk?_ " Siva's tone was wistful, the same sort of way Hagrid spoke of dragons.

" _I have,_ " Harry said slowly.

Siva sighed. " _I supposed you had to kill it._ " The hissing sounded morose. " _A pity, but it is always the way it goes with humans._ "

" _It was going to kill me and my friend!_ " Harry exclaimed. Unfortunately, Parseltongue tended to assign genders to all words, and 'friend' came out like 'mate.' Harry reddened when he realized that he'd inadvertently called the eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley his mate, but there was no other way to describe her.

Siva waved his hand again languidly. " _The basilisks are an insane breed. It takes a true master to guide one properly. Left alone... but let us speak of more important things._ " The vampire gave Harry a sly smile. " _I suppose you know why the Master has offered you his protection, for such meagre fare_."

Bristling at the way Siva disregarded what Anita planned to do, but not sure if he should argue about it, Harry licked his lower lip. Their conversation had drawn quite a crowd, but he wasn't about to turn his attention from this vampire for even a moment. " _I can't say I do._ "

Greatly amused now, Siva said a few more words to Harry in Parseltongue. The vampire then drifted away, leaving a stunned Harry behind.

Anita slapped the back of Harry's hand to get his attention. "What was that?" she whispered fiercely.

"Siva, uh.... well, a Parselmouth," Harry said, trying to wrap his head around what Siva had told him.

"I got that much," Anita said. "What did he say?"

Harry looked around. "Not much," he said with a forced smile. He couldn't tell her what Siva had told him about Christoff, not with an audience. "It's nothing that will change anything tonight."

Requiem took Anita's arm, purposefully redirecting her attention to an approaching man. "Anita, I would like you to meet Wilhelm, the leader of the wererats of London," Requiem said. Harry wondered what Requiem knew, and why he looked so unhappy when Harry was talking with Siva.

"Ah, Requiem, you have been missed in London," Wilhelm said, his voice thick with a German accent. "You fled our master, and now you return willingly."

Requiem regarded the wererat coldly. "I accompany my Master's lady, as his third-in-command."

Wilhem made a tisking sound under his breath. "So I see." A man dressed in a somber guard's uniform came up behind Wilhelm and whispered something in his ear. Wilhem glared at Requiem, then spun and walked into the crowd with the guard.

Jason let out a small sigh. "People come and go so quickly here," he said.

"Stop it," Anita said as she nudged Requiem forward. "Let's go make more friends."

"Are friends people who don't eat you?" Harry muttered in Jason's ear as they followed Anita and Requiem.

"I sure hope so," Jason replied. "What do you think our friend to not-friend ratio is at the moment?"

Harry remembered what Siva told him, and let himself smile, just a little bit. "I think we're a bit ahead, right now."

* * *

The reception dragged on. Prepared for danger, the most horrifying thing Harry experienced was stilted conversation as Requiem introduced Anita to most of the vampires present. There was a lot of glaring, on all sides, and by the time the dinner bell chimed, Harry had a headache burning behind his eyes.

What Harry wasn't prepared for was the large number of vampires who referred to Christoff as Master. Requiem seemed to be a bit surprised as well, as they slowly began to get an idea of what a large territory Christoff had carved out for himself. He didn't just hold London; all of southern England seemed to answer to him now. Christoff seemed to be making himself quite the little kingdom.

When they sat down for dinner, Harry was so tired and his head hurt that he could barely swallow. Anita only picked at her food. She cast the occasional glance up at the head spot at the table, where Christoff sat beside Elsa. The girl was eating her way through several dishes, sampling each one. Christoff paid her no mind; he was watching Anita.

At one point, Jason leaned over to Harry. "Are you watching her?" 

"Watching who?" Harry asked. "Anita?"

"No." Jason leaned even closer so his mouth was right next to Harry's ear. "The kid."

It took all of Harry's will power, but he didn't turn his head to look at Elsa right then and there. "No. Why?"

"Because she's glaring at you." Jason huffed into Harry's ear. "Like, I thought she was glaring at Anita, because Christoff's looking at Anita like she's a silk-wrapped tiramisu, but the kid's glaring at you like you kicked her puppy."

"Wonderful." Harry sat back up, stretching a kink out of his spine. Then he leaned over to his other side, and said to Anita, "You're not eating."

Anita took a sip of water. "If I eat before I give blood, I get sick to my stomach," she said, mouth hidden behind her glass. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah." Harry said. "It's just..."

"What?"

"It all seems like a bit of a let-down, you know? Everyone's been going on about how dangerous this was going to be, and now it's the cocktail party from hell."

Anita set her glass down and carefully dabbed at the side of her mouth with a napkin, not smudging her lipstick. "It's not over until it's over."

"Sounds ominous."

"It usually is."

* * *

For all that the meal seemed to drag on forever, Harry was taken by surprise when Christoff rose to his feet. All conversation ceased.

"As a final show of his... regard," Christoff said silkily, "Jean-Claude has agreed to share his servant's blood with me."

Anita pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. Harry made to stand up as well, but Anita laid her hand on his shoulder. "Stay with Jason," she said, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Heart pounding in his chest, Harry watched, feeling helpless, as Anita slowly walked around the end of the table to meet Christoff in the middle of the room. She looked so tiny in her red dress, with her curling hair falling down her back, so brave, so strong, and in that moment she was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen.

Anita and Christoff met in the middle of the hall, and there was a moment where it seemed like neither was sure what to do. Then Anita pulled her hair to one side, baring her neck. Even from so far away, Harry saw the tiny tremor in her hand.

He wanted to jump up, to tell Christoff to leave Anita alone, to bite him instead, but he made himself stay seated. Before he left St. Louis, Jean-Claude had warned him against such a rash act. Anita's bite had been bargained, Jean-Claude said. If Harry threw himself in the middle of it, Christoff would drain him dry and never spare a moment's pity.

Hating Jean-Claude, and hating himself, Harry stayed seated. He dropped both hands to his lap, where he could draw his wand in a heartbeat if needed.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted movement from Elsa, still seated in her chair. She had also dropped her hands below the tabletop, but Harry could make out that she was reaching inside one of her sleeves. In a flash, the feeling Harry had gotten as he'd passed her earlier in the evening made sense.

Elsa was a witch.

She might look about twelve, but that would explain why Christoff, a vampire who seemed to crave power above all, would take a little girl as his human servant. Harry didn't know much about what other reason Christoff might have taken her. He was aware Anita thought it was some sick sex thing, and that might still be it. But now Harry knew that he'd felt before. Elsa was a witch, just like Hermione and Ginny.

This really complicated things.

Harry made himself put his hands back on the tabletop and turn back to middle of the room. Christoff stood behind Anita, his hands lightly on Anita's shoulders as she tilted her head to one side. Her eyes, too big for her face, were traveling around the room. When she looked at Harry, he smiled encouragingly, trying to be as strong as she needed, wishing he could help her in some way.

Christoff bit down.

Anita tensed, but she didn't cry out, and she didn't panic. She kept eye contact with Harry as Christoff withdrew his teeth and set his mouth over the wound. _How long can it take to swallow three mouthfuls of blood?_ Harry thought, growing more frantic as the seconds passed. _Why isn't he finished yet?_

After what seemed like forever, Christoff pulled back from Anita. He took two stumbling steps back, before he regained his feet.

The only sound in the dining hall was Christoff's gasping breath. He blinked hard, then raised a shaking hand to his mouth. Wiping way the blood on his lips, Christoff looked covetously at Anita.

By now, Anita had turned to face Christoff. Her hand had crept down her skirt, to where Harry knew she had hidden a knife.

Suddenly, Christoff laughed drunkenly. "A fair trade indeed!" he said. He flung his hand toward Harry. "Harry Potter is welcome in my lands, under my protection, for ten years," Christoff continued. "His protector, Anita, has the same protection. They enjoy my hospitality."

With that, Christoff stalked back to his chair and slumped bonelessly down beside Elsa.

Anita walked carefully back to her place at the table, past the watching vampires and lycanthropes and humans, and sat down stiffly. Harry could smell the blood on her skin, and part of him wanted to lean over and lick it off her neck.

"Now what?" Harry asked instead, as the roar of conversation picked back up around them.

"Now we wait for the evening to be over," Requiem said from Anita's other side. "Then we may leave."

Harry sat back in his chair. "Anita, are you okay?"

Anita had picked up her glass and was sipping at her water. "Yes."

Without being asked, Harry handed her his water glass when she was done with hers. She took it without comment. After a few moments, Harry asked, in a small voice, "Did it hurt?"

Anita finished with the second glass and set it on the table. "Yes," she said, almost inaudibly, as she adjusted a fork beside her plate.

Harry had no idea what to say.

* * *

It was almost three in the morning when Anita finally dragged everyone out of that room. Christoff had let them go, still giddy from the taste of her blood. Elsa had been watching Harry the entire time, as if he was something dangerous. Harry was glad to have a set of doors between the little witch and him. Her stare was just... disconcerting.

Requiem had promised to watch the door until sunrise, then Christoff's wererats would continue the job. After what Christoff had received from Anita that night, and after what he'd promised in front of so many witnesses, he would probably be in no hurry to renege on his side of the agreement.

That left Harry, Anita and Jason in a room with one large bed.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Harry said, yawning so wide he almost dislocated his jaw.

"Don't be stupid," Anita said, swaying slightly in place. "You and Jason take the bed. I'll take the couch."

Jason listened to the argument in silence while he pulled off his clothes and dropped them over a chair. When he was left in only his underwear, he pulled down the sheets and climbed into the centre of the bed. "Look, you two," Jason said finally, stretching out. "I'm tired. You're tired. Now take off your clothes and come to bed, okay?"

"Jason--" Anita started, but Jason was having none of it.

"You," he pointed at Harry. "Strip." He moved his hand to point at Anita. "You too. Then sleep."

"Jason!" Harry exclaimed. "How can you--" 

Jason sat back up. "Can you two stop being you for a few hours?" he pleaded. "I don't know about you, but tonight scared the living fuck out of me, okay? I need to sleep, and I need you here."

Harry looked at Anita. She sighed. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she said, and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

"I wasn't kidding," Jason said. "You need to come to bed."

Harry snorted. "You're just trying to get me naked," he said, although he went bright red as the words left his mouth.

"Damned straight," Jason snarked. He lay back down. Harry stripped to his boxers, then dropped to the bed beside the werewolf. Jason tossed him part of the sheet, which Harry gratefully pulled up over his chest. "She's not going to molest you in the night," Jason said.

"I know that," Harry snapped. He pulled off his glasses and set them by the bed. It took his muscles a few minutes to relax. "But..."

"But what?" Jason asked.

"Is this okay? Us doing this?" Harry asked, staring up at the ceiling.

Jason rolled over onto his side. "Yes," he said with conviction. "What are you going to do, start groping Anita in the night?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, springing up. "Jason! How could you even think that?"

Jason shrugged. "See? She'd be the same way about molesting you in the dark. And I'll be here, like some big werewolf chaperone." He grinned tiredly. "Plus, I bite."

The door opened again slowly, and Anita came back in wearing the same blue robe she'd been wearing earlier. "You two fighting about something?" she asked.

"Harry's being a prude," Jason said absently, eyes closed. "He didn't want to sleep next to little old me."

Anita sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at Jason. "Do you blame him?" she asked. She let out a huge sigh. "I can't believe that it's finally over."

"Did it hurt a lot?" Harry asked, propping himself up on his elbow. "When Christoff bit you?"

"Not a lot," Anita said. She pulled her legs up on the bed and curled up against the headboard. She frowned. "I didn't want to open up myself to his power. But better that it hurt a little bit, than to accidentally have my necromancy backfire on Christoff."

"Backfire?" Jason mumbled. "Don't you have enough vampires tied to you?"

"Yes, I do," Anita said. She ran her hand gently over his hair. "But it was okay. I'll be fine." Glancing up at Harry, she said, "Now, are you going to tell me what that snaky conversation was with Siva?"

"Oh, that." Harry rolled onto his stomach, making sure the sheet still covered most of his body. "Siva asked me if I knew why Christoff wanted to offer me his protection."

Anita frowned again. "I thought that it was because of the deal with Jean-Claude," she said.

"Oh, it was," Harry said hastily. "But apparently, Christoff has been having a lot of trouble with Moroven, Damian's old master? She approached the Vampire Council about it, but they told her that it wasn't their problem."

Anita's mouth was hanging open. "Siva told you all this?" she demanded.

"Yeah. Thought it was funny."

"That's not funny, that's insane!" Anita exclaimed.

"I'm not done yet," Harry said. "Christoff had to get Council permission to offer me his protection, because Damian used to be Moroven's. Siva said that Christoff wanted to be able to say that a human, who was related to one of Moroven's vampires, had accepted his protection."

Anita went up on her knees, eyes flashing. "Do you mean to tell me that Christoff did this all as one big Council-approved fuck-you to Moroven?"

"That's what Siva said."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Anita said. "Christoff hates wizards, why would he do that for Harry?"

Harry reached for his glasses. "What are you talking about?" he asked, sitting up.

"Jean-Claude said Christoff hates wizards and witches," Anita told him.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. "Because his human servant is a witch."

"You mean that little girl?" Anita's voice was incredulous. "How do you know that?"

"I could feel it," Harry said, uncomfortable. "Like I can tell Jason's a werewolf, or Requiem's a vampire."

Anita stared at him for a heartbeat, then jumped off the bed. The door to the sitting room banged shut behind her.

"You know," Jason said mildly, "If you keep her talking, we are never going to get to sleep."

"She wanted to know," Harry said, affronted. He slid back down to the bed, removing his glasses once again.

"Uh huh," Jason murmured, eyes closing again.

After a few minutes, Anita slipped back through the bedroom door, face like a thundercloud. "I can't believe no one tells me these things!" she said to herself as she turned out the light. The room plunged into a soft darkness. "God-damned four-hundred-year-old human servants and rat-calling vampires."

The bed moved as Anita sat down on the other side of Jason. Harry stared up into the darkness, willing himself to feel sleepy. But as he felt the bed move as Anita lay down beside Jason, Harry felt wider awake than he had all day.

"Are you going to sleep in that robe?" Jason asked sleepy.

Anita, sounding defensive, said, "I was thinking about it."

Jason growled. "Stop being such a spaz. We're all clothes-wearing werewolves here, trying to get some sleep." Anita didn't move. "I promise not to grope you in the dark."

Anita sighed. "All right, you win," she said. The bed moved again, and even though it was dark, Harry closed his eyes as he listed to the soft sounds of fabric over fabric.

As Anita settled back onto the bed, Jason nudged Harry's shoulder. "Get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning."

Harry exhaled mightily. "I'm going to be leaving for school in the morning," he said, vaguely surprised.

This was going to be it. Tomorrow, he'd be back at his wizarding life, with no more Anita or Jason. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he had to blink mightily to hold them back. For the first time in his life, part of him didn't want to go back to Hogwarts.

Jason rolled onto his side and scooted closer to Harry, until his chest was touching Harry's arm. "But you can always come back to see us," he whispered. "Right?"

"Any time he wants," Anita voice floated softly in the darkness. "He's a part of the pack."

When Harry got himself back under control, Jason's breathing evened out into sleep. The weight of Jason's hand against Harry's shoulder felt weird, at first, but he was so tired that he stopped caring.

As Harry dozed, he felt another warm hand settle on his shoulder, beside Jason's arm. Harry fell asleep, feeling safer than he had in a very long time.


	45. Got a Train To Catch

* * *

Someone was saying my name, and I dragged my way out of fragmented dreams to open my eyes. Requiem bent over me, whispering my name.

"What's wrong?" I demanded sleepily, rather disoriented.

Requiem smiled at me. "Anita, the sun is about to rise. I will be retiring to my coffin."

"Yeah?" I pulled my arm out from under Jason's head and sat up. "I thought you were going to let one of Christoff's wererats watch the door."

"I was," Requiem said as he sat on the edge of the bed. "But Elsa has bid me to wake you early, to join her for breakfast before you leave to deliver Harry to the train."

That didn't make any sense. I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to wake up. "Why?"

"She did not say."

Beside me on the bed, Jason stirred. He and Harry were tangled up in each other, just like two little puppies. I had to smile at them at the sight of them. "Don't suppose there's any way we can get out of it?" 

"Not unless you wish to make her angry," Requiem said. "She is already on edge."

"Brilliant." I reached over Jason and shook Harry's shoulder. "Harry, time to wake up."

Harry's eyes snapped open instantly. "Apples?" he mumbled, blinking hard.

"No, it's just me." I slipped off the bed and picked up my robe from the floor. "We have to move. We've been summoned."

Harry closed his eyes again, but hauled himself up, then reached around for his glasses. "What does Christoff want now?" 

"It is not Christoff, but Elsa, who has asked that you and Anita sit with her for breakfast," Requiem answered. "Considering the time, it would not be amiss to be ready to leave immediately after."

"Leave," Harry repeated. He frowned at the floor for a movement, then his eyes grew wide and he sprang to his feet. "I need to get my things!"

Harry zipped out into the sitting room, where we had moved his suitcases the previous night. I sighed, and went to find something to wear.

"Will you be leaving Jason here?" Requiem asked as I tried to figure out what to wear.

I spared a glance at Jason, still lying motionless in the middle of the bed. "I don't like the idea of leaving him here alone."

"He will come to no harm," Requiem said. "Even if Christoff's protection only extends to you and Harry, matters of hospitality dictate that another Master's pomme de sang be treated with respect."

I turned and gave Requiem serious eyes. "Are you sure about that?"

"As certain as I can be." 

I bit my lower lip. I really didn't like leaving Jason here, without me around, but I didn't see how we could take him with us into this magical place Harry needed to go shopping.

"You will only be gone for a few hours," Requiem said. "My coffin is in the sitting room. Jason can watch over it, and me, until you return."

I went back to my clothes, my back to Requiem to hide my blush. I'd been so worried about Jason, I'd forgotten that I was leaving Requiem in the same danger, only Requiem wouldn't be able to wake up and protect himself.

"Would you mind leaving while I change?" I asked. Requiem left the room without comment. Angry at myself for putting such different priorities on Jason and Requiem, I got dressed. The weather was colder here than in St. Louis, and I pulled on a thin black turtleneck and a pair of jeans. Jean-Claude hadn't let me pack my Nikes, but I did have a pair of low boots that I could run in, if I needed to.

After I slipped my Browning into my shoulder holster, and made sure the silver knife at the small of my back was secure, I climbed back onto the bed and leaned over the sleeping werewolf. "Jason," I murmured.

"Mmm."

His mouth had turned up in a happy smile, even as his eyes stayed shut. I wasn't sure if he was faking or not. "Jason," I tried again, running my hand through his soft hair. "Harry decided to paint your toes blue."

"That's nice." He opened one eye a crack, and gave me a grin. "I'm awake."

I slapped his butt lightly. "How would you feel about staying here and watching Requiem's coffin?"

Jason frowned, then sat up. "You mean not going with you and Harry to the train station?"

"Two people are less noticeable than three," I said.

"You mean two dangerous people are better able to protect themselves than two dangerous people and a werewolf," Jason corrected. He put a finger to my lips as I started to protest. "And you may be right, but I don't have to be happy with it."

I took Jason's hand in mine, and pulled it away from my mouth. "I don't want you to get hurt, and if someone notices Harry's there before we get in and out--"

"You don't need to explain," Jason said. Even so, he looked very unhappy. "I'll wait here."

Harry rushed in the open door, shirt unbuttoned and with only one sock. "Where's my wand?" he asked in a rush. "I can't find my wand!" He dropped to his knees to look under the bed.

Jason sighed. "It's right where you left it," he said, lifting Harry's pillow. The wooden stick was pushed up against the headboard. Harry grabbed the wand and shoved it into his shirt sleeve.

"Thanks!" Harry dashed out of the room again.

Jason and I exchanged amused glances. "I told him to leave everything in his suitcases night, but did he listen?" Jason said, shaking his head. He crossed his legs and put his elbows on his knees, tracing patterns on the crumpled sheet. "I can't believe he's leaving."

"You going to miss him?"

"Hell yes, I'm going to miss him." Jason said. "Aren't you?"

I shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Yes."

"There's nothing wrong with that, you know."

I lowered my voice and leaned closer to Jason. "I've only known him for a month! I'm not supposed to--"

"To what? Make friends? Anita, he's been through so much with you. He's been living at your house, going to work with you. Hell, he's Damian's grandson. That kid has wormed his way into your life." Jason touched my chin and turned my head until I was looking directly at him. "You can get to know people, Anita, even in a few days, and you remember them the rest of your life. Harry's one of those people."

I squeezed Jason's hand. "I don't do well with people leaving," I whispered.

Jason wrapped me into a hug. "He'll be coming back," Jason told me with conviction. "He's got the wolf in his blood. One day, he'll come back to the pack, back to St. Louis. I know it."

* * *

We managed to get all of Harry's belongings, minus one missing sock, into his suitcases without incident. Harry then proceeded to shrink the suitcases with magic, and pocketed the thimble-sized cases.

"Magic is so cool," Jason said, watching the whole process with glee.

"I guess so," Harry said nervously. He cast an eye at Requiem's coffin, where the vampire had retired a few minutes earlier. "Is he really..."

I stretched out my own magic to feel what was in the coffin. "He's dead for the day," I said. "Jason's going to watch him while I'm gone."

"Oh." Harry looked slightly confused. "Jason isn't coming with us to eat?"

"Nah," Jason said. "I'd better stay here. Wouldn't want anyone to come in and dye his goatee green while we're out."

I fixed Jason with a hard glare. "If we get back to St. Louis and any part of Requiem is green, I'm blaming you."

He laughed while I picked up my jacket. "I promise. No green."

Harry stood in the middle of the room, staring at Jason. "So, is this it?"

Jason kept that grin on his face, even though I could see how much it was costing him. "Unless you want to shrink me and put me into your luggage."

"It's okay." Harry pressed his lips together, standing as if he wasn't sure what to do next.

Jason took the initiative, and pulled Harry into a hug. "You take care of yourself," Jason said. "Or else I'll let Anita kick your ass."

"Wouldn't want that." Harry pulled back, after some mutual back-slapping.

Jason grinned at him, then turned to me with outstretched arms. I put my hands on his chest and held him off. "What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Don't I get a goodbye hug?" Jason pouted.

I ducked away from the werewolf. "I will see you in a few hours," I said, glaring. "Behave yourself!"

As Harry and I went out the door into the main corridor, Jason's laughter followed us.

We didn't get far. A phalanx of wererats stood in the hallway, apparently waiting for us. I came to a stop, planting myself in front of Harry.

"Elsa has asked us to escort you to the dining room," the guy at the front of the line said. His expression made me doubt he'd take no for an answer.

Not seeing another option, I squared my shoulders and guided Harry forward. Two of the wererats peeled off the group and stationed themselves outside the door to the room where I'd left Jason and Requiem. The rest walked me and Harry down the halls, across a large foyer, and into a large dining room.

The curtains were pulled back, letting in the pale light from the sunrise. Elsa sat at the head of the table, leaned over an open newspaper. She glanced up when Harry and I entered. "You do take your time when summoned, don't you?" she said. Her voice had a cultured English accent, with a slight undertone of something a little more continental. Not French, but German. I had far too many German relatives to not be able to place it.

"We were packing," Harry said before I could come up with a suitable retort.

The girl blinked at him, then went back to her newspaper. The wererats placed themselves around the room at regular intervals, with two at the door. Without looking up, Elsa waved her hand at a smaller table near the wall, which was loaded with food. "We do not have much time," she said. "Eat."

There wasn't any malice in her tone, but she did sound unhappy about something. I didn't like following orders very much, but I was starving, considering I had been too nervous to eat the day before. Tossing my jacket over the back of a chair, I followed Harry over to the side table.

"Looks nice," Harry said as he picked up a plate and began loading it with food.

I didn't say anything, but he was right. Right now, almost anything would have looked appetizing, but this was amazing, like a swank buffet Dad once took us to, to celebrate my stepmother's birthday when I was ten. The pleasant associations made me suspicious, and I was rather careful as I put a pastry and some fruit on my plate.

Back at the table, I sat a chair down from Elsa, with Harry on my other side. The girl turned another page of her newspaper, and took a sip from a delicate cup. I was trying not to stare, but I'd never seen a child human servant before. I knew taking the fourth mark stopped the aging process, but it seemed wrong, somehow, to see it happen to such a young child. _Not young_ , I had to amend. Elsa was over four hundred years old, as old as Jean-Claude. Christoff was a hundred years older, Requiem had told me.

But the girl hadn't aged. Her hair and eyes were light brown, with a spattering of freckles across her face. Her features still had a hint of childhood innocence about them. Then she looked up at me, and that illusion of innocence was gone. "What?" she snapped.

"Nothing," I said carefully.

Elsa closed the paper. "I supposed Jean-Claude filled your head with all sorts of tales about how evil Christoff and I are," she said, irritably pouring herself some more coffee.

"Actually, he never mentioned you at all," I told her.

She shook her head. "Of course," she muttered.

I frowned. I'd only met a few human servants in my time. Most had tried to kill me. I was sort of expecting Elsa to fall into that category, but she wasn't behaving like someone who wanted me dead. Oh well. That could still change.

"Trust an incubus to only consider those who could feed his addiction," Elsa continued. She looked past me, to where Harry was sitting. "Eat, we leave in twenty minutes."

"Wait, we?" I demanded, setting my fork down with a clatter. "Who's we?"

Elsa looked at me as if I was stupid. "We, as in myself as well as you," she snapped. "You cannot think that I would let you leave here alone, after last night?"

Maybe she thought I was going to double back and start killing the vampires. I swallowed my anger, and bit down on a strawberry.

"Are you coming with us to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked, sounding interested. "Have you been there before?"

Elsa raised an eyebrow at him. "Why would you think that?" she asked.

Harry blinked at her. "You're like me, aren't you?"

Elsa gave him the once-over. "Hardly like you. But I am a witch, yes."

"But have you been to Diagon Alley?" Harry pressed. "Is there another place in London to get magical things?"

Elsa drained her cup, in a quick motion that made me think she was fortifying herself. "I have things brought over from the continent," she said after a moment. "The quality of English merchandise leaves a lot to be desired."

Harry didn't rise to the dig. "Like what?"

"Dragon goods, for example," Elsa said, dropping her napkin on the table. "Unless one gets it directly from the supplier, the quality and mark-up is atrocious." She stood up. "Stay here."

She stalked out of the room, leaving the silent bevy of wererats behind.

I swallowed my mouthful of pastry and turned to Harry. "Dragons?" I demanded.

"What about dragons?" Harry said through a mouthful of food. "They're dead useful. Dragon skin is the toughest there is, and there's a lot of potions that use dragon parts."

I just looked at him.

"What?" Harry protested quietly. "I'm not making this up."

Elsa stormed back into the room, her arms full of fabric. "Wear this," she ordered Harry, throwing him a long cloak.

"Why?" I asked, as Harry unfolded the cloak and looked it over.

Pausing in pulling her own cloak over her shoulders, Elsa glared at me, exasperation on her face. "Why must you question everything?" she demanded. "How does Jean-Claude put up with you?"

"How Jean-Claude puts up with me is none of your damned business," I exclaimed, my temper flaring. "Why are you making Harry wear that cloak?"

Elsa buttoned up her cloak, not looking at me. "Because, we are going to a place where a great deal of people wish him harm," she said in a strangely patient tone, like you'd use with a little kid. "The jacket he had would not shield his identity. This will."

Harry stood and slipped into the cloak. It seemed a little big on him, but I wasn't sure how it was supposed to look, so I didn't point that out. He reached up and pulled the hood over his head. "How am I supposed to know if anyone's following us, if I can't see?" he asked from the depths of the hood. Elsa was right; the hood hid his face from view.

"No one will be following you at this time of day," Elsa muttered. "It's too late for the vampires to be awake, and too early for anybody else. Come." She swept from the room.

Reluctantly, I got up and went after her. She acted like she didn't want go with us, but hey, I didn't want her around either. I was perfectly willing to haul Harry outside and get a cab to take us to our destination. Not speaking, Harry and I followed the girl out into the foyer, then out the front doors.

A large black car, not quite a limo but close, sat idling on the drive. Not waiting to see if we were with her, Elsa went down the steps, and slipped into the front seat.

"This feels weird," Harry said out of the side of his mouth as he and I slowly made our way towards the car.

"I know."

He must have sensed my hesitation, or maybe he had reservations of his own. "We could find another way," he offered.

Tempting as it was, Requiem's warning about disregarding Christoff's hospitality came back to me. We'd been promised Christoff's protection while we were in London, and his human servant probably fell under that category. "We may as well," I said grudgingly.

As soon as I shut the door behind us, the driver put the car in gear and we drove away. The car was pretty nifty, I had to admit. The leather seats were really soft, and I had enough room for my legs that I could almost stretch them out straight.

I felt someone's eyes on me, and looked up to see Elsa staring at me over the back of the seat. I put my legs down, feeling foolish and slightly embarrassed. "Why are you doing this?" I said, annoyed. "We don't need an escort."

Elsa pinched her lips together. "Do you really not know?" she demanded. With a look to Harry, then back to me, she let out a frustrated growl and slid back down in her seat until I could only just see the top of her head. "Ask your incubus, he at least has brains in that overly handsome body."

I reached for the pocket where I usually left my cell phone, before remembering that I had left it in St. Louis. Well, it was late at night in St. Louis, I thought as I closed my eyes and concentrated very hard on Jean-Claude.

 _Ma petite?_ Jean-Claude's voice echoed faintly in my head. I could feel his concern washing over me. _What is it? Are you harmed?_

 _No, it's not that,_ I reassured him hastily. _But something's come up._

 _What is it?_ Jean-Claude demanded.

As I concentrated, I could dimly see him, now, in his office at Guilty Pleasures. _We're going to take Harry for shopping and then to the train station,_ I told him.

 _You and Jason?_ Jean-Claude asked, more puzzled than anything else now.

 _Not Jason,_ I replied, opening my eyes. I knew Jean-Claude saw what I saw, the top of Elsa's head.

He sighed. _I see you have met Christoff's human servant._

 _You bet I have_. I couldn't keep the irritation out of my head. _Why the hell didn't you tell me he had a human servant who was just a kid?_

 _Because Elsa is not a child, ma petite, do not forget that._

_Either way, why didn't you tell me? Why did Harry have to find out for us?_

_Find out what?_

_That she's a witch! Like Harry is!_

There was dead silence in my head. Finally, Jean-Claude said, _She is not like Harry._

 _Bullshit. She knows the same stuff Harry knows. Harry says she feels like his kind of witch, and that's good enough for me_.

 _Ma petite, I did not know,_ Jean-Claude said apologetically. _Was this why you wished to speak with me?_

 _No._ Briefly, I told him what Elsa had said, about escorting Harry around today. _What I can't figure out is why._

Jean-Claude stood up and walked around his desk, pacing across his office. _What did Christoff say last night, after he bit you?_

_To me? Nothing, the ungrateful bastard. He told the room that me and Harry had his protection, that was it._

There was another moment of intense silence from Jean-Claude. _What were his exact words?_ he finally demanded. I could feel the excitement in him, but couldn't figure out what was causing it.

I thought hard. _He said that Harry was welcome in his lands, under his protection, for ten years. And that I got the same thing._

Jean-Claude laughed. The son of a bitch laughed in my head as I sat in the car, growing more and more frustrated with every second.

 _Jean-Claude, if you don't stop that, I swear I will never sleep with you again!_ I exclaimed, fuming.

Jean-Claude got himself under control quickly. _I do apologize, ma petite, but it seems as if the very thing that Christoff feared, that he bargained so hard to prevent, has come to pass._

_Which is what?_

_The answer lies not in his words, but in what he did not say._ Jean-Claude settled himself on the edge of the desk.

 _He offered Harry his protection, I thought that was his point,_ I said, still not getting it.

 _Protection from what?_ Jean-Claude asked mildly.

 _From--_ I stopped. _No._

_Oui, ma petite. By not specifying what he was to protect you and Harry from, he is obligated to protect you from all things, while you are in his lands._

I sat still, too stunned to do anything. _That's insane!_

_That is why Elsa is with you, and quite possibly why she is so very upset with you._

_Hey, this wasn't my idea!_ I protested. _I did what I said I'd do!_

Jean-Claude was slightly amused. _Perhaps remind Elsa that you will be out of her Master's city later today, and that Harry will soon be beyond his reach._

I glanced over at Harry, who was watching me closely. I quirked up the side of my mouth in a bit of a grimace. He didn't look reassured. _Is she a danger to us?_ I asked Jean-Claude, more worried about the next three hours. _Will she give us away? Let Harry's enemies attack him or something?_

 _I do not think so, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude said, growing serious. _Christoff's pledge was made in front of a large gathering of his allies. To go back on that, or allow his servant to do so, would greatly damage his position, which is all that matters to him. I believe you are safe from Elsa._

I let out a shaky breath. _I don't like this at all,_ I thought. _It's not at all what we planned._

 _I know,_ Jean-Claude said. _However, we can use this to strengthen our position with Christoff. When you have safely returned to St. Louis, I will contact him and attempt to offer him something to sweeten the deal. He has placed himself on the line, ma petite. It will be in our best interests to offer him more._

 _No more blood,_ I replied immediately. Jean-Claude rushed to soothe me.

 _Of course not. In fact, I will discuss this with Asher, and I hope to have a solution for your perusal upon your arrival._

I let out a slow breath. _I'll see you when I get home._ I looked out the window, watching the buildings pass us by, and knowing Jean-Claude saw them too. _I love you._

 _As I love you, ma petite._ Jean-Claude withdrew from my mind, leaving me alone in the car with Elsa and Harry.

We drove deeper into London.

* * *

Harry held the car door for me while I slid out of the car. Elsa told the driver to stay where he was, then she closed her door.

"Can you see it?" Harry asked, grinning ear to ear.

"See what?" I asked as I undid the top buttons on my jacket, to make my gun more readily accessible.

"The entrance to the Leaky Cauldron."

I reached around to make sure my knife was safely sheathed, looking around distractedly. "You mean that dingy pub place? Are you sure this isn't a joke?"

Harry's grin got wider. "No, not kidding. Come on!" He took me by the elbow and pulled me across the street. Elsa hurried along beside us. Her whole personality had changed the second we'd stepped out of the car. She was acting like a little kid, just the way she looked. It was unnerving.

"Hood up," Elsa hissed as she pulled open the door on the pub. Harry pulled his hood over his head as he entered, towing me with him.

The place looked like a mix between a seedy bar and a Halloween party. People wearing long cloaks and pointy hats, in all sorts of strange colours, sat at the dimly-lit tables in the pub, nursing cups of tea and plates of greasy food. A few heads looked up as we entered, but they saw Elsa and seemed reassured. _Fools,_ I thought in disgust.

We kept walking through the pub and exited the back into a tiny bricked-in yard where they kept the trash cans. There was no way out.

"You have got to me kidding me," I grumbled. Harry turned to me, face mostly hidden under that ridiculous hood, but I could see the edge of his mouth curl up in a sly grin.

"Watch," he promised. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve and used it to tap the bricks on the wall.

As he pulled his wand back, the brick began to wiggle, then a hole began to grow in the wall, until there was an archway in front of us. Beyond the arch lay a cluttered alley, bustling with shops on each side.

"See?" Harry said. As he put his wand away, Elsa bounced at his side.

"Let's hurry!" she said, sounding for all the world like a twelve-year-old girl. She took Harry's left hand in hers, and pulled him along with her. I walked a step behind, thinking. She had taken his non-wand hand. He could still grab his wand if threatened. Maybe Jean-Claude was right after all, about her coming along as protection today.

"Where are we going first?" Elsa asked, swinging Harry's hand.

"Gringott's," Harry said in a low voice. "I need some money before I can do shopping."

I warily eyed an owl perched on a sign outside of a place called Eeylops Owl Emporium. "Is the bank open this early?"

"They should be," Harry said. "Look, see? People are going in and out." He pointed to a large building, made up of leaning white columns. I wouldn't have thought the place wasn't safe for habitation, but maybe they had a different kind of building inspector here.

We went up the steps and in the open doors. A few feet inside the entrance, our path had been roped off, leading to a security checkpoint manned by two midgets.

No, not midgets, I realized. Even though Harry had told me that the bank was run by goblins, I didn't understand what I was seeing at first. Two black-suited goblins, with shrewd eyes and very long fingers, ran a long wand over the man ahead of us, while a third goblin poured over a ledger.

"This is new," Harry said softly.

"Is it going to be a problem?" I asked.

Elsa pressed herself against me, looking like a child in need of reassurance, even as her sharp nails dug into my hand. "The goblins make money, and protect money," she said. "All they care about is that we're not going to blow up their bank."

"How do you know that?" I demanded.

She turned an innocent face up at me, and smiled sarcastically. "It's called common sense." She let go of my hand.

The man ahead of us was waved through, and the goblin behind the ledger said, "Next!" in an irritable voice.

Harry stepped forward. "Are you carrying any Acromantula venom or moonstones today?" one of the goblins on the ground asked.

"Er, no," Harry replied. The goblins began running their wand over Harry.

"Name," demanded the goblin behind the ledger.

I could hear Harry sigh from here. "Harry Potter," he said.

"Clear!" the goblin with the wand said, and shoved Harry forward.

Elsa danced up next, smiling widely at the goblin behind the ledger. She gave her name as Elsa Christensen, and was soon shoved along.

I stepped up, feeling inexplicably nervous. I'd gone through metal detectors before, and I'd probably have to explain the gun and knife. Maybe they wouldn't want me to go into the bank with the gun. I could wait outside, even though the thought of leaving Harry, even for a minute, did not sit well with me.

The wand in the goblin's hand started whistling as it passed over my chest. I winced. Out of nowhere, three other goblins appeared in a circle around me, looking very unfriendly.

"What do you got there?" the goblin demanded.

Very carefully, I pulled back the side of my jacket to show the butt of my gun in the shoulder holster. "I have a permit to carry--"

"Not that," the goblin demanded brusquely. He pointed the wand right between my breasts. "There!"

It took me a moment to figure out what he was talking about. Carefully, I drew up the chain around my neck, hidden under my shirt, until my silver crucifix spilled into my hand. "It's my cross," I said, letting it lie against the black of my shirt.

The goblins around me all looked at the one behind the ledger. He leaned forward, staring at me with piercing black eyes. "You've been dealing with vampires?" he demanded. I met his gaze. "Name?"

"Anita Blake," I said, biting out the syllables.

The goblin's head bobbed. "Anita Blake," he repeated. "Carry on!" 

In a flash, the extra goblins vanished, and I was being shoved toward Harry and Elsa. "Sorry about that," Harry said as we walked toward the tellers. "They didn't have this last year."

"I usually have worse from airport security," I said. "But why would my cross make them all worried?"

Elsa snorted. "Because, necromancer, your crucifix has residual raw power," she said. "How many vampires have you wielded it against? How often do you call the power of your God to it?" She shook her head, silky hair flying. "Don't you know anything?"

It took a great deal of effort to not snap at the girl, but I didn't want to cause a scene in a place with all these unfriendly creatures. Harry stopped at a teller window, and I leaned against the marble counter to look around.

"Harry Potter," Harry said, holding out a tiny key. "I'd like to make a withdrawal."

The goblin behind the counter glanced at the key, then at us. "Will everyone be doing down to your vault?"

"Yes," I said, just as Elsa said, "No." We glared at each other for a moment.

"I'll be going down by myself," Harry said. He turned to me. "I'll just be a few minutes," he promised. "It's the safest place in London, down there. I'll be fine."

"Harry--"

"Cross my heart." He pulled his hood back a bit and smiled at me. "You can sit and keep Elsa company."

"Goody," Elsa muttered.

"I'll be back in a bit," Harry promised as a goblin came up to him and led him toward a door at the end of the room.

Another goblin appeared at our side. "If you would care to wait," he said, indicating a bunch of chairs and couches off to the side of the main room. I didn't really have a choice but to follow Elsa over to the couches.

She plopped herself onto one of the couches and began sorting through a pile of magazines on a table. "Relax, if you are able to," she suggested, the childish inflections seeping out of her voice. "Your paladin will return to you in one piece."

I glared at her, not really sure what she was inferring. "Jean-Claude told me why you're so pissed off," I said.

Elsa pulled a magazine from the pile. "Did he?" she asked. "Did he tell you that we used to go years, decades, even, without experiencing the kind of upheaval that you've forced upon us?" She got up from her couch to sit right beside me. "Did he tell you how Christoff's word is worth more than his word will ever be?"

"That's--"

"Quiet," she hissed. "This is not about you, child." Her eyes were flashing with anger. "I have been with Christoff for centuries. I have seen him at his best and at his worst, and I know what he will and will not do. After being tricked into promising what he did last night, he will protect you and the boy, and I will be damned if I do not help him keep that promise!"

"Christoff wasn't tricked!" I said, indignant. "I did what I said I'd do; if he wasn't able to handle the power, that is not my fault!"

Elsa clenched her hands tightly in her lap, balling up the blue-grey fabric of her cloak. She took a few breaths, eyes steady on my face. "Perhaps that explains why Jean-Claude has taken such a fancy to you," she said after a moment. "He always did like to surround himself with strong people. That way, he does not need to put himself out to protect them."

"That is not true!" I exclaimed. A few goblin heads turned at my outburst, and I lowered my voice. "Why do you hate Jean-Claude so much?"

"Ask him yourself," Elsa said. She let go of her cloak, and smoothed the fabric out. "Weakness is not something to be vaunted, no matter how pretty the face or talented the fingers."

I blinked at her, thrown. What the hell was she talking about? 

Elsa picked up the magazine at her side and put it on her lap. Harry's face was on the front, smiling sheepishly. I reached for the magazine, but Elsa slapped my hand away. "Has Harry not told you about this?" she asked, flipping open the magazine. "How he fought Voldemort and not a wizard among his people believed him? How they called him mad, a liar, an attention seeker?" She stared down at the well-thumbed article. "These people are all the same."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. There was a deep-seated hatred in her voice that hadn't been there when she was talking about Jean-Claude.

Elsa closed the magazine and pointed at Harry's face. The image blinking cross-eyed as her finger poked the glossy cover. "These people do not value their children, in any way," she said. Her finger trembled on the magazine. "They never have, and they never will."

"Are you talking about Harry, or yourself?" I asked.

Elsa's face was blank, but her eyes were full of such a burning hatred that I flinched. "Do you know what the Church used to do to children accused of witchcraft?" she whisperer. "Children sent home from their first year of magical school?"

"Like you?" I hazarded a guess.

She looked at me, hard. "I came home, twelve years old and full of warnings not to use magic. My parents married me off the next day." 

Her words, and her rage, hit me like a brick in the stomach.

"The very next day, my new husband," she spat the word out with vitriol, "went running to the Church that his wife was a witch. They built a pyre that very day." She went up on her knees next to me and put her mouth next to my ear. "The wizards who promised to protect me, who promised me a world of magic, were content to let me burn, to preserve the secret of their world."

"How..."

"Christoff." She slid back down to the couch. "He pulled me from the flames."

"And made you his human servant."

"He gave me a year." Elsa stared straight ahead, not looking at me. "A year to decide. And I made this decision." She blinked slowly. "I spent years, hearing of children the schools had abandoned to the flames of the Church. A world that abandons its children is not deserving of any regard."

Across the building, Harry came out of a door, his hood back and his hair windswept. He had a large sack in his hands. Spotting me, he held up a hand, then followed a goblin to another counter.

"Did you go to school in Scotland?" I asked stupidly, still trying to work my way through what Elsa had told me.

"They have such schools all over Europe," Elsa said. "But it matters not." She shoved the magazine in my lap. "They continue to do it, with this boy." 

I stared down at Harry's face. He looked younger. Not just age-wise; there was something about his eyes that was more innocent, less hard. What had happened to him after this picture was taken?

"They claim he is the only one who can defeat the bad wizard," Elsa went on, her voice cold now. "That he is some kind of chosen one, to beat back their nightmares."

I looked up from the magazine, to see Harry walking toward me.

"When he dies for them, they will applaud his sacrifice, never acknowledging that they were the ones to set him aflame on the pyre of their own cowardice."

"Why do you care?" I said suddenly. "Why does it matter to you what happens to Harry?"

Elsa stood up as Harry drew nearer. "Because my people do not live in this world, but they will be blamed when the chaos and death spills into the streets of London. When the humans realize the vampires and wererats have nothing to do with the deaths, it will be too late." She drew her cloak tight, and marched away across the spotless marble floor.

"Anita?" Harry asked, coming up to me. He frowned after Elsa. "Is something wrong?"

I stood up, feeling rather shaky. "I don't know."

Harry shifted his hood back a little. "What happened?"

I shook my head. "Elsa happened. Come on, we're short on time."

Harry looked as if he wanted to press the question, but he kept his mouth shut as we left the bank.

We managed to catch up with Elsa outside. She was once again acting like a little girl. The act was jarring me, and I had no idea how to respond to her anymore. I wanted to dislike her. I really did, but I think she had told me more than she wanted to, in the bank.

"Books next?" Elsa said, hanging back on Harry's arm.

"Robes firsts," Harry said. His footsteps slowed as we passed a shuttered shop. A large sign above the door blinked "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes " in gaudy colours. "I wonder where the twins are?" Harry said, frowning.

"Friends of yours?" I asked.

"Yeah. Fred and George Weasley. I thought I could introduce you." He shook his head. "They must not open until later."

"Come on," Elsa said, tugging on him. "You wouldn't want to be late for the train."

"Yeah." With a last glance at the shop, Harry let Elsa pull him down the street.

Her destination was a clothing shop. A bell rang over the door as we entered. Out from behind a pile of fabric bustled a plump woman with a wand in her hair and a pincushion on her wrist. "What can I help you with?" she asked, smoothing her hair back.

"I need some new school uniforms for Hogwarts," Harry said, pulling his hood back.

The woman's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh, so late?" she said. "Dearie, your train leaves soon!"

"I know," Harry said, but the woman was already rushing around.

"Off with your cloak! Up on the stool!" she ordered.

Bemused, Harry threw me his cloak and hopped up on a fitting stool in the middle of the room. The woman was back instantly, a levitating tape measure at her side. She took one look at Harry and sighed.

"You children grow up so fast!" She dropped the cloth she was holding, and pulled out her wand. Soon, an array of folded robes were hovering around her. The tape measure zipped all around Harry, measuring his chest and the length of his legs. "I remember when you were in here for your first robes, when you were the girl's age." She pointed at Elsa, who smiled back vacantly at her.

At the woman's instructions, Harry donned a black robe. A floating pair of scissors and sewing needle attacked the fabric at his feet, sewing it up to a manageable length.

"Now, dearie," the woman said, turning to Elsa. "Is this your first year at Hogwarts?"

Elsa shook her head. "I go to other school," she said, her voice suddenly thick with a German accent. "Not here."

"I see," the woman said. She looked at me, but didn't say anything.

A few more snips of thread, and Harry had his robes. His purchase bundled up into a package under his arm, Harry paid the lady with large coins, and we were back on the street.

"That was painless," he said. "Usually, she's the biggest chatterbox in London."

"That's Siva," Elsa said idly, hopping along on one foot.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "Siva wasn't that big of a gossip."

Elsa laughed. "Siva loves nothing more than to talk about what others are doing," she said. "Siva only talks to important people, and loves every minute of it. Don't tell me you didn't get some information on the side."

Harry's cheeks went red.

"But discreetly," Elsa continued as we approached a shop. "Siva can be a good friend."

That peculiar announcement behind us, we entered a large bookshop. Harry made a beeline for the front counter. Elsa vanished into the stacks, but I went with Harry. "Excuse me," he said to the clerk.

"Yes?" the harried man said without turning around.

"I need my schoolbooks, for seventh year, at Hogwarts? I didn't get my letter."

The man turned around. "Your train leaves soon! How haven't you gone shopping before this?" he demanded. He got a good look at Harry, and began stuttering an apology. "So sorry, Mr. P--"

"It's okay," I interrupted before he said Harry's name in that loud voice. "We just need the books."

The man didn't even spare me a glance. "Of course, right away. What are your subjects?" 

In a few minutes, a pile of books larger than me stood on the counter. "How are you going to carry this?" I asked Harry.

"Same way as my suitcases," he mentioned, frowning as he counted out a pile of gold coins from his little money sack. "Bloody expensive."

"Don't forget these," Elsa said, popping up out of nowhere. She dropped a stack of heavy old books on the counter. The top one had the word _Vampyr_ written in fancy script. I gave her a look. "A little light family reading," she said, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"Fine, these too," Harry said, shoving them at the clerk. He paid without incident and shrunk the books to a tiny size, and put them in his pocket. We left the shop and the awed eyes of the clerk behind, emerging into the pale sunshine.

"We need to get going," Elsa said shortly. "Driving to the station at this time of day will take a bit."

We walked rather fast along the street, passing nervous-looking witches and wizards. A few people glanced at Harry, anonymous under his hood and cloak, but no one's eyes lingered long. I got a few glances as well, but they were derisive, as if they thought I didn't belong here.

Harry's steps slowed as we passed another closed shop. "Olivander's," Harry breathed. "Why isn't he open?" Before I could protest, Harry peered into the dusty window. "It's empty," he said. "Why is it empty?"

"Your wand maker is smarter than most," Elsa told him. "Smart men don't get involved in wars."

Harry swung his head around to glare at Elsa. "Then it's a good thing I'm not smart!" He stalked off down the street.

"See?" Elsa said. "He's listened to what these people tell him. He'll die for them, because they are too scared to do so themselves." 

"Oh, shut up," I muttered, taking off after Harry. I'd had about as much as Elsa as I could take.

* * *

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked as Elsa rolled down her car window.

She looked at the two of us, standing on the sidewalk at King's Cross Station. "If you can't survive a trip to the busiest station in London, I wash my hands of you," she snapped. "We'll be waiting to take Anita back to the house."

"What about this cloak?" Harry asked.

"Keep it," Elsa responded and began to roll her window back up.

"Well, goodbye then," Harry called. "Such a friendly woman," Harry said under his breath, leading me into the station.

"Are you sure we haven't missed your train?" I said. "Because you can always come back with us."

Harry spared me a grin. "It's only ten to eleven," he reminded me. "We've got plenty of time."

The place was packed with people, hurrying to their trains. I really didn't like this many people around me, my claustrophobia acted up. Suddenly, I felt a warm hand in mine. "Wouldn't want to lose you," Harry said in my ear, and pulled me along with him.

Quickly, we passed several trains. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Platform nine and three-quarters," Harry said.

"Where?" I exclaimed. I was looking at Harry, and didn't really notice until he pulled me directly into a wall.

I flung my free hand up, but it passed through the wall like the bricks were made of mist. I opened my eyes to see a large steam engine next to a platform. Some parents were herding kids onto the train, while others stood back and waved at children already in their compartments. Past us, officious-looking wizards strode up and down the platform, casting dark glares at everyone.

"Come on," Harry said. He pushed down his hood, then guided me along down the platform. We passed several people, most of whom turned away when they spotted Harry's face.

One woman, a tall blonde, glared at Harry as we walked past. There was something about her, something familiar, yet I knew I'd never seen her before.

The steam from the train's engine rolled thick overhead, completing the strange, sombre mood. I could feel Harry at my side, warm and familiar.

Someone came toward us, and we instinctively separated. A little boy was running down the platform, but came to a halt when he spotted us. As we drew closer, I could feel a familiar presence about the boy. He was a werewolf.

The child watched, frozen, as Harry and I walked around him. Then, quick as a flash, he dashed away.

"He must be new," Harry said, looking after the boy. "I've never seen him before."

"Is it a good idea, sending such a young... you know, kid like him, away from his parents?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably not. But I'll keep an eye out. Hopefully Professor Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

"One can hope," I said. "Did you see that woman back there? The one who was glaring at you?"

Harry met my eyes. "That's Narcissa Malfoy," he said. "She's Bellatrix Lestrange's sister."

"Oh." Maybe it was the magic, but the mention of Bellatrix made my stomach clench.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"I guess." I pasted a brave smile on my face. "You need to get going, remember?"

"Yeah." Harry hesitated, then pulled a fold of bills out of his pocket. "About this summer..."

I glared at him and the stack of English pounds he held. "What about this summer?" 

Harry bit his lip, looking at my face, then separated the pile in half. He put half the stack back into his pocket. "I borrowed a lot of money from Jason," he said, giving me the other half. "I told him I'd pay him back. Can you give this to him?"

I took the money and shoved it in the pocket of my jeans. "He knows about this?" I asked suspiciously.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, he gave me money to buy clothes and stuff."

"Okay, then."

The train whistled, startling me. I wasn't ready for Harry to leave.

"I have to go," Harry said, looking torn. "You'll-- stay safe, okay? Don't let Elsa bug you too much?"

"Harry..." I took a step toward him. The train whistled again.

Quickly, Harry leaned in toward me as if he was going to give me a hug. But before I could figure out what to do, he bent over and ran his tongue along my lower lip, the submissive werewolf greeting.

He pulled back quickly, a shy grin on his face. I was too shocked to do anything. It crossed my mind to hit him, but technically he hadn't done anything wrong.

I touched my mouth, trying to find something to say. "No more Jason time for you!" I exclaimed finally.

Harry let out a burst of surprised laughter, and jumped up on the train just as it started to move. "Goodbye!" he called.

I waved at him, smiling now. God, I'd miss that kid.

"Wait!" came a little voice from behind me. The little werewolf boy came tearing down the platform, panicked. "Wait for me!"

If the kid tried to jump on the moving train by himself, he might fall under the wheels. "Harry, wait!" I called. I held my hand out to the little boy. "Come on!" I said to him, grabbing his sweaty hand and pulling him along. We ran together to where Harry was standing on the steps of the carriage. Harry caught the kid's hand and hauled him bodily onto the train just before we ran out of platform. I stopped running and had time for one final wave before the train rounded a curve, and Harry was gone.

I dropped my hand. I didn't know when I'd see Harry next, and the thought hurt. I blinked hard, smiling at how silly I was being. He was going off to school, and I'd see him again, one day. Jason was right.

Letting out a sigh, I turned around and walked back to the gate. I had to get out of here before Elsa decided to leave me behind. I wouldn't put it past her. I still hadn't figured her out.

As I approached the wrought-iron gate, I saw someone coming toward me out of the corner of my eye. I let my hands drop loose to my sides, in case I needed my gun or knife in case of a fight.

The woman, about as short as I was, was dressed in a worn sweater and a clashing skirt and blouse. She was flanked by two tall identical men, each with flaming red hair. "Excuse me," the woman said briskly.

I put on a blank smile. "So sorry, I have to meet someone," I said, and kept walking.

"No, it's about Harry!" the woman called, and rushed to keep up with me.

I stopped. "Are you with the media?" I demanded suspiciously. "I have no comment."

"Why were you with Harry?" one of the twins asked, frowning at me.

Was this another of those stupid things about not consorting with muggles? I put my hands on my hips, getting pissed off. "Who Harry Potter travels with is none of your damned business, now is it? He can spend time with whoever he wants, magical or not."

The woman's eyes travelled down. I followed her gaze. My jacket was gaping, and my silver crucifix was shining against my black shirt in the light. I dropped my hands and stalked away. This time, the woman and the two men didn't follow me.

* * *

Elsa didn't speak to me on the drive back to the house, which was just fine with me. I was still smarting from the encounter with those redheads, and under it all, I really missed Harry. He'd been constant presence in my life for the last month, and now he was gone.

I found Jason lying on top of Requiem's coffin, reading a book. He shot up when I came through the door. "Is everything all right?" he demanded.

"Yes," I said with a frown. "Why?"

"You look unhappy," Jason said, laying his book down. "Is something wrong?"

I started to say no, but just shook my head. "It's been a long morning." I slipped out of my jacket, and dug the pile of bills out of my pocket. "From Harry."

Jason took the money and stared at it. "I was just kidding him, about needing to pay me back."

"Well, he did." I undid my belt to remove the shoulder holster. "I think he was going to try and give me some money too, but he didn't."

"Must have been the death glare," Jason said. "What are you doing?"

I pulled my necklace up over my head, and laid it on top of the belt. "We've got a while to go until the plane trip. And I need to feed the ardeur before we go to the airport."

Jason's face lit up in a wide smile. "Really?" He spread his arms wide. "Take me."

I smiled softly as I sat down to remove my boots. Jason leaned over to help me.

"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.

I pushed my hair back. "I guess. I just... I don't like the idea of leaving Harry here."

"He'll be fine." Jason laid his hands on my knees. "He's smart, he's dangerous, and he knows he has a place with us if he needs us."

I frowned. "I don't have to like it," I said.

Jason leaned up and kissed me softly on the lips. "Neither do I."


	46. Didn't See That One Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word about the timeline of this story. We are AU From Half-Blood Prince, but at the same time we are using that book. Imagine, if you will, if an extra year was squeezed in there, and certain HBP events will unfold before our eyes. (Nothing from Deathly Hallows though).

* * *

Harry grabbed the kid's free hand and pulled him up, away from Anita and onto the train, before setting him firmly into the train corridor. Once the kid was safely in the train, Harry reached out and closed the carriage door.

Harry took a deep breath and relaxed against the wall. His heart was pounding with adrenaline, from the near-miss with the kid, and also the kiss he'd given Anita. For a moment, after he'd run his tongue over Anita's lower lip, he'd been half-expecting her to shoot him on the spot. But she'd smiled, and waved him off, and now he was on the train back to Hogwarts, leaving Anita far behind.

Harry let go of the train door handle and turned around. "You okay?" Harry asked the kid.

The boy nodded hard, brown eyes huge in his face. "Thank you," he said shyly, looking down. He seemed a little bit embarrassed. "I didn't mean to leave the train."

Harry waved it off. "You're here, though." He grinned at the boy. "Your first year?"

The boy nodded even harder. "Yes, sir."

Harry winced. That was the last thing he needed, to start the year going around as 'sir.' "Call me Harry," he said.

"I'm Reece," the boy said. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

Harry wanted to ask Reece how long he'd been a werewolf, and if Reece's parents had been on the platform, but now wasn't the time for those questions, with a train full of curious witches and wizards. Instead, Harry clapped a hand on Reece's narrow shoulders. "You should find a carriage before they all fill up."

The boy's face lit up at the physical contact, and Harry belatedly remembered what it meant to a werewolf. _Well, why not?_ Harry thought, annoyed at his own thoughts. _He's a kid, and he's leaving his family behind. He shouldn't have to be alone._

Without another word, Reece darted down the corridor, squeezing past two tall boys effortlessly. Harry recognized the boys as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, two Gryffindor in his own year.

"Harry!" Dean called. Harry started down the corridor toward them, passing several compartments already filled with chattering students. "Harry, how'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Harry asked, slightly confused. "You mean with Reece?"

Seamus guffawed. "Nice one," he said. "Good to have you back."

"Right." Harry looked between Dean and Seamus, waiting for one of them to tell him the joke, but they were not forthcoming. "Have you seen Ron or Hermione?"

Dean jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "A couple compartments down." Grinning, Dean pulled the still-laughing Seamus down the train.

What was that all about? Harry hoped he didn't have something on his face. Hopefully, Anita would have mentioned it.

He spotted a shock of red hair. Worries about Dean and Seamus forgotten, Harry pulled open the compartment door. Ron looked up from where he was fiddling with Pigwidgeon's cage beside to a sleeping Crookshanks. "Hey, Harry!"

"Hi, Ron," Harry said, grinning from ear to ear. He saw the other two people in the compartment. "Hey, Neville. Hi, Luna."

"Hi, Harry," Neville said. His toad Trevor was in a new carrier, probably due to the animal's frequent escape attempts. Next to Neville, Luna already had a magazine spread on her lap. She looked up at Harry, and smiled.

"So, you almost missed the train?" Ron said, straightening up. He had a bit of a smirk on his face.

"Almost, but not quite," Harry said, wondering what had gotten into everyone. He unbuttoned the cloak Elsa had given him, and dropped it on the seat. "We had to go to Diagon Alley this morning, and it was just a rush for time." He plopped on the seat next to Ron and stretched his legs out. "But got here in time."

"Just in time," Ron said. Harry noticed that Ron and Neville exchanged a glance.

"What is wrong with everyone?" Harry asked, frowning.

Luna sighed deeply and closed her magazine. "They watched you lick that woman and they're being silly about it," she said bluntly.

Harry bolted upright. "What?"

"He didn't lick her, he kissed her!" Ron contradicted. "Who was she, Harry?"

Harry felt his heart plummet to somewhere above his left kneecap. "What do you mean?" he stammered defensively, the colour rising to his cheeks.

"I just wanted to know who she was," Ron said, a frown creasing his forehead.

 _That must be what Seamus and Dean were talking about._ Saying goodbye to Anita was supposed to be separate from his Hogwarts life, not giggled over by a bunch of teenagers. He opened his mouth to snap at Ron, but stopped himself in time. Ron didn't know why Anita was important to Harry, or even who she was. He was just asking.

"That was Anita," Harry said, sinking back to the seat. "The woman I stayed with over the summer, in St. Louis."

"Oh." Ron frowned harder. "But..."

"How did you meet her?" Neville asked curiously.

Harry hesitated. He hadn't really thought about what he was going to tell people, about his summer. Most of his acquaintances knew he stayed with his muggle relatives, or the Weasleys, and probably wouldn't question him, but not Ron or Hermione or Ginny. What was he going to tell them?

A loud hooting from above interrupted them. Harry looked up, to see Hedwig staring down at him from her cage on the upper rack.

"Hedwig," Harry said. He had never been so grateful to his owl before. But when he hopped up on the seat and reached up to pull down her cage, she snapped her beak at him, glaring balefully.

Harry pulled his hand back, uncertain. Could she sense the werewolf in him? Did wolves attack owls? 

Slowly, Harry put his hand back toward her. "It's me, Hedwig," he said, trying to stay as still as possible on the swaying train. "I'm sorry I've been away so long."

The snowy owl let Harry put his fingers next to the cage, watching him suspiciously. When she didn't snap at him again, Harry unlatched the cage door and put his hand inside to stroke her head. She remained aloof for a moment, then submitted to his touch.

The panic in his chest eased. Hedwig still knew him, even if he'd changed a bit over the summer. He had always known she was a special owl. This just proved it.

After a few more scratches, and a promise to get her a juicy mouse when they got to Hogwarts, Harry secured the cage and climbed off the seat.

"Sorry about that," Harry said apologetically. Neville smiled uncertainly.

"She missed you something awful," Ron said. He shifted around so he was facing Harry. "Wouldn't let anyone touch her for a week after you left."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Thanks for watching her while I was gone."

Ron shrugged. "It was no trouble. She's a lot better behaved than Pig," he said easily, ignoring Pig's indignant hooting.

"Yeah." Harry glanced out the window, as the train yard was giving way to cityscape. Everything was cramped and packed and familiar, but so different than the wide-open spaces and empty stretches of land and road in St. Louis. _I bet Nathaniel would really enjoy this,_ Harry thought fleetingly.

"So, Anita?" Ron pressed after a minute.

"Right." Harry moved around, trying to find a comfortable place to sit. "You know how strange my life can be?"

Ron's eyebrows went up at that question. "Was it that bad?"

"No. Well, yes, but not really. I mean, the Dursleys took me out sightseeing and then abandoned me in the countryside, but that was just the beginning." He proceeded to tell half the story, in as comical a fashion as he could manage. He told Ron and Luna and Neville about Anita and everyone in St. Louis, but left out the parts about werewolves, vampires, long-lost grandfathers and the ardeur. It was a rather brief story.

Harry skipped over the part about Bellatrix without even a hitch in his tale. What Bellatrix had done to Anita, and how the witch had died, was a story for Ron and Hermione's ears only. Harry was friends with Neville and Luna, but they weren't close enough to hear that.

Jumping past Bellatrix put Harry right at the story of Nigel Spencer and his mysterious death. Since that incident had made the American newspapers, Harry had no qualms about explaining every last detail, including all about the muggle police and RPIT.

"You duelled two American Aurors in a police station and they let you walk right out?" Ron demanded, interrupting Harry's story.

Harry nodded. "We didn't know they were Aurors at the time, right?" he said, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves. The train wasn't overheated, but he still felt a little warm. "But it all worked out in the end."

"I'll say," Ron said, looking slightly boggled. "And I thought that spending a week at Hermione's parents was excitement."

"Where is Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Off being Head Girl," Ron said. "She's not as bad as Percy was, though."

The look of disgust on Ron's face at the mention of Percy's name made Harry ask, "How is your family?"

Ron rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "All right, I suppose," he said. "Dads got loads to do at work, with the new Minster and all. Bill's still in London, and Charlie's coming back soon. Mum's bustling around all the time, getting ready for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Say, you didn't see Mum on the platform, did you? She and the twins came to see me and Ginny off."

"No, I didn't," Harry said, disappointed. "We only just got here in time for the train. If I'd known she was there..."

"She was wondering how you were, this summer," Ron said. "Dumbledore only told her you were safe, but she still worried."

"I was just fine," Harry said, uncomfortable. "I'll send her a letter tomorrow, to let her know I wasn't eaten by vampires."

"Vampires?" Neville echoed.

"Of course," Luna said, nose buried in her magazine. "St. Louis is a hotbed of vampire activity. They even have an incubus, and a circus where you can go to see vampires and werewolves."

Ron rolled his eyes, used to Luna's eccentric talk. Harry, however, leaned across the compartment and pulled Luna's magazine down. "How do you know so much about St. Louis?" he asked, curious.

"Dad had a freelancer write an article on international magical hotspots, for the Quibbler," Luna explained. "St. Louis was second on the list in North America, right after Moose Jaw."

"What's in Moose Jaw?" Neville asked.

"Sasquatch." Luna tried to pull her magazine back up, but Harry wouldn't let it go. She glared at him with pale blue eyes. "I read the article before Dad published it."

"Really?" Harry had to smile at her. "I bet it didn't have the best stuff in it."

Luna wrinkled her nose. "Like what?"

"Like at the Circus of the Damned, they have a lamia," Harry said.

Luna clapped her hands over her mouth. "Really?" she squeaked. "They're supposed to be extinct!"

"Not so," Harry said. "Her name is Melanie. She's really freaky, and has a hell of an attitude. And fangs that she can hide if she wants."

Luna's eyes were shining with excitement. She had gotten really pretty over the summer, Harry thought suddenly. As he was looking at her, she must have realized something, because her face went blank and she started waving a finger at Harry, too excited to speak.

"What?" Harry asked.

Luna pulled her hand back and leaned in conspiratorially. "You stayed with that Anita? Anita Blake?"

"Yes," Harry said, frowning. He didn't like where this was going.

"Anita Blake, the necromancer?" Luna went on. "That was her, at the train station?"

"Wait, what?" Neville exclaimed. He'd gone pale as a sheet. "You stayed with a--" he broke off and bent over to Harry and Luna. "You stayed with a necromancer all summer, Harry?" he whispered.

"Yes," Harry said, voice tight. "So what?"

"They're dark wizards, all of them!" Neville said vehemently. "You actually _stayed_ with one?"

Anger growing in his chest, Harry sat up straight and pressed his back against the seat. "Anita's not evil," he said coldly. His beast rumbled in his chest, unhappy at the insult to his Lupa. "She's a good person. We're not evil just because we know magic, and neither is she."

"I'm sorry, Harry, it's just that--" Neville's apology was cut off as the door to the compartment slid open.

"Harry!" Hermione squealed, smiling widely.

Harry jumped up. "Hi, Hermione," he said happily, spontaneously pulling her into a hug. She hugged him back, slender and vibrant in his arms.

"We thought you'd missed the train!" Hermione continued, pulling back. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And what happened to you?"

"Happened to me?" Harry repeated. There was something different about Hermione. What was it? Not makeup...

"You got taller, and you have these neat clothes," she said, plucking at his sleeve. "Did you have a good summer?"

"Yes," Harry said honestly. "And I love what you've done with your hair." That was the difference. Her hair wasn't as long as it had been the previous spring.

Hermione smiled a little self-consciously. "Thanks."

"Would you mind letting the rest of us in, or are you planning on blocking the door all day?" came a voice from the corridor. Harry looked up from Hermione, to see Ginny Weasley leaning against the door.

However much Hermione had changed over the summer, it was nothing compared to Ginny. Harry couldn't figure out what it was; her hair was still long and tied up in a messy ponytail, she still had slightly worn robes, but the way she was looking at him, with a tiny smirk playing about the corner of her lips and a gleam in her brown eyes, made Harry forget everything he was doing, and just stare.

"Oy, mate, please stop staring at my sister," Ron's pained voice brought Harry back to earth. Feeling very self-conscious, Harry stepped back to let Ginny into the compartment. She slid through the door and squeezed herself onto the seat between Luna and Neville.

Harry went back to his seat, which was now rather crowded as Hermione was sitting beside Ron, his arm over her shoulders. "What were you lot talking about?" Ginny asked briskly.

"Necromancers," Luna said immediately, and Harry shot her a glare.

"I'm not sure--"

"Is this about Anita Blake?" Hermione asked, surprised. "What about her?"

"She came to see Harry off," Ron told her.

"She came over to England with you, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Didn't that cause a problem?"

Harry turned his head. He knew that tone; had heard it far too often over the years. "What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"Didn't it cause a problem with London's vampires? After all, she's an American vampire's servant, isn't she?"

"How much digging did you do on her?" Harry demanded, prickling protectively. He remembered Neville's wide-eyed pronouncement about evil necromancers. If Hermione started in on that...

"Just what was available on the Internet," Hermione said quickly. "The tabloids seem to love her vampire, Jean-Claude. They have a lot of spec-- speculation on what they get up to." Hermione blushed.

"What kind of stuff were you reading?" he asked.

"Just muggle newspaper articles," she said. "Was it right? Is she a human servant?"

"What is a human servant?" Ginny asked. "Is it like a slave?"

"No," Harry said, sitting up. He had a chance to get rid of everyone's misconceptions about Anita and vampires. Who better to tell them about vampires than him? Casting a quick look at Ginny, Harry said, "Listen, this is the way it works..."

* * *

"Then the book is wrong!" Harry exclaimed.

"It's the definitive text on dark creatures!" Hermione retorted. "It's been in use at Hogwarts for twenty years!"

"Then a whole generation of wizards are working off information that is wrong!" Harry gestured toward the defence against the dark arts textbook in Hermione's lap. "A vampire doesn't get stronger with only age. Yes, an older vampire is likely to be more powerful, but that doesn't guarantee that they become a master!"

"But how can you _know_?" Hermione demanded.

Harry pulled off his glasses, trying to come up with the words. "A vampire in St. Louis, Meng Die," he said after a moment. "She's only about two hundred years old, but she's a powerful master. Give her another thirty years, and she'd be powerful enough to hold a city on her own."

"You mean control over other vampires?" Neville asked, concentrating intently on the conversation.

"Yes!" Harry gestured emphatically with his glasses. "There is another vampire, I know, Damian. He's over a thousand years old, and he'll never be a master. We don't know why a vampire becomes a master, or why not."

"But there has to be a reason!" Hermione said, her voice rising in despair. "Ron, what do you think?"

Ron looked up from where he was balancing his wand on one finger. "I think we're not even at school yet, and the lot of you are already sounding like you're in classes," he said. "If I have to deal with this all year, I might go mad."

"You mean madder," Hermione said.

Ron winked at her. "Wouldn't life be boring if I wasn't?" he said, and Hermione smiled brilliantly at him.

Across the compartment, Harry saw Luna whispering in Ginny's ear, then they both giggled.

"But Harry," Neville said, still frowning, "What does it mean to us if a vampire's not a master?"

"You mean, like if we were attacked?" Harry asked, slipping his glasses back on. Neville nodded. "Well, it might be easier to fight them off... weaker vampires won't have an animal to call, and can't control other vampires."

"Enough," Ron ordered. "We're not going to be attacked by vampires on the way to Hogwarts. Here comes the trolley."

Outside the compartment, a plump elderly witch stopped the sweet cart as Harry leapt to his feet and pulled the door open. "What does everyone want?" he asked. "My treat." Ron began to protest, but Harry cut him off. "You looked after Hedwig all summer, it's the least I can do."

Ron looked as if he was going to object, but Hermione squeezed his hand.

Luna and Neville called out their orders, and Harry handed them their sweets. Hermione asked for a Chocolate Frog, and poked Ron in the side until he asked grudgingly for a cauldron cake and some Bernie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans.

"Ginny?" Harry asked.

She shrugged. "I'm not hungry, but thanks."

"Right." Harry turned back to the witch. "Four chocolate frogs, and a few more cauldron cakes..." He stared at the cart. "Do you have anything that isn't sweet on there?"

"Of course, dear," the witch said. "Sandwiches."

"Great, I'll have three," Harry said. Amused, the witch gave Harry his order. He paid her, and, arms loaded with food, turned back to his seat.

He had just dropped the food to the cushion when a small black blur darted through the open door and through his legs. Crookshanks woke suddenly, and hissed menacingly at the area under Harry's seat where the creature was cowering.

"It's a tiny cat!" Ginny exclaimed as Hermione gathered up her hissing familiar. "Poor thing!"

"I'll get it," Harry said. He dropped to his knees, and reached a hand under the seat. His fingers encountered soft fur, then he felt needle-sharp claws rake over his skin. "Ouch!" he exclaimed, jerking back.

"You're scaring it!" Luna said.

"It's returning the favour!" Harry clenched his teeth and bent back over, keeping his face and hand safely out of the creature's reach. A tiny handful of black fur, hardly lighter than the shadows under the seat, surrounded a pair of yellow eyes. The little cat hissed at him.

Carefully, Harry put his bleeding hand out slowly toward the cat. His hand was almost within its reach, when it hissed and reached out a paw to slash him again. Harry pulled his hand back as fast as he could.

"All right, that's it," he declared, sitting back on his heel. "Hand me a sandwich."

"Excuse me?" came a tiny voice from the corridor. Harry looked up to see Reece hiding behind the door. "I think my cat ran in here?"

"The claws down there belong to you?" Harry asked. It was sort of funny, in a way, that a werewolf had a cat as a pet.

Reece nodded miserably. "She got out of her carrier, and I think she got scared."

"Harry!" Hermione chastised. "She's in here," she told Reece kindly.

Reece edged out from around the door, eyes flying around the compartment. Harry could see his nostrils flaring. _He must be smelling everyone,_ Harry realized.

"Thank you," Reece whispered. He knelt by the seat and held his hand out to the cat. "Come here, Freya."

"Who names a cat Freya?" Ron muttered. Reece winced at the comment, but didn't look up.

"The same kind of person who calls an owl Hedwig," Harry said. He shot Ron a glare as the first year pulled his unhappy cat from under the seat.

Reece cradled the cat against his chest. "Sorry to bother you," he said.

"It's okay," Harry said. Reese was acting too submissive for Harry's liking. _Like we're scary!_ he thought indignantly. "Would you like to meet an owl named Hedwig?"

"A real owl?" Reece asked, eyes growing large. "I've only seen one up close."

"The one who brought you your Hogwart's letter?" Harry guessed, going up on the seat to bring down Hedwig's cage.

Reece nodded. "My Ulf--" the boy clapped his mouth shut and went a deep red. "My uncle, he thought it was crazy," he hastily amended.

The boy was a quick thinker, Harry had to give him that. "Maybe it was," Harry said, winking. "Half the Hogwarts owls are." Harry set Hedwig's cage on the empty seat, and knelt on the floor, pressing up against Hermione's legs.

"Wow," Reece said, mouth half open as he stared at Hedwig. "She's really pretty."

Hedwig opened one eye and stared at the boy.

"You'll soon get used to owls," Ginny said. "They carry the post, flying all over Hogwarts."

"Yes, ma'am," Reece whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "What did I tell you about that? Guys, this is Reece." He quickly introduced everyone to Reece. The boy nodded, but now that he had his cat back, it seemed his mind was on a different matter.

"Did you really win the Tri-Wizard Tournament?" Reece blurted out when Harry was done.

Harry felt his insides seize up. "Yes, I did," Harry said when he found his voice. "Why do you ask?"

Reece shifted his cat to one hand and dug into his pocket for something. "That's what it says on the card," he said apologetically, holding out a small Chocolate Frog card.

"On the card? What card?" Harry asked, confused. He took the card from Reece and looked down to see his own face. Harry's jaw dropped.

"You didn't know?" Neville asked. "They came out in July."

"Jul-- What? How? _Why_?" 

The picture of Harry on the card smiled, looking around nervously. It was the same photograph that had appeared in the Quibbler in Harry's fifth year, with his interview about Voldemort.

Horrified, Harry flipped the card over.

**_Harry James Potter, currently a student at Hogwarts_ **

_Harry Potter banished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the age of 15 months, being the only known survivor of the Killing Curse. Winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, battled You-Know-Who at the Battle of the Ministry. He is the Gryffindor Seeker in his final year at Hogwarts. Hobbies include Quidditch and crochet._

"I've never crocheted in my life!" Harry said, indignant. He looked around. Everyone was watching him warily.

"But someone tried to kill you when you were a baby?" Reece asked. "The guy who doesn't have a name?"

Harry swallowed his appalled outrage. "He's got a name," Harry snapped. "It's Voldemort."

"Oh." Reece fidgeted. "Can I have the card back? The other kids in my compartment don't believe that you're in the train."

"Brilliant." Harry handed Reece back the card. "You go tell them I'm here, and this card is utter rubbish!"

"Right." Reece grabbed the card from between Harry's fingers, not looking him in the face, and bolted out of the compartment.

Harry put Hedwig's cage back on the upper rack, so vigorous in his movements that the owl protested, then he dropped back to his seat and buried his head in his hands. "I can't believe this!"

"Why not?" Luna asked. "You defeated You-Know-Who, didn't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"And you won the tournament, and you fought him in the Ministry."

"But so did everyone else here!" Harry exclaimed. "Putting me on this card is the stupidest thing ever! I'm not a great wizard, I'm just lucky! If you guys didn't help me..." Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I shouldn't be on that card any more than anyone else in this compartment."

"Well, it is an act of defiance, isn't it?" Hermione said, going beet red. "Against Voldemort."

"What?"

"It says that the people who make the cards think that Voldemort and all his ideas are rubbish," Ginny said. Unlike Hermione, her voice wasn't wavering. She looked steadily at Harry, an odd light in her eyes. "They're saying that you're a great wizard because you stand up to him."

"And if you can, we all can," Neville said quietly.

Harry stared out the window, at the passing countryside. No matter what everyone said, it didn't make any sense for anyone to put him on a Chocolate Frog card. They were supposed to be for the greatest wizards and witches ever, like Dumbledore. Not him.

He didn't feel like a hero.

"So, Neville," Ron said uncertainly, breaking the unpleasant silence. "Got any new plants this year?"

* * *

Harry stepped off the train, drawing in lungfuls of the crisp air. Over the heads of the students, he spotted a large, hulking shape trudging down the platform. "Firs' years! Firs' years, over 'ere!"

"Hagrid!" Harry called, waving his arm over his head. Hagrid spotted him, and waved back. Grinning, Harry walked beside Ron and Neville down the platform toward the waiting carriages.

"Want any carriage in particular?" Ginny asked, walking beside Luna and Hermione ahead of the boys.

"They're all creepy," Neville said under his breath.

Harry agreed. The carriages were hitched to Thestrals, ghostly black reptilian-looking horses. The horses were invisible to anyone who hadn't seen death. Harry had been able to see them since after Cedric died.

"Come on, then," Ginny called, leading them on. Harry glanced around in the dying light, at the other students moving toward the carriages. He recognized people from every house. Three carriages over, Harry spotted a flash of blond hair. _Malfoy_.

Harry frowned as he got into the carriage behind Ron. He hadn't really spared Malfoy much of a thought during the train ride, or over the summer. _But Bellatrix Lestrange was his aunt,_ Harry remembered. _I watched his aunt be eaten by a pack of werewolves, and I didn't even think about Malfoy._

Ron squeezed into the carriage and closed the door. "Are we going to break this thing?" he asked as he squished down beside Hermione.

"Probably not," Hermione said, although she was looking around rather nervously as the carriage began to move creakily.

Luna sat across from Harry, watching him with careful eyes. "What?" Harry asked.

"Your glasses are different," she said.

"I know that."

"What happened to the old ones?"

"Someone stepped on them."

"I like these ones better," Luna said frankly. "They make your eyes look greener." Ginny elbowed Luna in the ribs.

Not quite sure how to respond, Harry looked out the window. The carriage rattled over a hill, and Harry caught sight of the turrets of Hogwarts castle in the distance. A tension in his chest eased. He was almost home.

The six teenagers spoke of light matters, mostly Neville's summer vacation in Calais, as the carriages drew closer to school. The first year students, including Reece, were probably all getting into the boats that very moment, getting ready to float across the lake to the castle. Harry remembered his first view of the castle, back when things were so much more simple, when everything bad was behind him and everything good in front of him.

 _Now, I'm not going to see Anita or Nathaniel or Jason again for a very long time,_ Harry thought, feeling his good mood waver. _Anita's on the plane to America, and Jason's probably holding her hand and talking her through the ride. They'll get home, and Micah and Nathaniel will be there to pick them up, and take them home to where Damian is._ A lump rose in Harry's throat, and he had to swallow hard. _Will they even miss me?_

Harry recovered by the time that the carriage pulled up in front of the school. Harry joked with Ron and Neville as they all made their way to the Great Hall, but his heart wasn't really in it. _I already miss them._

The Great Hall was just as Harry remembered. Hundreds of candles floated in the air, gleaming off the empty golden plates that lined the four long House tables. The ceiling above, charmed to look like the night sky, showed the stars peeking out of the twilight.

Luna gave Ginny a little hug, then separated from the Gryffindors and headed to the Ravenclaw table. Harry watched her go, entranced by sway of Luna's blonde hair hanging down her back, and walked right into Dean Thomas. Dean shoved Harry back, and, laughing, they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Once seated, Harry looked at the front teacher's table. Dumbledore was leaning back in his chair, surveying the students with a slight smile. When his eyes met Harry's, Harry nodded firmly. Dumbledore smiled back.

Harry slid onto the bench beside Hermione, protesting when she slapped his shoulder for obstructing her view of the front table. "Move!"

"Why?" Harry asked as he leaned over his plate. "What are you looking for?"

"Our new teacher!" she said. "We need someone to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, don't we?"

"Yes, because that always goes so well," Ron groused.

"There"! Hermione said. "No, don't look!" she exclaimed as Ron and Harry both turned their heads to see.

A balding elderly wizard sat between Snape and Professor Flitwick at the head table. He had a huge, drooping blonde moustache, and looked rather like a deflated balloon, as if he had lost a large amount of weight in a short time.

"That has to be him!" Hermione hissed.

"Doesn't look like much, does he?" Ron said. "Wonder who he is?"

"Don't know. I hope the Sorting goes smoothly," Harry said, rubbing his stomach. His new robes felt scratchy under his hand. "I'm starving."

"Did they not feed you over in America?" Ron asked.

Harry thought of all the food he'd eaten over the summer, and snorted. "No, they fed me too much. I got used to eating."

The last of the upper-year students arrived, and as the noise in the hall grew, Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, floated past, greeting the students. "Hi Nick," Ron called.

"Mr. Weasley," Nick said, coming to a stop by the table. "Your last year, correct? Are you planning as memorable exit as your brothers?"

Two years before, the twins had left Hogwarts in a hail of fireworks and magic. That night was still talked about fondly in the halls of Hogwarts. Now, Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Probably not," he muttered.

Nick nodded and floated away, head wobbling dangerously on his almost severed neck.

Ron glowered at his empty plate. Harry wanted to say something to him, but what? He hadn't seen Ron all summer, and didn't know what could be bothering him. Maybe Hermione would know.

The main doors to the Great Hall banged open, and all talking ceased. Professor McGonagall marched in, leading the group of first years. Their awed faces shone in the candlelight. Only seven years before, Harry had been in their shoes, terrified that he'd get sent back to the Dursleys. He knew how they felt.

Craning his head, Harry finally spotted Reece near the back of the group. The boy saw Harry, and gave a tiny wave. Harry waved back.

"Looks like you made a friend," Ginny said, leaning over the table. "I wonder where he'll get sorted."

"Gryffindor," Harry said immediately. Ginny gave him a look. "Well, why not?"

"You can never tell," Hermione said practically. "The Sorting Hat has its own logic."

"What do you think it'll sing about this year?" Neville asked. "Houses? Or the danger we're all in, like it has for the past two years?"

"Probably both," Ron said. "Makes you wonder how it knows what's going on."

"It does live in Dumbledore office," Hermione pointed out, as the first years gathered arround the Sorting stool.

"But it does seem to have a mind of its own," Harry said, growing slightly uneasy. The Hat had a peek into everyone's head when they were sorted. Was it looking for anything besides where to sort a student?

As McGonagall put the tattered Hat on the stool, Harry looked across the table at Ginny. She was staring at the Hat, a frown on her face. Unbidden, Harry remembered something that Mr. Weasley had said after Ginny was enchanted by Tom Riddle's diary. _Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain._

The Hat began to sing.

* * *

When the song was over, everyone dutifully applauded the Hat. "Good song," Dean said idly. "Better than last year." Harry snickered.

Hermione hushed them as Professor McGonagall unrolled her list of names, and called the first student up to be sorted.

"Al-Adib, Sara!"

* * *

They were almost done with the sorting. Harry's stomach was twisting, and he couldn't wait for the food to arrive. _Too many sweets,_ he thought unhappily. He hadn't eaten that much sugar in a long time, and certainly not since he had been in St. Louis. _Either the werewolf in me doesn't like it, or I'm too old to eat like that._

"Trevelyan, Reece!"

Harry jerked his head up as Reece squared his shoulders and marched up the steps. So far, the new students were pretty evenly split between the four houses, with only three students left. "Come on," Harry said under his breath.

He couldn't explain how, but he was almost certain that Reece would be sorted into Gryffindor. Harry was there, and Remus had been in Gryffindor. The house animal, a lion, was almost like a wolf, right?

Professor McGonagall dropped the Hat over Reece's head. Everyone waited while the Hat thought, twitching its pointed top in the air. After a full minute, the Hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!"

 _What?_ Harry was jarred, but he quickly recovered and clapped as loudly as the Hufflepuffs, as Reece slid off the stood and ran toward the Hufflepuff table. His face was shining as his new Housemates accepted him at the table.

 _Shows what I know,_ Harry thought ruefully. He shook his head as the next sorting began.

"I'm sure the Hat made the right choice," Ginny said., drawing his attention.

"Yeah, probably," Harry said. He smiled at her, and was rewarded as she smiled back. _When did she get so pretty?_ Harry wondered, dazed. _Everyone got prettier over the summer, but Ginny and Luna in particular._

After the last student was sorted into Slytherin, Dumbledore stood. The low murmur of voices stopped immediately.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "I have a few words before we eat. First, I would like to introduce our new professor." He turned and held out a hand to the new wizard at the table, who stood. "This is Professor Slughorn, who has been kind enough to agree to take up his old post as Potions professor this year."

"Potions?" Harry repeated, not believing his ears. Snape was right there, sitting at the table. If Slughorn was teaching Potions...

"Professor Snape will be moving to the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore continued over the growing roar.

"What?" Ron exclaimed in a loud voice. Luckily for him, everyone else was talking at once, so no one heard him.

Harry, however, had snapped his mouth shut. He glared at Snape, anger and something very close to disgust roiling in his gut. Snape was as smug as Harry had ever seen him, the smarmy bastard.

"Is it too late to drop Defence?" Ron asked Hermione. "I swear, I can't stand a year of Snape. Dropping potions was the best idea I ever had!"

"You didn't drop Potions, Ron, you didn't get a high enough OWL grade," Hermione snapped, dropping her voice as Dumbledore held up his hands for silence.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "I know you will all make Professor Slugworth feel right at home. Now, a few more words." His face became grave, and a chill echoed around the room. "The Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students. And no one is to leave school grounds without permission." 

Dumbledore scanned the suddenly alert student body. "The school and grounds will be patrolled by several Aurors this year, for your protection. They will not interfere with classes. If you have any concerns, please talk with your head of House."

"At least it's not Dementors," Harry muttered, wincing as Hermione kicked his ankle. Still, Harry wasn't impressed. What defence could a few Aurors provide against Death Eaters, if they got onto the grounds?

"And now, I am sure your minds and bellies will rest easier if they are full." Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the tables were suddenly loaded with food. "Enjoy!"

The Gryffindors jumped to fill their plates, but Harry sat still, deep in thought. "Earth to Harry," Ron said after a minute, his mouth full. "Still thinking about Snape?"

"Huh?" Harry asked, blinking hard. "No." Actually, Harry's thoughts had been occupied entirely with the stupidity of the American Aurors he had duelled over the summer, and on Ministry incompetence in general. "Pass the meat, would you?"

The smell of the roast reawakened Harry's appetite. He speared four slices of the rarest-cooked meat he could find, then reached for the lone platter of cooked greens.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"Yeah, why?" Harry asked as he sliced into his dinner.

Hermione eyed his plate. "You used to have potatoes all the time," she pointed out.

Harry looked at the tureen of mashed potatoes sitting in front of Neville. The white surface was flecked with green bits of parsley, and Harry felt his throat constrict. "I'm fine, really," he said, going back to his slightly bloody meat.

His eating habits hadn't changed that much, had they? Harry chewed his beef thoughtfully, wishing it wasn't cooked so well. The greens were also overcooked, making him long for that last dinner at Anita's house, where Nathaniel had made everyone almost-raw steaks, with lots of fresh vegetables and corn and salad. Stripper food, Jason had called it.

Harry had a hard time swallowing his mouthful, as he thought of St. Louis. Suddenly, all he wanted was to talk to Damian one last time, to be eating the food Nathaniel made, listening to Micah talk to Anita.

 _I'm can't be bloody homesick for a place that isn't even mine!_ Harry told himself angrily. _They said I could go back, but not so soon._

He didn't realize that Hermione had spoken until she put her hand on his arm. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

He made himself nod. "Of course," he said with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I'm back, aren't I?"

She didn't look convinced. "This isn't about Snape?"

"No," Harry said. "I'll deal with him. Maybe Ron's right, and we can just drop Defence."

"Not now!" Hermione whispered. "Not with You-Know-Who still out there!"

"I'll think about it," Harry said, looking back at his plate. He took a deep breath "It's just that nothing is turning out the way I wanted it." 

Reece was in Hufflepuff; Snape was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, Voldemort was probably being evil somewhere... None of it was right.

 _Welcome back,_ Harry thought bitterly, and speared a chunk of beef on his fork.

* * *

"I'll see you upstairs!" Ginny said as everyone scrambled to their feet after the conclusion of the School Song. "I've got to be Prefect for a bit... First year Gryffindors! This way!"

With the other prefects, Ginny herded the brand-new Gryffindors toward the door. Dean and Neville and Seamus left soon after, arguing about something to do with Neville's latest plant, leaving Harry, Hermione and Ron were left at the table.

"I should go upstairs," Hermione said reluctantly. "In case anyone needs to talk to me."

"No rest of the Head Girl, huh?" Harry asked, leaning his elbow on the table and grinning at her.

"It's a big responsibility!" Hermione said. She looked over Harry's shoulder and sat up straight. "Hello, Professor McGonagall!"

"Oh, hello, Miss Granger," the head of Gryffindor said, looking slightly frazzled. "Mr. Potter, it's good to see you in one piece."

"Pardon?" Harry asked, looking up at the professor. "Is something wrong?"

"No, but next time you go traipsing off to America, please let me know. The poor owl barely made it back in one piece." She handed a tattered-looking envelope to Harry. He took it, frowning.

"I didn't think about that," he said, ripping it open. He pulled out the letter and set it on the table, but the envelope wasn't empty.

Curious now, he turned the envelope over, tipping a small badge onto his palm. It took Harry a few seconds to realize what he was seeing.

"Quidditch captain?" he said. "I'm Quidditch captain?"

"Of course you are," McGonagall said briskly. "And do make sure that you assemble a good team this year, will you? We have a House Cup to win. Just let me know when you want to hold tryouts, I'll book the pitch with Madame Hooch." 

The professor swept off. Harry turned over the badge in his hand. "I didn't even think about that," he said. "Captain!"

"Congratulations," came Dumbledore's voice. The Headmaster stood by the table, beaming down at Harry. "And well-deserved."

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "Do you have a few minutes, Mr. Potter?"

"We'll go," Hermione said quickly, pulling a very quiet Ron to his feet. "See you upstairs, Harry."

When Ron and Hermione were gone, Dumbledore started slowly toward the doors of the Great Hall, and Harry fell in beside him. They walked out of the room and into the deserted corridors.

"How was your trip from St. Louis?" Dumbledore asked as they climbed a staircase.

"Good," Harry said. "We stayed at Christoff's estate last night."

Dumbledore stopped, mid-step. "Christoff, the Master of London?" he asked, sounding surprised.

Harry frowned at Dumbledore's reaction. "Yes."

Dumbledore considered this. "I have to say, I did not think that Ms. Blake would be interested in visiting a vampire in a strange city," he said as he began walking again.

"Christoff insisted," Harry said. "But it all worked out okay."

"Good, good." Dumbledore turned down the corridor that led to Gryffindor tower. "And the days before that..."

So that was what this was about. Harry being a werewolf. "I'm not-- I mean, I spent the full moon as me. Not changing."

The sense of relief from the Headmaster was palpable, and made Harry extremely uncomfortable. Dumbledore was not supposed to be thrown by things like this. "I am glad to hear that," Dumbledore said lightly.

"Is that why Reece is here?" Harry blurted out. "Because of what you thought..." his voice trailed off as Dumbledore shook his head.

"No, young Mr. Trevelyan is here because he is a muggle-born wizard," Dumbledore said. There was no rebuke in his voice, but Harry felt like kicking himself for being so self-centred. "Did he tell you?"

"No, I just knew, at the station." Harry paused as the staircase they were on began to move across the tower. "Will things be okay, with him?"

"Things have been discussed with Madame Pomfrey," Dumbledore said. The staircase reversed course, and Harry and Dumbledore continued walking. "But we should discuss this later. Would you be able to come to my office tomorrow evening, after dinner?"

"Sure," Harry said immediately. Dumbledore was right, talking about Reece's lycanthropy out here, where the paintings and who knew what else could hear, was a bad idea.

Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "Until tomorrow, then." 

Leaving Dumbledore behind, Harry headed down the corridor at a bit of a jog. Except for rushing around with Anita in the morning, Harry hadn't had the chance to move very fast for two days. His muscles ached for a good run, but it was almost curfew. Maybe tomorrow morning.

He got to the Fat Lady's painting at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, just as Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil came out. "Hi Harry," Parvati said over Lavender's giggles. "The password's Monk's Hood."

"Thanks," Harry said. As he ducked through the portrait hole, he heard Lavender and Parvati giggling madly.

Everyone was gathered in the common room, talking quickly. Harry had planned to go up to his room, but he was stopped every few feet by people congratulating him on being picked as Quidditch captain. It took him ten minutes to climb the steps to his dorm.

Closing the door behind him, Harry let out a groan of relief. He stumbled across the room to his bed. The cloak Elsa had given him lay over his trunk at the foot of his bed. Flipping open the lid, he pulled out his Firebolt and ran a hand over the handle. He'd missed his broom.

The dorm door opened a crack and Ron ducked inside. "It's a madhouse down there," he said, pushing the door shut with his shoulder. "Everything where you left it?"

"Yeah," Harry said, putting his broom on the bed. "I hope you got some good use out of it."

"I flew circles around the twins," Ron said, dropping onto his bed. "It's a great broom. You're really lucky."

There was something about Ron's tone that set off a warning bell in Harry's head. "Why's that?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice light. While he waited for Ron to answer, he dug his shrunken suitcase and books out of his pocket, and restored them to full size with an idle wave of his wand.

"It's just a good broom, is all," Ron said defensively, careful to not look at Harry

"Right." Harry opened his suitcase and removed two small boxes. He ran his thumb over the tiny blue ribbon on the smaller box. "Look, about Quidditch captain--"

"You deserve it, mate, really," Ron interrupted, sounding strained. "You've been on the team for years. When are you going to hold tryouts?"

"Ron..."

"Saturday's a good time, isn't it?" Ron kept on. "Think I can borrow the Firebolt for it?"

"Ron!" Harry shouted. "Just shut up a minute." He took a deep breath. "Will you be co-captain with me?"

Ron froze, halfway to reaching down to take off his shoe. Slowly, he raised his head, face blank. "What?" His face flushed red. "I'm not some kind of charity case that you need to--"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Charity? What the hell are you on about? This isn't charity!"

"The hell it's not!" Ron shouted, bouncing up. "You've seen me play, I'm nowhere near as good as you. I don't need you giving me your leftovers!"

Harry went hot, then ice-cold. He wanted to punch Ron right in the mouth, and instead he picked up his two boxes and marched out of the room.

He ran into Neville on the stairs outside the dorm. "Harry, is everything..."

"It's fine," Harry snapped. He shook his head, anger draining away. "It's nothing."

He walked past Neville without another word. The common room had emptied a bit, but Hermione was still sitting on the sofa by the fire, Crookshanks on her lap.

"We could hear shouting down here," she said as soon as Harry dropped to the sofa beside her. "Did something happen?"

"Nothing of importance," Harry said. Hermione didn't look convinced.

Crookshanks raised his head from Hermione's lap and yawned at Harry. Carefully, hoping to avoid a repeat of what happened with Hedwig and Freya, Harry ran his hand over the cat's head.

"Are you really all right?" Hermione asked. "You've been acting a little strange all day."

"I didn't get much sleep last night," Harry admitted. "It's just a change."

"Okay." Then, in a rush, she said, "You know that if you ever need to talk, about anything, I'll listen no matter what?"

Harry smiled tiredly. "I know, Hermione." He held up the small box with the blue ribbon. "I got this for you, when I found out you were Head Girl."

Hermione took the box from him. "What is it?" she asked as she looked it over.

"Open it and find out," Harry said, rather nervous now. In spite of what Jason said, what if she didn't like it after all?

Hermione undid the ribbon, then lifted the lid on the box. "Oh, Harry!" she said, smiling brilliantly. "It's beautiful!" She lifted the necklace out of the box and looked closer at the tiny silver pendant. "It's a little book!"

"I thought it was perfect for you," Harry said, uttering a silent thanks to Jason. "And I even got them to put your initial on the cover."

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione said, dropping the necklace back in the box and hugging Harry.

Hugging Hermione wasn't at all like hugging Anita. Hermione was softer, more delicate, and she smelled like flowers. Harry gave her a squeeze and pulled back. "I'm glad you like it," he said.

"I do." She smiled at him. "I'm _so_ glad you're all right." 

"Of course I am." Harry glanced around the room. "We'll talk tomorrow, about my summer, okay?"

"We'd better," Hermione said, a hint of her old bossiness returning. "I should get to bed. See you tomorrow."

"Good night," Harry called after her.

When she left, a lot of people seemed to take that as a signal to head up to their dorms. The common room quickly emptied, until Harry was the only one left, staring into the fire.

He wasn't the least bit tired, and it only had a little to do with not wanting to see Ron. _He may not be the best player,_ Harry admitted as he slipped off his robe, slumping down in his trousers and shirt on the carpet in front of the fire. _But he knows everything about Quidditch. He's a brilliant planner. Why is he being such an idiot?_

Harry sighed. Too much had happened that day. He wondered how Reece was doing in Hufflepuff, how Jason and Anita were on the plane. They'd be landing in a few hours in St. Louis, then go back to their lives. _Things keep happening, no matter how much we want them to stop._

The fire burned down as Harry sat there in the silent common room. After a while he closed his eyes and concentrated on his Occlumency, letting all of his crazy and mixed-up feelings slide away.

As his mind grew still, his senses became more alert. He heard the first soft step on the stairs, then shuffling steps. He opened his eyes, tensing as the person came closer.

"Harry?" Ginny said softly.

Harry turned around. "Ginny?" He looked at the grandfather clock on the wall. "It's really late."

"I know," she said, coming over and sitting next to him on the hearth rug. "You're never up at this hour."

"I can't sleep," he said, sliding over to let her get comfortable. She had on a worn robe, with a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Harry could smell the heat coming off of her, like flowers and warmth. She smelled so good.

"I can't sleep sometimes either," Ginny admitted. She stared into the fire. "Some nights, I'll come down here, and wait for morning." She cast a sidelong glance at Harry before he could come up with a response. "I heard what happened with Ron."

Harry bit back an exclamation. "It was just an idea," he said through gritted teeth.

"And a good one," Ginny said briskly. "Ron may be pants at being Keeper, but he can spot a Quidditch play a mile away."

"Not that it matters," Harry said glumly, staring back at the fire.

Ginny poked his arm, her fingers burning like coals on his skin. "Talk to him tomorrow," she advised. Then she frowned. "Although, I'd do it before he sees that necklace you gave Hermione."

"What are you talking about?"

Ginny tilted her head and gave him a look that set his heart pounding. "It's just a very nice necklace."

Harry reached behind him to the couch, and picked up the other box he'd brought back with him from St. Louis. "I was going to give this to you earlier, but you'd gone upstairs," he said. "Here."

Ginny took the box hesitantly. "You got me a present?" she said, surprised.

"Of course," Harry said. He owed Jason so much, for prodding him onto getting something for Ginny as well. "I hope you like it."

She bent over the box, which was as long as her hand and about as thick. Harry watched her as she undid the gold ribbon and lifted the lid. She touched the object inside delicately.

"It's a scarf," Harry said. "I thought.... well, I thought you'd like it."

Ginny drew the delicate dark blue silk out of the box. She let the scarf unfold as she lifted it in the air, running her fingers over the soft threads.

"Thank you," Ginny said softly. "No one... It's beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it," Harry said, not able to hold back a shiver. It was freezing in the common room, compared with the hot and humid St. Louis nights.

Ginny spotted the movement, and quickly put down the scarf. "Here," she said, sounding rather like her mother as she unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders. "You'll freeze to death, and then who's going to defeat Voldemort?"

Her voice wavered on the last word, and Harry caught her hands as she put the blanket around him. She met his gaze, eyes wide and a little startled.

"Why can't you sleep, sometimes?" Harry asked in a whisper.

Ginny opened her mouth, but no words came out. She pulled away from him and, scooping up her scarf, stood. "I'll see you tomorrow," she stammered, and ran for the stairs.

Harry sat for a long time, wrapped in the warm blanket that smelled like Ginny, staring at the darkened staircase.


	47. It's in the Blood

Harry opened his eyes suddenly. He sat up on the bed and looked around his dorm room. What had woken him?

The room was quiet, with the sounds of four sleeping boys breathing. Harry quickly slipped on his glasses, then slid to the floor. He'd fallen asleep wrapped up in Ginny's blanket, which he now pulled tight around his shoulders. His bare feet made no noise on the cold stone tiles as he walked to the window and looked outside.

The sky was dark, with the faintest shade of red imaginable creeping up over the hills in the east. _Almost sunrise,_ Harry thought with a thrill. The day was about to begin, and he was here to see it.

Most of the few times Harry watched the sunrise in St. Louis, he had been up for the whole night. It was exciting and new to be seeing it from this side of sleep. Entranced, Harry leaned against the window sill as the sky bled to red, then pinks and purples as the day dawned.

Hogwarts and its ground were quiet so early in the morning. A glance at the clock revealed that there was a few hours before breakfast. _Maybe I can go for a run,_ he thought, latching on to the ache in his limbs. _But where?_

Harry looked back out the window. A thin plume of smoke rose from the chimney at Hagrid's hut, and Harry could see Hagrid moving around outside. _I'll go see Hagrid! I haven't seen him in ages!_

As quietly as he could, Harry padded back to his bed, and dropped Ginny's blanket on top of the pillows. He hadn't bothered to move his suitcase off the bed the night before, just curling up around it when he finally stumbled onto the mattress. Soundlessly, Harry raised the suitcase lid and groped around in the dim light for his sweats and a t-shirt.

Dressing didn't take long. None of the other boys were awake when Harry crept out of the room, his trainers in one hand and his school bag in the other. He'd shoved his school robes and a change of socks into his bag, in case he didn't get a chance to run back up to Gryffindor tower before breakfast.

Lacing up his trainers only took a few seconds. The Fat Lady was surprised to see him so early, and admonished him not to get into any trouble. It was her job to keep an eye on the students, but Harry was only going for a run, and didn't need anyone spying on him.

Harry was used to the halls of Hogwarts during the day, or at night, when there was still movement and action. So early, the place felt surreal, like everything had been frozen by a spell. Colours were brighter, sharper, than normal. Harry walked the halls staring at everything, as fascinated as a first year.

The main doors to the school were unlocked. Harry suspected that Filch was up and around, but so far Harry hadn't seen a hint of the caretaker or his cat, Mrs. Norris. The day was looking up. Harry slipped through the doors and down the stone steps. The air still held the crispness of night as Harry jogged down to Hagrid's hut.

The half-giant was outside, filling a large trough with water. He looked up as Harry approached. "Morning!" Harry called with a wave.

Hagrid waved back. "What're you doin' up so early, Harry?" Hagrid asked, his face beaming with a confused smile.

"I just wanted to get outside," Harry said, dropping his bag to the stone steps of the hut. "What are you doing? Can I help?"

Hagrid chuckled. "Sure, I'm just about ter tend the pumpkin patch, then go feed Buck-- I mean, Witherwings." He looked around nervously. "You know who I mean."

Harry nodded, hiding a rueful smile. After Sirius died, Hagrid had taken in Buckbeak the hippogriff, and had taken to calling him Witherwings. So far, no one at the school seemed to know that Hagrid was keeping the hippogriff in the edges of the Forbidden Forest. Then Harry remembered what else Hagrid was hiding in the Forest.

"How's Grawp?"

Hagrid went back to sloshing great bucketfuls of water into the trough. "He's great!" Hagrid said with enthusiasm. "Learnin' new words every day. Strong, too!"

"I remember," Harry grumbled.

"Right, then." Hagrid set down his bucket. "You get that there box, and we'll head right out."

"This one?" Harry asked, pointing at a small wooden crate near the water trough. He leaned over to pick it up, and almost fell over. The box was a lot heavier than it looked. "Hagrid, what's in this?" he asked as he gritted his teeth and lifted it up.

"It's new garden meal..." Hagrid's voice trailed off. Harry glanced up, and saw Hagrid frowning at him. "I thought you was goin' to use magic."

"I got it," Harry said, blowing a wisp of hair out of his eyes. He tightened his grip around the bottom of the box. "Shall we?"

Hagrid shook himself. "Sure. Got a lot of work before breakfast!"

"How was your summer?" Harry asked as he followed Hagrid's broad back around the water trough to the pumpkin patch near the fence. The pumpkins were small, about the size of water balloons. They had a lot of growing to do before the Halloween feast.

"Summer was good," Hagrid said. He pointed at a spot near the fence. "You can put it there, that crate."

"Right." Harry staggered over to the fence and set down the box. "What kind of fertilizer is that?"

"Concentrate," Hagrid said, picking up a giant rake. "Twice as heavy."

"I'm not sure it works like that," Harry said with a frown, but Hagrid wasn't listening.

"Twice as good. Dumbledore wanted the pumpkins extra big this year, he said. Big year, he's got planned."

"What do you mean?" Harry pressed, climbing up on the fence as Hagrid began to vigorously apply the fertilizer to the garden. Harry could have sworn that the tiny pumpkins quivered as Hagrid worked.

"Can't talk about it, now can I?" Hagrid said practically. "But lots to do this year, lots to learn." He paused in his work and looked up at Harry. "You still in my class this year?"

Harry nodded. "Wouldn't miss it," he promised. Truthfully, he'd been considering dropping the Care of Magical Creatures class after the bloody disaster the previous year with the wyverns, but he couldn't drop a class without risking McGonagall's wrath. Besides, if Ron really did drop Defence Against the Dark Arts, then he couldn't drop Care of Magical Creatures, and Harry wouldn't leave Ron alone in the class, no matter how annoyed he was with his friend at the moment.

Hagrid grinned so widely that his eyes crinkled. "Knew you wouldn't leave my class. Yer the best student I have!" He went back to his gardening before Harry could think of anything to say to that. "Great things planned, this year."

That pronouncement filled Harry with great dread, and he shoved it down. He'd deal with whatever dangerous creature Hagrid had planned without losing any limbs, he hoped. He had more important things to worry about. "Anything happening with Voldemort this summer?" Harry blurted out.

Hagrid jerked back, showering dirt all over Harry. "Don't do that!" Hagrid exclaimed. "Sayin' his name!"

"Hagrid!"

"Alrigh'!" Hagrid set back to his raking, not looking at Harry. "The Dementors tried to break a bunch o' Death Eaters outta Azkaban, in July, but nothing came of it. Then everything got quiet, really quiet."

"In the first week of August?" Harry guessed.

"Yeah. How'd you know?" Hagrid asked.

Harry's head was racing. That was the time when Bellatrix Lestrange had been in North American, killing Nigel Spencer. What if she wasn't the only Death Eater wandering the globe, seeking out past revenge?

"But Dumbledore thinks things will get busy again, soon," Hagrid continued. "Better prepare now."

"Great." Harry picked at the weather-worn wood of the post with his thumbnail. "Is that why he put Snape in as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" He wasn't able to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Hagrid stopped his work and leaned on his rake. "Professor Snape," Hagrid said, stressing the title, "Is the best choice Dumbledore had this year. You'll learn lots from him."

_Like how to get hexed six ways from Sunday?_

"'Sides," Hagrid continued, "Professor Slughorn is a right good teacher, too. He was my potions professor, back when I was a student here."

"So why's he back now?"

Hagrid gave the pumpkin patch one final rake. "He's a master potions brewer," he muttered. "Safer for him here, what with Voldemort out there."

Harry frowned. "Wait." Hagrid picked up the rake and the empty crate and started back towards his hut. "Hagrid, if Slughorn was your potions teacher... how long was he here?"

"Oh, lotsa years," Hagrid said. "He was here before I started me firs' year. Was here for about a decade after I was expelled."

Harry's mind was racing. That meant Slughorn had also taught potions to Tom Riddle, who later became Voldemort. And now he was hiding from Death Eaters? Why? Did Slughorn know something about Voldemort?

Harry's steps slowed as something occurred to him. What if Slughorn was like Nigel Spencer? What if a Death Eater had tried to kill Slughorn, too, like Bellatrix had killed Nigel Spencer? What if that was why he was at Hogwarts? But what on earth could make Voldemort send his Death Eaters around the globe to kill off wizards?

"Come on, Harry!" Hagrid called. "Still want to go see Witherwings?"

Harry blinked. "Uh, yeah," he said, trying to wrap his head around all of his thoughts. He'd ask Dumbledore about Slughorn that night, after dinner.

"Well, hurry up, then," Hagrid said. "Otherwise, you'll miss breakfast." Hagrid dropped the rake and the empty crate by the steps, then opened the door to his hut. Out of the door erupted a large black boarhound. "Fang!"

Fang, Hagrid's dog, paid him no mind, and raced down the path to Harry. The dog lumbered to a stop and set his paws firmly on the path, glaring up at Harry.

"Fang!" Hagrid called. "Sorry, Harry, don't know what's got into him."

"It's okay," Harry said. He put his hands out in front of him, so the glowering dog could smell him. "It's just me, Fang, just Harry." He kept eye contact with the dog. _He thinks I'm a strange wolf!_ Harry realized with a shock. Fang was trying to assert his dominance. _Well, I guess it is his house._

Harry took another step forward, stretching out his hand so it was next to Fang's mouth. The dog looked suspiciously at it, then gave him a tiny lick. The tiny lick turned into a big slobbery tongue-bath, while Fang leaned his body against Harry's legs.

"That's right," Harry said, relived. He rubbed Fang's head with his free hand, then patted him firmly on the side. "It's just me."

Soon, Fang stopped drooling on Harry and rambled back to the hut. After Harry wiped his hand on the grass, he looked up, to see Hagrid staring at him. "Ain't never seen him do that before," he muttered. "You been around other dogs all summer?"

"Something like that," Harry said, smiling weakly.

Hagrid shrugged it off, although Harry suspected with a sinking heart that he wouldn't forget. "We should get going."

Harry walked with Hagrid, who was swinging a whole line of dead ferrets, toward the Forbidden Forest. They talked about unimportant things for about ten minutes, until Hagrid stopped suddenly and smacked his forehead with his hand. "What?" Harry asked.

"I forgot his tonic!" Hagrid exclaimed. "He's a bit under the weather."

"I'll get it," Harry said. "Where is it?"

"Top shelf of the cabinet," Hagrid called, as Harry was already running up the hill.

His muscles burned at first, but as Harry got to the top of the hill, his legs got their strength back, and he just took off. The trees flashed by, as he ducked around trees and over roots and rocks. The beast in his chest rumbled with satisfaction as he jumped over a tiny stream, landing lightly on the opposite bank.

Too soon, Hagrid's hut came into view. Harry ran up the steps to the hut and opened the door before he slowed down. Hagrid's hut looked the same as always, cluttered and rustic. Fang looked up from his blanket in the corner at Harry's entrance.

Harry found the tonic, gave Fang a pat, and tore out of the hut. His run back was slower, to let him enjoy the way the forest floor felt under his feet. Before, when Harry had been in the forest, it had always seemed dark and forbidding. Now, things looked clear and crisp and _right_.

Hagrid was leaning up against a rock, right where Harry had left him. "That didn't take you long at all," Hagrid said when Harry ran up to him, panting.

"I've been running a lot over the summer," Harry said, handing Hagrid the tonic.

"What else did you get up to in St. Louis?" Hagrid asked, pouring a healthy potion of tonic into the mouth of one dead ferret. "Never been there."

"All kinds of things," Harry said. "It was fun." He was about to say more, to explain about Nathaniel and Jason and Anita, when he realized that they were not alone. He turned slowly, as the creature stepped out of the shadows and into a patch of sunlight.

Buckbeak, the hippogriff, stood in the sunshine, his head high. He glared haughtily down at Harry. Never breaking eye contact with the creature, Harry bowed deeply. After a nerve-wracking couple of seconds, Buckbeak blinked, and bowed his head.

"See? Of course he remembers you," Hagrid said happily. He threw the medicated ferret to the hippogriff. "He'll be back up to snuff in no time at all."

"Good," Harry said, sitting against a log. He watched as the animal tore into its bloody meal, and felt his stomach rumble. Deciding that it was not the time to wonder why raw bloody meat was sparking his hunger, he deliberately turned away and said to Hagrid, "Where are we going to be having class this year?"

"Oh, all over," Hagrid said, throwing Buckbeak another ferret. "Now, let's see. Seventh years have a class this afternoon, right?"

"Professor McGonagall will hand out the schedules at breakfast today, I don't know yet."

"I think you do." Hagrid watched Buckbeak lick a bit of blood of his front talons. "We're in Greenhouse Four. Movin' around a lot, it's all part of the plan."

"How's that?" Harry asked immediately.

Hagrid gave Harry a look. "You'll find out later, same as everybody else."

It was worth a try. "I should get going. I've got to be at breakfast," Harry said, standing up.

Hagrid lumbered to his feet. "I'll go with you," he offered, throwing the last ferret to Buckbeak. "Got lots to prepare for the third years."

"Like what?" Harry asked, unable to not look at Buckbeak one last time. After all, Hagrid's idea of a good introductory class in Harry's third year had involved the hippogriff.

"Unicorns!" Hagrid declared. "Kids love 'em. And they tend to like the younger kids, really."

Harry lopped along at Hagrid's side as they walked out of the forest. "How much of the muggle fairy tales true, about unicorns?" Harry asked.

"What do those say?"

"You know, that only a virgin can touch a unicorn," Harry said. He hoped the shade from the trees was enough to hide his sudden blush.

"Nah, that's rubbish," Hagrid said decisively. "But unicorns, see, they can feel what yer intending. The pure a' heart have a better chance at touchin' 'em."

"So, the third years might be better at it than we did in fifth?"

Hagrid snorted. "Ain't a lot of difference between thirteen and fifteen, not to a unicorn," he said. "You lot have nothing to worry about."

 _Maybe not to a normal person, but I wonder how a unicorn would react to me now?_ Harry wondered. _If Hedwig and Fang reacted badly to me, then how could a unicorn be any different?_

"Come on, now," Hagrid said, seemingly oblivious to Harry's inner turmoil. "You don't want to be late, do you?"

"Suppose not."

Hagrid snorted, clapping a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder and sending him staggering. "Don't sound so gloomy. What could go wrong on yer firs' day back?"

* * *

Even taking a bit of time to change his socks and perform a quick cleaning spell on himself, Harry got to the Gryffindor table before anyone else, except for a couple of extremely alert first years. The two identical girls, twins whose names escaped Harry, reminded him so much of Hermione at that age that Harry had to hide his grin with a cup of tea.

While he was waiting for the food to appear, Harry dug out of his bag one of the books that Elsa had made him buy, the day before. Without knowing his schedule yet, he couldn't start any class reading, and the knowledge that Snape was going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had already sucked any joy out of that subject for Harry.

Harry barely had time to get through the book's introduction, which cast vampires in such a romantic air that Harry suspected Elsa was just having him on, when Seamus and Neville dropped to the table. "Reading already?" Seamus said, shaking his head.

"Why are you down here to early?" Harry asked, stowing the book in his bag. The previous year, Seamus hadn't made it to breakfast more than handful of days, as he'd slept until the very last moment before classes.

Neville and Seamus exchanged a look. "Ron's not exactly happy," Neville said, rubbing his chin.

"Like a bear with a sore head," Seamus clarified, as the food appeared on the table. Seamus set about applying himself to the sausages, putting Ron's mood behind him.

Harry didn't find it as easy to eat. Why was Ron angry? It couldn't have had anything to do with the Quidditch captain thing from the previous night, could it? He shook his head, and helped himself to some eggs. Whatever Ron's problem was, he'd figure it out later.

Hermione arrived a few minutes after Seamus and Neville, looking flustered. "I can't believe I slept in!" she hissed as she sat down beside Harry. "I'm so far behind already!"

"Behind on what?" Harry asked, his mouth full. He swallowed with a sip of tea, then said, "You haven't had any classes yet, how can you be behind?"

Hermione shook her head so hard that her hair whipped Harry in the face. "Not classes, my duties as Head Girl!" She didn't notice as Harry slipped some eggs and fruit to her plate. "I have to meet with the prefects, and the Head Boy, and ensure that everything is ready for this year--"

"All of which requires to you to eat," Harry interrupted. He poured her a cup of tea. "Food will make you feel better."

"You can talk, you've been up for hours!" Hermione said, looking over as Ginny and Lavender Brown joined the table.

"How do you know how long I've been up?" Harry asked Hermione, as he flashed Ginny and Lavender a smile and pushed the tea in their direction.

"The Fat Lady told us," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

Harry stared down at his plate, affronted. He was seventeen! He didn't need bloody portraits watching his every move like he was a child. He had only been back at school for less than a day and already he was being watched.

"Mail's here!" Lavender said. Indeed, hundreds of post owls were swooping into the Great Hall. "Finally!"

Harry moved his plate back as Hedwig landed on the table in front of him. She didn't have a letter, but Harry broke off a piece of bacon and held it up for her to eat, as a majestic-looking tawny owl landed in front of Ginny, holding out a letter for her in its talons. "Who's that from?" Harry asked as he scratched Hedwig's head.

"This is Mum and Dad's new owl, Strix," Ginny said, removing the letter from the bird. "Fred and George bought him as a present, after what happened to Errol."

"What happened to Errol?" The Weasley family owl, Errol, was ancient and rather daft.

Ginny sighed as she fed Strix a bit of sausage. "Mum was trying to send a letter to Dad at work, but somehow Errol ended up on a coal freighter to Ireland. They decided it was time to retire him."

Strix shook himself, then soared upwards. Harry was drawn back when Hedwig jealously dug her claws into his hand. He shushed her by stroking his hand over her feathers. He didn't remember her being this possessive before, but then he'd never spent a month away from her. He had just made a mental note to ask Hagrid about it, when across the table, Ginny choked pumpkin juice all over her letter.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked immediately, as Lavender patted Ginny's back.

Ginny coughed as she wiped juice off the paper. "Mum's gone mad!" she sputtered. "She's absolutely barking!"

"Something about the wedding?" Hermione asked.

Ginny looked up, eyes snapping with annoyance. "If only!" She thrust the dripping letter toward Harry. "Read that!"

Frowning, Harry took the letter and held it gingerly by the edges.

_... and Ginny, can you please let me know if Harry is all right? I had an encounter with the rather rude woman who brought him to the train station. She had one of those crosses on her neck, so like one of those fundamentalist Christian witches they have in America. I know Harry has had a rough time of it lately, but if he's been converted by one of those--_

Harry slapped the letter down. "What on earth happened yesterday?" he asked, horrified. "I mean... converted? Rude?" And had Mrs. Weasley seen him kiss Anita? What a disaster that would be, having to explain...

Ginny pulled out her wand and began to clean juice off her robes. "Like I said, barking. Of all the people to be converted by one of those bloody Followers--"

"What about the Followers of the Way?" Harry interrupted, leaning forward. Hedwig hooted loudly and hopped to the side. "What's wrong with the Followers of the Way?"

Ginny appeared startled by Harry's outburst. Hermione put her hand on Harry's shoulder and made him sit back. "They don't have good press over here," she said quietly. "They tend to keep their children from magical schools, and that is very much frowned upon."

Harry shook his head. "That's rubbish! Not about the school thing, but they're not bad! I met one in America, she's a police detective in St. Louis. She's really smart." He handed Ginny back the letter from Mrs. Weasley. "What could Anita have said to your mum?"

Ginny scanned the rest of the letter. "Mum doesn't say, but she keeps on being worried about you." She fiddled with her fork, thinking, then laughed. "Can you imagine what she'd have said if she knew who Anita was?"

Harry closed his eyes. "What a bloody mess!"

"You could just write to Molly," Hermione said practically, as she dug in her voluminousness bag, emerging with a piece of parchment and a quill. "Here."

"Thanks, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," Harry said with feeling. He pushed his plate to the side and started scribbling a note to Mrs. Weasley.

When he was half-finished the letter, he saw out of the corner of his eye someone with silver-blond hair approaching the table. He didn't look up, but he angled his arm a bit so he had a better reach for his wand.

"Look, it's Harry Potter," Draco Malfoy's voice sneered. The following twin grunting laughs told Harry that Malfoy's usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, were with him. "Signing Chocolate Frog cards for your fans, Potter?"

Harry frowned, then raised his head and looked around, pretending not to see Malfoy. "Did you hear something?" he asked Seamus.

Seamus shook his head, grinning. "Nah, didn't hear a thing."

Harry shrugged and went back to his letter. He could almost feel the rage coming off Malfoy, and his beast began to react. _Just try something,_ Harry silently taunted. _Try something, anything._

"Mr. Malfoy, please continue along to the Slytherin table," Professor McGonagall said, marching down the aisle. "Miss Granger, would you and the fifth-year prefects hand out the schedules to the seventh and lower year students?"

"Of course, Professor," Hermione said, jumping up and officiously waving over the two fifth-year prefects. Professor McGonagall dumped a pile of parchment into Hermione's arms and turned to Ginny. "Well, Miss Weasley, as you are the only sixth year up at this time of morning, why don't we start with your schedule for this year?"

Harry went back to his letter to Mrs. Weasley. He had the parchment filled with carefully reassuring words, at least to his mind, when he heard Ginny protesting about something.

"But Professor, I only got an Exceeds Expectations on my Potions OWL!" Ginny was saying. "I can't take Potions!"

"That was Professor Snape's requirement," McGonagall said. "Professor Slughorn will accept either an Outstanding or an Exceeds Expectations OWL. And you did mention that you were not enamoured with the idea of another year of Divination."

"I'm not, but I haven't any of the Potions books or ingredients!"

"There are some spare texts you can borrow, until you can arrange to buy the book," McGonagall said, taping Ginny's parchment with her wand. "There is your schedule for this year, Miss Weasley. And none too soon, your first potions class starts in less than an hour." McGonagall swept away down the table to the next unsuspecting sixth year.

Ginny stared down at her schedule. "A double block of potions first thing?" she said, incredulous. "This year is not starting well at all!"

"Could be worse," Harry said practically. "Could be double block with Snape."

Ginny made a face. "I've got that on Monday," she snapped. "When do you have Defence Against the Dark Arts?"

Harry unrolled the piece of parchment that someone had dropped at his side. "Let's see..." He frowned at his schedule. "I think this is wrong. Everything's in double blocks."

"That's what the NEWT students have!" Hermione said, dropping back to her seat. "All double blocks, once a week."

"Cool."

"Not cool!" Hermione snapped. "Do you know how much revision and work we will have in those spare blocks?"

"Lots?" Harry guessed, rolling up his letter and beckoning Hedwig over. "Come on, Hermione, lighten up!"

Hermione got to her feet in a huff. "You just don't understand!" she said and stormed away.

Harry stared at her retreating back until Hedwig nipped his fingers. "What was that all about?" he asked Ginny as he secured the letter to Hedwig's leg.

Ginny shook her head. "I knew she was worried about school this year, but..."

"Why would Hermione be worried about school?" Harry asked, lowering his voice and leaning across the table.

Ginny pushed her plate away and leaned in closer. "She's not sure what she wants to do, after her NEWTs," she said, their voices anonymously low in the loud Hall.

"I thought she knew."

"She said she's changed her mind."

"Weird." Harry frowned a little as he spotted a flash of dark blue silk around Ginny's neck, under her robes. "Is that..."

Ginny touched the scarf self-consciously. "Yes," she said a bit fiercely. "I thought it looked pretty."

"It is." Harry looked at Ginny for a moment. Her long red hair was down today, framing her face and spilling over her shoulders. "It's really pretty."

Ginny smiled a tiny smile, and slowly got to her feet. "I need to go send Mum a letter about potions," she said reluctantly. "See you at lunch, Harry."

Harry watched as Ginny walked away, toward the doors of the Great Hall. He had wanted to ask her about the previous night, and the things she told him about not being able to sleep, but it had been a private confession, one that wasn't up to being bandied about the Great Hall like the latest Quidditch scores. Maybe he could ask her later than night, after dinner.

 _More like after Dumbledore's meeting,_ Harry remembered with a thud. He checked his schedule again. He only had the one class that day, Hagrid's class, in the afternoon. He didn't know what he was going to do in the meantime. Maybe get more into Elsa's book. _Although if it keeps talking about vampire superiority, I might have to burn it._

"Here comes Ron," Lavender said, her voice a bit wistful. Harry looked up to see Ron approaching the table, very carefully not looking at Harry. He didn't have time to wonder what was wrong with Ron, however, as something over at the Ravenclaw table caught his eye.

Luna was arguing with Michael Corner, a seventh-year boy who had dated Ginny briefly two years before. Harry couldn't hear the argument, but it looked as if Michael was pressing something, and Luna kept shaking her head.

Finally, Luna jumped up and gathered her books up, then walked quickly out of the Hall. After a moment, Michael Corner stormed after her.

Not liking the look of that at all, Harry was on his feet in an instant, bag in his hand, to follow. He didn't run, not exactly, but he hurried. He wasn't even sure why he was so worried. There was something about the expression on Michael's face that made Harry uneasy.

The noise from the Great Hall spilled out into the stone corridor. Students passed back and forth, but Harry could immediately spot who he was looking for. As Harry watched, Michael caught up with Luna and took hold her arm, to swing her around.

"Luna!" Harry called, just as Luna jerked back from Michael, eyes blazing. They both turned to look at Harry. "Hey, Luna," Harry said again, making his voice light, even though it didn't match the anger he was feeling. "I was going to ask you about that Quibbler subscription we were talking about on the train, but if you're busy..."

"No, I'm not busy," Luna snapped, glaring at Michael.

"Lovegood--" Michael began.

"I'm in a bit of a hurry, Harry, I'm almost late for potions," Luna said, talking over Michael. "But if you're going toward the dungeons..."

"Right on my way," Harry said, giving Michael a smile that bared his teeth.

Michael turned on his heel and stomped off. When he vanished from sight, Luna let out a short breath.

"You okay?" Harry asked.

Luna glared in the direction where Michael had gone. "He's always--" She stopped herself, pressing her lips together. "Why did you come out here?"

Harry shrugged, following Luna as she turned toward the dungeons. "He didn't seem happy at all," Harry said, feeling a bit uncomfortable now. "For all that he's in Ravenclaw, he's a bit of an ape."

"That's one way of putting it." Luna adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder as they started down the stone steps. "I thought he'd gotten over this last year!"

"Gotten over what?" Harry asked. He wanted to know exactly what was going on, but letting Luna vent right now seemed to be the safer course of action.

Luna stopped and leaned against a wall, suddenly looking tired. "Nothing."

It didn't seem like nothing. Harry's mind raced with inappropriate things Michael might have tried to do to Luna. He remembered what she had said to him, after Sirius died, that people used to take her things and make fun of her. He also remembered how fast she was to volunteer to go with him to the Ministry. She was worth more than ten Michael Corners. "Next time he does something, you know what you can do?"

Luna fixed him with a very un-Luna-like stare. "What, come get you?" she said snappishly.

Stung, Harry tried to force an easy grin onto his face. "No. Hex him."

Luna pushed her hair back from her face, large eyes watching him. "I couldn't do that," she said after a minute.

"Yes, you can. Ask Ginny to show you her Bat-Bogey hex, she's brilliant at it."

Luna kept staring at him. Students walked past them on the steps, but it wasn't until they were alone again that Luna asked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Being my friend?"

"Being your-- What do you mean? Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?" Harry demanded. "You're a great friend! You're smart and you're quick and you believed me from the start, about Voldemort! How could I _not_ be your friend?"

Luna lowered her hands. Harry waited for her to say something about what he'd just said, but she just shook her head. "I have to get to class," she murmured. "I don't want to be late on my first day."

"Luna..."

"I'll see you later, Harry," Luna said in a rush, then clattered away down the steps.

Harry stared after her. Had he done the wrong thing, in going after Luna like that? He still didn't know what Michael Corner had wanted. He knew Ginny had dated him for a bit... but Luna and Ginny were different. Ginny was more quick to defend herself. She'd never have stood for anyone nicking her things. Luna had a very different approach to life.

 _I'll ask Ginny,_ Harry decided, turning back up the steps. _She's Luna's friend, she'll know what to do about Michael._

* * *

In the end, Harry didn't go back to the Great Hall. It was such a nice day that he went out of the castle and found a bench along the wall, to sit and read. He didn't want to deal with Ron at that moment, not really. He needed some time to be alone.

The vampire book, much to Harry's relief, quickly turned away from the romanticism and into a serious history of the European vampire lines. He had made it through several chapters, and had just reached the section on the Church's influence on European vampires, when a familiar name caught his eye.

 _Asher? What's he doing in here?_ Harry looked closer. There was a whole section in the book on Asher, an anecdote on what happened to him and his human servant, Julianna.

Harry felt his stomach twist as he read the pages. The Church had tortured Asher with Holy Water, giving him those scars, and they'd also burned Julianna at the stake as a witch.

When Harry was in third year, he'd written an essay about how the practice of burning witches never really got any real witches, as they could just escape with their magic. He hadn't really thought about what had happened to all the innocent people caught up in the witch-burning fever, the ones who couldn't get away.

 _Like Asher's Julianna_ , Harry thought miserably. He imagined it being Anita, being caught by witch-hunters and tied to a stake. She didn't have the kind of magic to stop them, she only had her guns. _Would she die the same way?_

Harry closed the book and leaned back, resting his head on the cool stones of the wall. _Why didn't the ministry stop those witch burnings?_ Harry wondered. _They had to have known that they were just muggles. They could have stopped it, saved those people's lives._ For the first time in his life, Harry wished that he'd paid more attention in History of Magic class. Maybe he could ask Hermione, she'd know where to look.

A group of students burst out of the greenhouses at the bottom of the lawn, heading for the castle. With a start, Harry realized that he'd been outside reading all morning. His legs were stiff when he stood up. _I've been reading for hours,_ Harry thought, amusement warring with the horror he was feeling about Asher and Julianna. _Anyone would think Hermione was rubbing off on me._

When he got to the Great Hall for lunch, the tables were half-full. Harry sat down, and was immediately surrounded by Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, the two Beaters from the Gryffindor Quidditch team, demanding information about the year's Quidditch practices. Harry had a hard time getting rid of them, and by the time he had promised to get a practice schedule arranged by the weekend and they were off, Ron had seated himself at the other end of the table.

 _What the hell is wrong with him?_ Harry wondered, starting to fume. This couldn't be about their argument last night. Ron wasn't able to hold a grudge like that, and it was such a stupid thing, anyway.

As soon as he finished lunch, Ron got up from the table and left without speaking to anyone. Harry hastily swallowed his last mouthful and hurried after Ron.

Ron had much longer legs that Harry, and he was already outside and on his way to the greenhouses when Harry caught up with him. "Hey!" Harry called, "Wait up!"

Ron came to a sudden halt. "What?" he snapped.

"What do you mean, what?" Harry snapped back. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Ron repeated, taking a step closer. He'd gotten even taller over the summer, and now he loomed over Harry. "There's nothing wrong with me, it's what's wrong with you!"

"There is nothing wrong with me!" Harry exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief. "You've been avoiding me all day!"

"I'm surprised you noticed." Sarcasm didn't suit Ron's voice at all. "Had your eyes on other things, haven't you?"

Harry threw up his hands. "All right, I give up. What are you talking about?"

Other seventh-year students walked around them on their way to the greenhouse, but neither Harry or Ron paid them any attention. "I'm talking about Ginny's blanket!" Ron hissed through clenched teeth.

"What about it?" Harry asked, completely puzzled.

Ron roughly shoved his book bag around his back. "It was lying right on your bed this morning! You couldn't even wait one day after kissing that woman, to have a go at my sister?"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Where do you get off, saying things like that?"

"You've been gone all summer, haven't you?" Ron shouted back. "Consorting with necromancers and vampires and lamias and those bloody vampire-sired... abominations!"

Ron's words hit Harry like a blow to the stomach. He didn't know where to start. He couldn't even begin to think about what he'd say about Anita and the vampires back in St. Louis, so... "Hermione said the Wizarding world considered anyone with a vampire father to be an outcast, but--"

"Oh, what does Hermione know?" Ron demanded. "That's what Mum told her, but they're not normal people, Harry, they're damaged! Not a one's ever done anything good! They go crazy and do bad things! And you made friends with one!"

Harry felt the beast in his chest stir, a slow anger rising. His own mother was one of these freaks Ron was talking about. She hadn't been damaged, or crazy.

"Who knows what other lies they fed you over the summer!" Ron's voice was beginning to sound a little desperate, but Harry no longer cared.

"Get out of my way," Harry said quietly, his voice as tight as he could make it, like he was trying to keep everything else in him bottled up tight. His mum wasn't evil, just like Anita and Damian and Jason and everyone back in St. Louis weren't bad people.

"Harry--"

"Move!" Harry said, letting a bit of a growl out of his mouth.

Ron stood his ground. "Stay away from my sister."

Harry stalked around Ron, giving him a wide berth, and headed angrily toward Greenhouse Four. He had never been so angry at his best friend. _Stupid prejudices!_ he fumed. _He doesn't know anything! And I will_ not _stay away from Ginny! I'm allowed to talk to her! He has no right to think that I'd ever do anything to her!_

Hagrid was already talking when Harry strode in the greenhouse door. "Oh, there you two are," Hagrid said. He shuffled his feet and said gruffly, "Two points from Gryffindor for the each of you, for bein' tardy."

Harry bit down the urge to scream, and went to stand over beside Seamus and Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Hufflepuff. He didn't look to see where Ron went.

"Now, as I was sayin'," Hagrid continued. "Today, we're goin' to meet a Fwooper. Anyone know why Fwoopers are tricky pets?"

* * *

After the class, Harry was the first one out the door, heading like a shot back to the castle. He didn't want to risk talking to Ron. Even three hours of hard work in class hasn't lessened Harry's anger. His day was turning out to the one of the worst ever. So far, he had Mrs. Weasley worried about him, Ron thinking he'd somehow molested Ginny in the night, Hermione snappish, Luna annoyed, and it wasn't even dinner yet.

The only consolation Harry had was that Hermione wasn't in Care for Magical Creatures, having been convinced by McGonagall the previous year that Arithmancy was a much more useful elective. She'd have been badgering Harry at that very moment, pestering him to explain what was wrong, and Harry knew he didn't want to explain, to anyone.

He took the stairs two at a time to Gryffindor tower. Dean Thomas was in their dorm, getting ready for dinner when Harry stormed through the door. Wisely, Dean didn't say anything to Harry, and quickly left him alone.

Harry dropped his book bag to his bed, as the anger left him, leaving only bitterness in its place. _My mum wasn't a bad person!_ he thought, almost desperately. Pushing aside the book bag, Harry leaned over his suitcase and dug around for his photo album. He opened it to the first page, to see his mum and dad holding him as a tiny baby, waving happily at the camera.

His mother looked so happy, so full of life, and so much like Damian that Harry's breath caught in his throat. She was holding baby-Harry so carefully, so tenderly. She would never have hurt him, ever.

Harry turned the pages until he got to a photo of Lily by herself, taken when she was in seventh year. There was a piece of folded paper on that page that Harry didn't recall being there before. As the teenage Lily smiled up out of the page, Harry laid the book in his lap and unfolded the piece of paper.

The note was written in a painfully careful script. Harry's fingers trembled as he read.

_Harry,_

_Learning that you are my grandson, and of Lily's blood, was a boon that I never expected in my life. She was an honourable warrior, and you carry her tradition with you. I do not know if we will ever meet again, but I know you will live honourably and bravely._

_May the gods walk at your side._

_Damian._

Harry lowered the note to the book, beside Lily's picture. His unhappiness towards Ron faded slightly. Damian was right. Lily was honourable and brave and smart. Nothing Ron could say, no stupid Wizarding prejudice, would change that.

He refolded the note and placed it back in the album, then hopped up off his bed to put the album in his trunk. One thing led to another, and Harry soon had his whole suitcase unpacked. He was just shrinking it down, to place it in the trunk, when the dorm door opened and Neville poked his head in the room. "Are you coming down to dinner?" he asked.

"Yeah, in a minute," Harry said, rubbing his hand through his hair.

"Good. Ginny wanted to know."

Harry's insides seized up. "Did she say why?" he managed to ask.

Neville shrugged. "She seemed a bit upset."

As Neville headed back out of the room, Harry wondered fleetingly if he could spend the next year avoiding everyone named Weasley. But hiding up in his room wasn't a workable option, and so he made sure that his robes and his glasses were straight, then headed for the common room.

The place was hectic, as everyone talked about their first day in classes. Luckily, neither Ron or Hermione was in sight.

Ginny was leaning against the windowsill, staring out at the grounds. The setting sun cast a strange shadow on her face, and for a moment, Harry thought he saw an echo of someone long-forgotten on her face. Then she moved, and it was gone.

He squared his shoulders as he walked up to her. "Um, Ginny? You okay?" he asked quietly.

She blinked around at him. "Yes," she said in a distant voice. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," Harry said. "What's wrong?"

Ginny tucked a strand of hair up behind her ear, and Harry saw that her other hand was cradling a ratty book against her chest. "Not here, okay?"

"Okay." Harry glanced around. The room was still full, and most people probably wouldn't head down to dinner for a few more minutes. "Want to leave?"

Ginny nodded, and let Harry guide her across the common room and out the portrait hole. Once out of the common room, her silence was even more noticeable. Harry grew worried. He didn't think her mood had to do with anything Ron might have said to her. Ron had spent his whole life ragging her, and she'd always shouted him down.

"In here," Ginny said after a few minutes, ducking them into a deserted classroom. Harry closed the door behind them as Ginny walked up to the front desk and carefully laid her book upon the wooden surface

"What's wrong?" Harry asked quietly. He walked up to the front of the room, keeping a wary eye on Ginny. She couldn't seem to look up at him. "Did anything happen in potions class this morning? Is Slughorn an okay teacher?"

Ginny nodded. "He didn't mind that I didn't have a book or anything. He gave me--" Ginny's voice broke off, and she caressed the cover of the ratty little book on the desk. "He gave me this."

Harry waited.

"And then he showed us a bunch of potions, and said we should be able to make most of them by the end of the year."

"Like what?"

"Veritaserum. Polyjuice. Amortentia."

"What's that last one?" Harry asked, curious. He'd never heard of it before.

Ginny's fingers stilled on the book. "It's a love potion," she said blankly. "It smells like different things to different people." She took a deep breath. "But today, we made Draught of the Living Death. Whoever made the best potion was going to get a vial of luck potion as a prize."

"So who won?"

In response, Ginny reached into the pocket of her robes and drew out a tiny glass vial of gold liquid. She held it suspended in the air between them.

"Congratulations," Harry said, not really sure what was wrong.

Ginny leapt away from the desk, suddenly furious. "It wasn't me, I didn't earn it!" she shouted. "I listened to that book, I did what it told me to do and this is what happened!"

"Ginny--"

"I can't do this again, Harry, I can't!" Ginny shoved the luck potion back into her pocket and stalked across the room, hugging her arms around herself. "I can't let this happen again!"

Harry walked up to the desk and flipped open the book. It was a potions text, but whoever had used it before had scribbled all over the inside pages, crossing out some ingredients and instructions and putting others in. "It's just an old textbook," he said, looking up.

Ginny whirled on him with lightning speed. "Just a textbook?" she echoed, voice edged with something too brittle. "Like it was just an old diary? No harm in writing in a diary, is there?"

"Ginny, this isn't Voldemort's diary!"

Ginny strode back over to the desk and flipped the book open to the back cover. She pointed at a tiny line of text. "It's not? Then who is the Half-Blood Prince?"

Harry bent over the tiny writing, squinting to have to read the line.

"You and I both know exactly what Tom was!" Ginny continued. "Muggle father, witch mother, that makes him a half-blood."

"Ginny," Harry said, prying the book out of her hands and setting it down, "Voldemort never told anyone his dad was a muggle, he hated being a half-blood."

Ginny crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the book. "So you think I'm crazy," she said.

"No, I don't." Harry sighed and held out a hand to her, but she backed up. "I just think that you need to think this through."

"What do you think I've been doing all afternoon?" Ginny demanded. "I just--" Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she blinked them angrily away. "Do you know it took me a solid year, after that, to start sleeping right? Mum had to sit up with me for a month, 'cause I'd have nightmares that didn't stop when I woke up."

"Ginny..." Harry was horrified. He hadn't know. She'd never made any indication that she'd been having troubles, but what had he expected, after she'd been enchanted for a whole year?

She walked across the room, into the deepening shadows. "Maybe I'm overreacting, but I don't..." She let out a ragged sigh. "I don't know what to do."

Harry looked at her, half in shadows, for a long moment. Then he picked up the book in one hand. "What are you doing after dinner?"

She turned to him. "Why?"

Harry held up the book. "I'm going to go see Dumbledore. You can come with me, and we can ask him about this."

"I don't know," Ginny said. "I mean, bother him?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "Of all the people in this school wanting to take up his time, Ginny, you've got more right than I do right now."

Ginny walked back into the light. "What if he thinks I'm overreacting?"

Harry gave her a look, happy in a way he couldn't explain that she was acting like herself again. She'd been scaring him. "We can tell him it was all my doing. He knows how goofy I am."

The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched. "He doesn't think you're goofy."

"How about silly? Fluffy?" Harry snapped his fingers. "Horkrump-like."

"Stop it!" Ginny said, trying not to smile.

"So you'll come with me?" Harry asked.

Ginny stared at him for a long moment, then nodded firmly. "You're right, the Headmaster will probably know what do to."

"He'd better," Harry said. "If not, then we're in trouble."

"Agreed," Ginny said vehemently.

Harry handed her back the book, which she slipped into her bag. "We should get some dinner. Are you hungry?"

"I didn't have lunch," Ginny confessed, her voice tight as if she had said too much.

"Well, I'm starving," Harry said in an exaggerated tone as they walked out of the classroom. "I could eat an entire--"

He stopped dead. Ron and Hermione were walking down the corridor toward him and Ginny. Ron's face grew dark when he saw Harry and Ginny together, but he just stormed off, leaving Hermione behind.

"Ron!" Hermione shouted after him. When he didn't stop, she threw her hands up in the air. "What is _wrong_ with him?"

"I don't know," Harry lied. "Going to dinner?"

Hermione fell into step beside Ginny. "It's been such a busy day," she said. "I never realized that the Head Girl has so much to do!"

"Are you going to be okay, with all your classes?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded firmly. "I'll make it work," she declared. "But I won fifty points in Arithmancy for being the first to work out the translation, so something good has happened today."

"Good," Harry said. "Because I got two points taken off for being late to class this afternoon."

"Harry!"

* * *

"Are you ready?" Harry asked Ginny. She faced the closed door of Dumbledore's office resolutely, and nodded. Harry reached up and banged on the door with the big brass knocker.

"Come in," came Dumbledore's voice. Harry opened the door and let Ginny go first into the room. "Ah, Miss Weasley, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said with a smile. "What can I do for you, Miss Weasley?"

Ginny strode forward purposefully, pulling the book out of her bag. "It's my potions book, sir." Her voice never wavered as she explained all that had happened in class that day.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, gazing at Ginny through his half-moon glasses, intent on every word. When she was finished her story, Dumbledore looked to Harry, who was standing by Ginny's side, then down at the book in her hands. "May I see that?" Dumbledore asked.

Ginny handed it over quickly. Dumbledore opened the book and leafed through the pages. The office was quiet as he did so, the only sounds coming from the portraits of past Hogwarts headmasters as they craned to get a good look at the book.

"You were wise to bring this to my attention, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said after a few minutes. "If this had been a book similar to Tom Riddle's diary, then it would have been an extremely dangerous object."

"If?" Ginny repeated.

Dumbledore laid the book on the desk. "Yes, Miss Weasley. This is merely a textbook, although it belonged to one of the most gifted potions students that Hogwarts has seen in the last century."

Ginny swayed for a second, then steadied herself. "So it's just a book? It's not-- But the directions, for the potion..."

"Are quite an improvement," Dumbledore said. He handed the book back to Ginny. "You are free to keep it, if you would like, on two conditions."

"Which are?" Ginny asked, putting the book hastily back into her bag.

"First, if you are to use any of the modifications to the potions in that book, I only ask that you research why they were added." Dumbledore stood up and walked around his desk. "Second, I must ask that you do not use any of the curses you may discover."

"I hadn't seen any curses," Ginny said with a frown.

"They are there," Dumbledore said. "If you have any questions at all, you are free to ask me." He held out his hand toward the door. "Unless there is anything else?"

Ginny shook her head. "No, sir. Thank you, sir." She gave Harry a thankful smile, then let Dumbledore usher her out of the office.

Dumbledore closed the door behind her, and stood there, with his hand on the doorknob. Harry waited until the Headmaster turned around. The words on his lips fell away when he saw the tired expression on Dumbledore's face.

Dumbledore saw Harry's reaction, and smiled faintly. "Please, Mr. Potter, have a seat," Dumbledore said, going back to his chair. He settled in as Harry dropped to the edge of the visitor's chair, impatient. "Yes, indeed." Dumbledore opened a tiny box on the desk and pulled out an old gold ring, set a cracked black stone. He laid this on the desk and looked up at Harry, all humour gone from his face. "Forgive me, Mr. Potter, but I have a great deal to tell you."

"About what?" Harry demanded, staring at the ring.

"About Voldemort." Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk. "About you. And about what needs to be done to stop Voldemort, once and for all."


	48. Pieces of You

* * *

"Stop Voldemort?" Harry repeated, stunned. "How?"

Dumbledore turned the ring around in his fingers, staring into its depths as if it held all kinds of secrets. "It was something that I have wondered about, dreaded, for a very long time, but never had any proof."

"Do you have the proof now?" Harry asked. His heart was pounding in his chest. If Dumbledore knew a way to stop Voldemort, then everything was going to be all right. Right?

Dumbledore let out a weary sigh. "I do." He set the ring down on the desk, then pulled a long, thin box out from a drawer. "Do you recognize this?" he asked as he opened the box and held it up for Harry to see.

Harry stood and leaned over the desk, looking intently at the object in the box. A heavy silver chain and locket glinted in the lamplight.

Frowning, Harry said, "It looks a bit... I can't remember."

Dumbledore laid down the locket. "It used to reside in the Black house."

Of course! Harry remembered now. That's why the locket looked familiar, he'd seen it in one of the cabinets when he'd been helping the Weasleys and Sirius clean at No. 12, Grimmauld Place, a long time ago. "So it belonged to Sirius's family?" Was this supposed to help them stop Voldemort?

"This locket did not belong to Sirius's family, Harry," Dumbledore said. He stared at Harry over his half-moon glasses, suddenly looking very old. "It belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

Harry's breath caught in his throat. "One of the founders of Hogwarts?" he asked, although he wanted to kick himself a moment later. How many Salazar Slytherins could there be in the Wizarding world?

"Yes." Dumbledore held up the cracked ring again. "This belonged to a family knows as the Gaunts, the last remaining descendants of Salazar Slytherin. Specifically, to a wizard named Marvolo Gaunt."

Harry's eyes grew wide. He didn't know the man Dumbledore was talking about, but he knew that name. "But that's Voldemort's grandfather! The Tom Riddle in the diary, he said he had his muggle father's name and his wizard grandfather's middle name!"

"That is correct."

Too wound up to sit still, Harry paced across the room to Fawkes's perch. The phoenix trilled a greeting before going back to his preening. "Why was Salazar Slytherin's locket at the Black house?" Harry asked. "And what's with the ring? What is so important about them?"

Dumbledore waited until Harry had turned away from Fawkes's perch. "It is in these objects that Voldemort has hidden parts of his soul," Dumbledore said mildly.

Harry nearly walked into a table. "He what?"

Ignoring the incredulous tone in Harry's voice, Dumbledore stood and went to a trunk along the stone wall of the office. "There is a deep and ancient magic that allows a wizard to split his soul," Dumbledore said, emotion creeping into his voice for the first time. He was angry, Harry realized. Very angry. "It is never spoken of, has been hidden from view for centuries."

"Then how did Voldemort learn about it?" Harry demanded.

"Pride." Dumbledore straightened up, holding something in his hands, something Harry couldn't quite see. "Another's pride is what led Voldemort to this knowledge. Years ago, this happened, but its malignant touch grows more and more with each passing day."

As Dumbledore returned to his desk, Harry tried frantically to wrap his brain around all that he'd just heard. Voldemort had split his soul? Into the ring and the locket? But then how did Dumbledore have these objects?

Harry sank back into his chair, his knees suddenly feeling weak. From the way the headmaster had been talking, splitting your soul probably wasn't an easy thing.

"How did Voldemort split his soul into two pieces?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Why do you say two pieces?"

"You said it was into the ring and the locket," Harry said slowly.

Instead of responding, Dumbledore lifted the object in his hands and laid it on the desk. Harry blinked at it a few times before he realized what he was seeing.

"The diary!" Harry exclaimed, gripping the arms of chair so hard the wood cracked. "Tom Riddle's diary!"

His head was swimming, with new information and half-forgotten fragments of memory. Voldemort had put a sixteen-year-old version of himself into the diary, the phantom Tom Riddle had said, back when he had been trying to kill Ginny Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets. Harry had thought at the time that it was just memories in the diary, but if what Dumbledore was saying was true...

"Voldemort put a piece of his soul in that thing?" Harry said weakly. "How?"

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and waved it at Harry's chair, fixing the shattered wood. "These are Horcruxes," he said. "Objects that hold part of a soul. With a Horcrux, the person can never really die when the body is killed. They just... exist."

"Like Voldemort did after he killed my parents." Harry felt sick.

"Indeed." Dumbledore paused as Fawkes fluttered over to the desk and settled on a silver perch. "You know the ghost, Moaning Myrtle?" Harry nodded. "She died when Voldemort first opened the Chamber of Secrets. For years, I thought her death was an accident."

"Wasn't it?"

"No." The word fell like a stone into the silence. Even the portraits were quiet, listening to Dumbledore's tale. "The creation of a Horcrux needs a death, a murder. Young Myrtle's was the first."

"Of how many?" Harry asked. He didn't want to know. He wanted to be somewhere else, doing something else, not listening to how Voldemort was killing people, for no other reason than chopping his soul into little pieces. Listening to this made him feel tired, like once he knew, he'd never be able to rest again.

"What do you know of numerology?" Dumbledore asked, stroking the top of Fawkes's head.

"Why?" Harry asked, sick of these words games.

"There is great power in numbers," Dumbledore said. "Some things are repeated a number of times, to gain more power. With death magic, there is a certain power in the number seven."

"Seven," Harry repeated dully. "Voldemort split his soul into seven pieces."

"I believe so, yes."

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "Voldemort killed people to split his soul into seven pieces. Let me guess, we can't kill him unless we find all those seven pieces?" He flung his hand at the objects on the desk. "We've got these three here, what about the rest? Rowena Ravenclaw's hairpin? An old shoe? Better yet, how about a grain of sand on a beach!"

His voice rose until the last words were shouted. The portraits on the wall muttered amongst themselves, but Harry didn't pay attention to them.

"It is interesting that you mentioned Rowena Ravenclaw," Dumbledore said, ignoring the outburst. "Once I realized that this locket belonged to Slytherin, I began searching, for other objects. I found that a young Voldemort, when he was known as Tom Riddle, had a certain interest in objects that had once belonged to the founders of Hogwarts."

"So all we need to do is find three other objects belonging to the other three founders of Hogwarts, that have pieces of Voldemort's soul in them, and then destroy them," Harry said sarcastically. "Then figure out where the rest are, then kill Voldemort. Right. Easy."

"Harry," Dumbledore chided, but Harry didn't want to hear it.

"What do you expect me to say?" he demanded, leaning forward in the chair. "How wonderful it is that we know all this? How brilliant it is that Voldemort killed people to make himself invincible? That he might just well _be_ invincible?"

"I expect only honesty from you, Harry. Nothing less."

Harry dropped his head into his hands. This was insane. Facing Voldemort was one thing. Facing him when Harry would never be able to actually kill him was a very different game.

 _Not a game_ Harry corrected himself. _There are no rules and no safe areas in this. If I'm going to do it, I can't ever stop._

What would Anita do? Harry tried to imagine Anita sitting here, having been told that Olaf had broken his soul into several pieces to make him harder to kill. She'd probably be yelling more than he had, but he didn't think that she would consider stopping, even for a second.

 _Right._ Harry lifted his head and met Dumbledore's gaze. "So where do we begin, sir?"

The corners of Dumbledore's mouth crinkled up into a tiny smile. "At the beginning," was all he said. "If you could again tell me how you destroyed Tom Riddle's diary, we will see if we can determine how to destroy the other Horcruxes."

Harry slumped down in his chair and proceeded to tell Dumbledore the story of facing the ghost of Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets. When he got to the part about how Fawkes had cried on his wound, healing him with phoenix tears, Dumbledore sat up straight. "Phoenix tears," he mused. He looked at Fawkes, who trilled softly. Harry felt his tension vanish with those delicate notes.

"Can we use that to destroy the Horcruxes?" Harry asked.

"We will see," Dumbledore said. Fawkes shook himself, then flew up to the top of a bookcase. "I suspect that each must be destroyed in its way. With the diary destroyed, and the ring broken, that leaves us with the rest. But not tonight."

Harry stood up and paced around the office, restless with sitting still for so long. "Does that mean that the locket is still a Horcrux?"

"It does."

Harry ran his fingers idly over a spindly silver instrument on a table. "Where are you going to put it while we try and figure out how to destroy it?" He was just curious, but something about Dumbledore's sudden silence sent a prickle down Harry's spine. "You're not going to keep it here," he said, turning back to Dumbledore.

"It would be best if you did not know their exact location, Harry, in case--"

"You can't keep those things here!" Harry exploded. "If Voldemort wants them, and he finds out they're here, he's going to come!"

"Hogwarts is the best protected place in the British Isles," Dumbledore said. There was a warning in his voice, but Harry was too angry to heed it.

"This place is full to the brim with little kids!" Harry said with a growl. He and his beast were equally angry. "Maybe the seventh years might be able to hold off a Death Eater attack, but what about the first years? If Voldemort attacks, he's not going to do it with a handful of Death Eaters like at the Ministry!"

"I have made my decision," Dumbledore said, finality in his voice.

Harry concentrated on breathing, trying to temper the anger and fear roiling about in his chest. Adults were supposed to protect kids, not put them in harm's way. Kids like Reece, without any idea of how to protect themselves... simple levitation charms and being able to turn a match into a needle wouldn't save them. Would he be able to start up Dumbledore's Army again, to teach defence skills to the younger children?

"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted his thinking. "Please, sit down, we have much more to discuss."

Mutinous thoughts in his heart, Harry grudgingly returned to his chair. His eyes fell on the silver locket. "How did you figure out that was a Horcrux?" he asked, curiosity winning over anger.

Dumbledore closed the box on the Horcrux and slid it back into a drawer. "It was only after Mundungus Fletcher was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, over the summer," he said. "We found this among his possessions."

Harry clenched his jaw. He didn't want to think ill of the dead, especially someone who'd been killed by the eternal pain curse, but he'd known Mundungus Fletcher had been nicking Sirius's stuff, and was suddenly angry all over again.

"For a time, I speculated that Bellatrix was sent after Mundungus because of the Horcrux, but his possessions were untouched. It looks as if he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time," Dumbledore said.

"She does tend to kill people like that," Harry said. He had to work to keep his voice even, as he remembered Anita screaming on the darkened forest floor; the sight of Clay's lifeless body... Bellatrix's half-eaten corpse.

"But no longer," Dumbledore said softly. Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes as Dumbledore continued, "About her death, Harry..."

"It was my fault," Harry said in a rush. "But I'm not sorry. She killed Sirius and Clay and Nigel Spencer and she tried to kill Anita and Jamil and Suzanne." He folded his glasses up and rested them on his knee, thinking hard. "Does Voldemort know she's dead?"

Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk. "It is a certainty."

"The Dark Mark?"

"Yes."

Harry stared at a spot of dirt on the edge of his robe's sleeve. "Are the people in St. Louis going to be in danger because of that?" he asked. "If Voldemort finds out what happened?"

"I do not think so, but one can never be certain," Dumbledore said.

Harry fiddled with his glasses. "Maybe I should let Anita know, if she's going to be in any danger."

"If you wish."

"What, no cautions against telling the muggles about magic?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.

"I think we both can agree that Anita Blake is no ordinary muggle," Dumbledore replied.

Nine tiny chimes sounded from somewhere in the room. Harry hadn't realized it was so late. "Neville said, on the train, that everyone thinks necromancers are evil," he said. "Do they?"

"It is a common viewpoint," Dumbledore admitted.

"Just as Parselmouths are usually seen as evil?" Harry pressed. "Or like kids with vampire fathers?"

Dumbledore's gaze seemed to bore into Harry. "Are you wondering about your mother?" he asked.

Sometimes, Harry hated how Dumbledore seemed to read his mind. "Yeah, maybe I am," he said defensively. "How would you feel, if you find out that your dad would have hated your mum, if he knew who her father was?"

Fawkes swooped down from his perch to land on Harry's shoulder. The phoenix rubbed his head against Harry's cheek. The beast in Harry recognized the gesture as comfort, even if it came from a animal unlike his own, and settled down.

"You do not give James enough credit," Dumbledore said gently. "He loved Lily, and he loved you. Knowing of Damian would have surprised him, but he would have reconciled that knowledge with his love."

Fawkes trilled, a soulful, melancholy tune so heart-breaking that Harry felt tears burning in his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered, reaching up to touch the bird's head.

Dumbledore waited for a few moments, then asked, "Harry, do you no longer need your glasses?"

"Huh?" Belatedly, Harry realized that he was still holding his glasses. "Oh, right." He shoved the glasses back on, displacing Fawkes to his knee.

"Another change from the werewolf?"

"Something like that," Harry said. "I mean, I really didn't shift, the other night. It's just, not everything's the same."

"I see." Dumbledore seemed pleased by that, but Harry wasn't sure why.

"But Reece," Harry said as Fawkes fluttered away. He didn't want to question Dumbledore's decisions, but he had to know what was going to happen to the young werewolf, in a month's time. "Is he going to be okay with everything here?"

"Yes, he is. I visited his family before his uncle would allow Mr. Trevelyan to attend Hogwarts." Dumbledore stood and walked to a table Harry hadn't noticed before, that held several small glasses. "Would you care for some hot chocolate?"

"Tea, if you have it," Harry said automatically. The thought of hot chocolate at this time of night made him a little queasy. While Dumbledore poured from a waiting teapot, Harry looked around the office. Things were the same as they had been the many times Harry had been here, with dozens of mysterious objects on tables, bookshelves full of ancient tomes, portraits of all the former Hogwarts headmasters gracing the walls.

Several of the portraits nodded at Harry as his gaze drifted over them. One portrait, however, glared at Harry as they made eye contact. "Really, consorting with necromancers and werewolves," sniffed the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black, former headmaster and Sirius's great-great-grandfather.

"I thought you'd approve of making friends with powerful people," Harry snapped back. "Especially that sort."

"One doesn't make friends with werewolves, boy," the portrait retorted in its thin, weedy voice. "One simply delays being eaten."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dumbledore approach, but he didn't take his eyes off the portrait. "Shows what you know about werewolves then, doesn't it?" Harry said, smiling wide enough to show his teeth.

Dumbledore silently handed Harry his tea, and Harry quite deliberately turned away from the portrait. While Dumbledore moved back to his side of the desk, Harry had a sudden thought.

"Are there any portraits of my parents, sir?"

"No, there are not," Dumbledore said, not making any sign that he found the question at all strange. "Even though James was from a family that typically had portraits done when a son or daughter graduated from Hogwarts, he always found a way to avoid the sitting. He said it made him think too much of dying."

"How about Sirius?" Harry asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

"Sirius left his family's home as soon as he could. He held even less store in portraits."

"Right," Harry said, surprised at how much it hurt. Even if it wouldn't be them, just a picture that talked like them, it still might be nice. Or maybe it would make things worse, Harry didn't know.

Taking a sip of his black unsweetened tea, he tried to drag his mind back to the problem at hand, of Voldemort and the Horcruxes. "How did that locket get to the Black house?" Harry asked. "You'd think they'd have put it somewhere special, not in that dirty old cabinet."

"One would think that, yes." Dumbledore took a sip of the amber-coloured liquid in his glass. "Something is not right about the situation, of how this locket came to be in the Black house, and later in Mundungus's possession." He shook his head. "But what I do know, Harry, is that I can rely on you on this matter now. This is not the way I would have chosen to tell you this information, but we are running out of time." He stared into his glass. "Many things have had to be changed."

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "What are we going to do to find the remaining Horcruxes?" he asked. "Is there some--"

Dumbledore held up his hand, cutting Harry off. "These are all matters that can be dealt with at our next meeting," he said. "It is getting late, and you need to be back in your dormitory before curfew."

"But sir--" Harry tried to protest.

"We will meet again in a few days, if that is all right with you," Dumbledore said. Harry knew he was being placated, and he had to swallow his annoyance to nod. "Very well. Before you go, I have something for you."

The Headmaster stood and walked to one of the bookcases that lined his office. Harry craned his neck, trying to see what sorts of titles were on the shelves, wondering what books Dumbledore would have hidden up here.

"Here we are." Dumbledore returned with a dusty old book, which he handed to Harry. "Talking of your father and Sirius reminded me that you might like this book."

Curious, Harry looked down at the cover of the book. The golden script was almost rubbed off the cover, and it was with great difficulty that he read the title out loud. "Most Mysterious Tales of the Animagi?" He looked up at Dumbledore. "What's this? A book on Animagi?"

"More specifically, a book on how to become an Animagus," Dumbledore said, his eyes regaining that old familiar twinkle. "It takes the most gifted of wizards years to even attempt the first transformation, so I have no qualms about giving you this book at this stage, for some extra reading."

Harry's stomach lurched. Him? Become an Animagus like his dad? Like Sirius?

"But I will tell you what that book does not, Harry," Dumbledore continued. "There are spells, meditations, trances, but all the preparation comes down to one thing: The wizard needs to accept the animal he will become."

Harry ran his fingers over the leather binding of the book, not sure what do say.

"No matter what that book says, Harry, the hardest part of the exercise, all of the training, is part of letting the animal overcome the human part of the mind. Once a wizard accepts the animal, he is very close to becoming an Animagus."

"Is that so?" Harry said, his mouth strangely dry.

"It is," Dumbledore said. "Now, you should return to your dormitory. I will see you in a few days."

"Right." Harry climbed to his feet. His head was spinning. All he wanted to do was to sit down and read this book right now. Could he be an Animagus? Like his dad and Sirius? Would the animal he already held inside of him prevent him from becoming an Animagus, or would it make it easier?

"And Harry?" Dumbledore said as Harry was in the doorway. "This evening, bringing Miss Weasley to discuss her potions book. That was a very wise decision."

It seemed like so long ago, that Harry and Ginny had walked up to Dumbledore's office together. "She was worried," Harry said, then stopped himself. "With good reason, too."

Dumbledore nodded. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night, sir," Harry said, heading for the revolving staircase. The door shut behind him, and soon he was walking though the hallways of Hogwarts, heading for Gryffindor towers.

 _Two days,_ Harry thought as he quickly shrunk the book and shoved it deep into a pocket. _Two days until I see Dumbledore again, and I can ask him more about being an Animagus--_

Harry stopped dead in his tracks in the stone corridor. _He distracted me!_ Harry realized. _Dumbledore didn't want to talk about the Horcruxes anymore and so he gave me this book on Animagi and I fell for it!_ He felt like kicking himself. How stupid could he be?

Good mood gone, Harry stormed silently along the hall. He was almost at Gryffindor tower when his senses prickled as he approached a corner. Not sure why, he slowed to a near-stop and made sure he had a clear grab at his wand.

Moments later, Snape whipped around the corner. He started slightly when he saw Harry standing there, waiting, but he covered his surprise with a snarled smirk. "Why are you out so late, Potter?" he spat. "Out past curfew on your first day back?"

"I was just seeing the Headmaster," Harry said. His annoyance with Dumbledore, mixed with his customary dislike for Snape, stirred the animal that lurked in his body. Harry suddenly felt stronger, more agile, and more than willing to attack an enemy.

Snape smiled coldly. "That will be five points from Gryffindor for being rude to a teacher," he said. "Shall we go for ten?

Harry glared at Snape. Did he know about the Horcruxes? He was a spy for Dumbledore, Harry knew, but did that go two ways? Would Snape tell Voldemort that there were pieces of the Dark Lord's soul hidden in Hogwarts?

A suit of amour at the other end of the hall exploded in a shower of metal. "Peeves!" Snape shouted, attention momentarily diverted from Harry. Taking the opportunity, Harry ducked around the teacher and ran around the corner, away from Snape and the temptation for violence.

 _I can't attack a teacher, even if it is Snape!_ Harry thought, trying to wrest control from the animal. _The danger's supposed to be gone, because I didn't become a werewolf!_

Running up three flights of stairs took an edge off his anger. By the time he reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Harry decided that he should see if his Occlumency would stop him from reacting like this. He had a three-hour Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Snape on Friday morning. If a thirty-second confrontation in a corridor set him off, all kinds of bad things could happen in class.

"Monk's Hood," Harry panted to the Fat Lady. She looked him up and down, then swung the portrait open without a word.

_Great, I'm pissing off portraits too._

Even so late, the room was still full of students wound up from their first day of classes. Harry spotted Ginny and Hermione bent over a book at one of the tables.

"Harry!" Hermione said as Harry dropped into a chair beside them. "How was your meeting with Dumbledore?"

"Fine," Harry lied. Should he tell Hermione about the Horcruxes? Part of him wanted to, but he knew that she'd tell Ron. Perversely, Harry didn't want Ron to know anything about this, not while he was still acting like such a prat.

The look Hermione gave him indicated that she didn't believe him. "We were just going over some potions work," she said.

"Don't suppose you know why silver would affect the Draught of Living Death?" Ginny asked, not looking up from her parchment.

"Not really." Harry shifted around in his chair. He no longer wanted to look at the Animagus book that Dumbledore gave him. Not right away, anyway. He watched Ginny's quill scratching over the parchment, and out of nowhere came an idea. "What kind of living death?"

"What do you mean?" Ginny said, finally raising her head.

"Living dead like zombies, or living dead like vampires?"

"Why?" Ginny asked, but Hermione was already digging in her book bag. Pulling out a library book, she flipped pages frantically.

"Like vampires more than zombies," Hermione said excitedly. It looked like Hermione was as smart as ever, Harry thought, amused.

"Silver can hurt a vampire," Harry explained to a confused-looking Ginny. "A silver bullet can kill a young vampire, where a lead bullet won't do any more than piss it off. With zombies, silver doesn't do anything; you need cold steel to deal with it."

Ginny stared at him. "How do you _know_ this?" she demanded.

"Just stuff I learned over the summer," Harry said with a shrug.

"Here it is!" Hermione interrupted. She dropped the book on the table. "This section, here!" She bent over the pages, oblivious to Harry. Ginny gave him an apologetic look, then leaned closer to Hermione to read.

Harry leaned back in his chair and watched as they began arguing quietly over something in the text. The normal scene, with the sounds of the common room in the background, soothed him, and he made himself turn his thoughts back to the meeting with Dumbledore.

 _Maybe there's a reason he didn't want to talk more about the Horcruxes,_ Harry admitted grudgingly. _Maybe he had to meet someone. Or maybe he didn't know any more, and he didn't want to admit that._

And it was rather decent of the man to give him that book on Animagi. He didn't have to. Maybe after Harry went up to his room, he could take a look in that book, see if he could become an Animagi. _Like my dad._

What kind of animal might he become? Various animals flitted through his mind, big ones like lions and tigers and leopards. Nothing seemed to fit, though, until he remembered the way the wolves moved at the Lupanar on the night of the full moon. The image stuck in his mind, of Jason and Richard and Sylvie and all the pack, of fur and claws and sharp wicked teeth.

"Are you still studying?" Ron's voice interrupted Harry's pleasant daydream. The redhead had come up behind Hermione's chair. "It's been hours."

"We've got a lot to work on, Ron," Hermione said, a bit irritated.

Ron clenched his jaw, and his eyes slid from the open books on the table to where Harry sat. "You don't seem to be helping."

The undercurrent of anger in Ron's voice set Harry on edge. He hadn't forgotten Ron's angry and ugly accusations from earlier in the day, nor the demand to stay away from Ginny. He didn't see why Ron was so angry at him, and for no reason.

Harry stood in a fluid motion, which put him facing Ron. He had to look up to meet Ron's glare, but the height difference didn't really matter. He wanted to hurt Ron, like Ron was hurting him. He could, too, say something that would rip Ron apart, leave all his jealousies and fears on the floor for everyone in the common room to see. Harry knew his best friend better than anyone, and he knew how to hurt him the most.

They were just words. Looking up into Ron's angry eyes, Harry knew could destroy their friendship, could hurt Ron as much as Ron seemed intent on hurting him.

Harry turned around and walked away without a word.


	49. It's Always Darkest

* * *

"Harry!"

"What?" Harry asked blearily, trying to roll away from the person who was shaking him. "G'way."

"Did you drop Transfiguration?" Seamus's voice percolated through Harry's stupor. "Your class starts in five minutes, you'd better get moving."

Class. Harry's eyes snapped open, and he saw Seamus looking down at him, a smirk on the boy's face. "What time is it?" Harry asked, pushing himself up and fumbling around for his glasses.

"Like I said, five minutes until Transfiguration," Seamus said, going back to over to his own bed. "Neville wondered where you were and I told him I'd look for you up here after breakfast."

"Oh, fuck," Harry swore, leaping out of bed. He'd fallen asleep still wearing his robes, reading the animagus book Dumbledore had given him. "McGonagall's going to kill me."

"Depends on how fast you can run," Seamus said, laughing. Harry shoved the animagus book into his bag along with his other school stuff, and bolted.

The previous year, Harry and Ron had clocked the distances between Gryffindor tower and their classrooms. McGonagall's class hadn't been the farthest, but Harry had never been able to make it there in under five minutes. Hoping that he wouldn't cross Filch's path, Harry ran as fast as he could.

The corridors passed in a blur. Harry bounded up a staircase three steps at a time, neatly ducking around a pair of startled Hufflepuff girls, and turned down the corridor to McGonagall's classroom. He slowed as he approached the open door, then peeked inside.

McGonagall's back was to the door, as she was writing on the chalkboard. The rest of the class was already seated.

Trying to breathe softly, Harry padded into the room and slipped into the first empty seat, beside Padma Patil. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, then shook her head.

"As I was saying, today's shortened lesson is a review of what we learned last year," McGonagall said as she turned around. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Harry. He tried to give her an innocent smile. "Here is a list of the transfigurations you need to accomplish in the next two hours. Begin."

There was a scramble as students headed to the side of the classroom to collect objects. While Padma went to assemble their objects, Harry pulled his textbook out of his bag, looking around the room. Ron was sitting with Hermione in the front row. The redhead glanced around and locked eyes with Harry.

Harry deliberately broke the eye contact first. He remembered what Seamus said, that it had been Neville who wondered where Harry was. Not Ron.

Padma sat back down and laid a series of objects they needed to transfigure on top of the desk, then pulled out her wand.

"Don't you need the textbook?" Harry asked, flipping the pages to the section on transfiguring metal into a living creature.

"No, I don't," Padma said scathingly. "I actually know what I'm doing."

Harry paused, then turned in his seat to look at her. She sounded angry, but why? Harry hadn't done anything to her. They had barely seen each other since the Yule Ball in fourth year. "McGonagall knows how bad I am at this," Harry said, guessing that her attitude might have something to do with class. "If anything, I'll make you look good."

Padma glared at him. "This isn't about class."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked, lowering his voice so he couldn't be heard under the din of incantations.

Padma pointed her wand at the iron nail on the desk, watching as it wriggled and turned effortlessly into a kitten. "You tell that friend of yours that if he ever makes my sister cry again, I'll--"

"Wait, what?" Harry interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

Staring at the tiny grey kitten washing its paw with a pink tongue, Padma said, "I _know_ Parvati gossips, but that's no excuse for Ron to scream at her over breakfast."

"Why would he do something like that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"Don't you know?"

"Ron and I haven't been, you know, talking," Harry said, stroking the kitten's head. "I wasn't at breakfast. But I'll talk to him."

"Good." Padma waited until Harry moved his hand, then turned the kitten back into an iron nail. She gave Harry a mildly conciliatory look. "Do you want to alternate, or work on the ones I've finished?"

"I'll go after you," Harry said with a tiny smile. "You can show me how it's done."

For some reason, that made Padma blush.

* * *

"Mr. Potter, please stay behind after class," Professor McGonagall's voice rose above the noise of students cleaning up.

"Brilliant," Harry muttered. Padma cast him a sympathetic glance as she left the room.

Draco Malfoy snorted as he walked past with Pansy Parkinson, another Slytherin. Harry was saved from hexing Draco as McGonagall stepped up to his desk, a stern expression on her face. "Mr. Potter, if you will."

Obediently, Harry collected his books into his bag. He saw Ron and Hermione approaching, and concentrated on capping his ink bottle until his friends were gone.

He trailed along after McGonagall to the front of the room. She ushered him into a chair beside her desk, and swept her black robes neatly around her as she sat in her own chair.

Deciding to take the offensive, Harry said, "I'm sorry about being late to class, ma'am."

McGonagall fixed him with a glare. "I heard about yesterday's tardiness to Professor Hagrid's class, Mr. Potter. If this keeps up, I'll dock points from Gryffindor myself."

"Yes ma'am."

"Although you weren't late," she conceded. "But cutting it that fine will not be tolerated."

Harry wasn't sure what she wanted him to say. If she wasn't going to dress him down over being late, why had she kept him behind?

"Now, Mr. Potter, I am aware that you have Defence Against the Dark Arts tomorrow morning," McGonagall continued. "I would like Gryffindor to have a chance at the House Cup this year."

So this was about Snape. Harry took a steadying breath. "Then maybe I should change my class schedule," he said evenly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"I'm not being ridiculous!" Harry retorted. "Snape doesn't like me, no matter what I do!"

"Professor Snape, Potter," McGonagall corrected. "And Professor Snape usually has reason to deduct points from you, if I'm not mistaken."

Harry fixed his eyes on a birdcage on the far side of the classroom. He couldn't believe he had been called onto the mat to be told to behave himself. _How old do they think I am?_ he thought indignantly.

"Potter," McGonagall said, drawing his attention back to her.

"I won't deliberately antagonize Professor Snape, ma'am," Harry said, as blankly as he could.

A wave of weariness passed over McGonagall's face, making Harry frown. He always forgot how old she was. She'd be Hagrid's age, and he was pushing eighty. McGonagall always looked so formidable.

"You really are different from your father," McGonagall said, surprising Harry.

"How so?" he asked, forgetting his irritation at her, and leaning forward slightly.

She sat up straighter, as if she'd said too much. "Your father never would have apologized for being late to class, for starters," she said. "Now, we have a few minutes. Let's talk about Quidditch."

Harry bit down his protest. After six years, he knew that he'd never be able to get Professor McGonagall to talk about something she didn't want, and Harry suspected his similarities and differences with his father fell into that category.

"I was thinking," Harry said, "If we have the house tryouts next weekend, then we'll have enough time for everyone to practice..."

* * *

After fighting his way through a horde of eager first-year Ravenclaws all trying to enter McGonagall's class at once, Harry clattered down staircase after staircase, until he was outside of the portrait entrance to the kitchens. He reached up and tickled the painted pear, which promptly turned into a handle.

Turning the handle, Harry climbed into the kitchens, where over a hundred busy house elves hurried around, arranging plates on tables. A strangely clad house elf detached itself from the chaos and dashed over to Harry.

"It is Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed, his bulging green eyes wet with happy tears. Harry bent over to try and shush the ecstatic house elf, before he interrupted everyone else.

"Dobby, I need a favor," Harry said softly, going down on one knee.

Dobby whipped out an orange sock that looked suspiciously like the one Harry had given him the previous year for Christmas, one of Uncle Vernon's most foul hand-me-downs, and wiped his cheeks. "Harry Potter asks Dobby a favor!"

Harry winced. The last thing he needed was for Dobby to attract--

An old house elf, ancient and ugly, shuffled closer. "The master interrupts the work, nasty master boy," Kreacher muttered loudly under his breath.

Harry was not thrilled to see Kreacher, whose actions had led directly to Sirius's death. "Kreacher," he said sharply. The house elf's head bobbed from side to side, not looking up. "Kreacher, go stand over there for ten minutes," Harry ordered, pointing at the far side of the kitchen. He'd learned the hard way to be very specific with the orders he gave Kreacher.

Muttering the whole time, Kreacher shuffled away.

Harry turned back to Dobby, who was looking delighted at Kreacher's dismissal. "What can Dobby do for Harry Potter?"

"I'd like a snack," Harry said, then hastily amended, "A small one. I slept in."

Before Harry finished his sentence, Dobby had leapt away, returning in a few minutes with a paper-wrapped package. Harry shoved it into his bag, hoping nothing would leak.

"Thanks," Harry said. His voice wasn't loud, but he knew that all the house elves were listening in. "I'm sure it will be delicious."

"Harry Potter can come back any time!" Dobby said, escorting Harry to the door. The portrait closed on the kitchen bustle, and Harry was left alone in the silent corridor.

He let out a sigh, shaking off the anger at seeing Kreacher, then headed back for the stairs. His next class was Charms, just before dinner. If he played his cards right, he might be able to avoid seeing anyone until class.

 _Not anyone, just Ron,_ he clarified. What was _wrong_ with Ron? Freaking out on Harry was one thing, even if it was over such a stupid thing, but yelling at Parvati in front of everyone at breakfast? It didn't make any sense.

Harry toyed with the idea of going up to the library, where he was sure not to encounter Ron, but he knew that if he tried to eat his snack in there, Madame Pince would turn him into a watering can. The Gryffindor common room was out, which left going outside. At least the weather was nice.

The morning break was over, and Harry encountered few students as he tromped out the front doors, opened wide to let in the sunshine. He found a convenient spot in the sun on the front steps, and settled down to investigate his snack.

Dobby had performed a miracle in those few minutes, having provided Harry with three large roast beef sandwiches, an apple, and something that might have been a slice of chocolate cake before it had been squished. Harry tucked into the sandwiches like a starving man.

It was only after he had almost finished the second sandwich that he realized he was no longer alone on the steps. Turning his head, Harry saw little Reece sitting on a lower step, staring at him.

"Can I help you?" Harry said, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.

Reece shook his head. "We were supposed to have flying class, but it got cancelled," he explained. "I'm just waiting until lunch."

"Why did class get cancelled?" Harry asked, handing over his last sandwich to the boy.

"The professor had a student fall off his broom this morning," Reece said. He opened the sandwich up and ate the bits of meat off the bread as he spoke. "Does that happen often? Falling from so high up?"

Recognizing the nervousness in Reece's voice, Harry shook his head. "Nah, not hardly ever. I've been playing Quidditch for years, and I've only fallen off my broom once. Maybe twice."

Reece tried to smile. "I'd rather be running," he said softly.

"It's a whole different thing," Harry agreed. "Running's fun too."

Folding the now empty slices of bread back together, Reece snuck a sideways glance at Harry. "How long have you been one?" he asked.

"A w--" Harry cut himself off and looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but just in case, he decided to be very careful about what he said about werewolves. "I'm not, not really."

Reece frowned. "But at the station... that lady..."

"That was my friend," Harry said quickly. "I got into a fight with... one of them, in the summer, but I didn't change."

"Oh." Reece looked so downcast, Harry tried to figure out what to say to make him feel better.

"But I changed a bit," he said. "Richard, he's the, um, uncle, he said I could go back and be their vargamour if I wanted." Reece had shifted the title 'Ulfric' into 'Uncle' the previous day, hadn't he?

Reece's jaw dropped. "They want you to be the vargamour?" he squeaked. "Our uncle said he didn't want one unless he was real powerful. Are you like that?"

"Sort of," Harry said, wondering if he was digging himself a deeper hole. "That family, it's a little... different."

"That is so neat," Reece said, still wide-eyed.

"So, how about you?" Harry asked, firmly turning the conversation away from him. "How long have you been... you?"

"Oh, since I was five," Reece said matter-of-factly, not noticing as Harry almost choked on a piece of apple. "Someone was mad at my dad, who's also like me, and something happened. So I'm like this."

"Did the person who was mad at your father do it?" Harry asked, flabbergasted. How could anyone attack and infect a child like that?

"No, he made my dad do it," Reece said, looking out at the lake. "My dad doesn't like talking about it."

Now Harry was beginning to feel distinctly ill. Making a werewolf infect his own child?

"But it's okay," Reece said. "Everyone was nice and protected me. It happened when I was just a little kid." The almost happy expression on his face faded. "It's different here."

"Different how?" Harry asked. "Is anyone bothering you in the dorm?"

"No, no," Reece said hastily. "They're all nice. It's just..." He looked down at an ink stain on his finger. "The beds are too cold," he mumbled.

"Too cold?" Harry considered that. For a werewolf, who was probably used to sleeping near other werewolves, the single beds in the Hogwarts dorms would probably feel downright freezing. "Have you met Professor Flitwick yet?"

Reece nodded. "We had Charms this morning."

"So find out when his office hours are, and ask him if he can show you a heating charm," Harry suggested.

"You can do that?" Reece exclaimed.

"Of course you can," Harry said. "It's magic, you can do almost anything."

Reece jumped to his feet. "Thanks!" he said. "I'll go see when he's free!"

Harry didn't have time to say anything before the boy darted off. Amused, Harry wrapped up his apple core and the sandwich wrappings. _Hopefully I didn't just convince that kid to try and set his bed on fire,_ he thought.

Pausing with the wrapping in his hands, Harry tried to get his head around what Reece had just told him. His Ulfric sounded like a good guy, but Harry wondered how Reece's father felt about infecting his son. _Richard felt bad enough about infecting me; what if I had been his son?_

Harry was drawn back to himself as Hedwig landed beside him in a flutter of white feathers. He straightened his back and held out a hand. "Come here, girl."

The owl hopped gracefully onto the offered hand, then held out a letter to Harry. He took it and, feeding scraps of roast beef to Hedwig with one hand, opened the letter, which could only be from Mrs. Weasley.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry I missed you at the train station on the first. I'm glad to hear that you had a good summer. You are of course invited to the Burrow for Christmas; Arthur would love to see you._

_I am rather curious about your companion from the train station. You didn't say where you met her. I had hoped to have a chat with her, but she seemed rather in a hurry._

_Write back when you get a chance, dear. I would love to hear how your trip to America went._

_Molly._

Harry folded the letter back over with a sigh. "Hedwig, what am I going to do with all these Weasleys?" he asked.

The bird glared at him out of one eye, and tossed her head. Harry stroked her head, then let her fly away.

What _was_ he going to do? Ron wasn't speaking to him, Ginny was... well, Harry wasn't sure what Ginny was doing, and Mrs. Weasley was prying for details on Anita. She'd been a lot more tactful than in her letter to Ginny the previous day, but the thinly disguised demand for information set Harry's teeth on edge.

"You there!" Filch shouted from somewhere inside the doors. "Get off those steps!"

Harry grabbed his bag and stormed back into the castle. Suddenly, the library wasn't looking so bad.

* * *

"You comfortable down there?" Ginny asked, bending over the table to peer at Harry sprawled on the ground by the stone wall.

"Yeah," Harry said shortly. "The library needs to buy some new chairs."

Ginny smiled slyly at him. "Those chairs are older than Dumbledore."

"All the more reason." Harry pressed his back flat on the stone floor. Spending most of the morning in the library, then heading back to the same chair after Charms and before dinner had cramped his back up something awful. Being ignored by Ron at dinner did nothing to help his foul mood, either.

"Suit yourself," Ginny said, sitting back up to read her potions book.

Harry levitated another book and opened the pages. So far, the animagus book hadn't been very helpful. Elsa's vampire books were more interesting, and Harry would much rather have been reading those, but Professor Flitwick had assigned the seventh years a foot-long composition on illumination spells. Not remembering anything about such spells meant Harry had to reread his texts before he could even think to start writing.

The fact that starting his homework early distracted him from having to think about Voldemort's horcruxes was only a side-effect.

Harry read until his eyes began to cross, then he finally laid the book down at his side and closed his eyes. The stone floor was cool under his back, solid and real. He wondered if he could just lay here forever.

 _If I never move, I don't have to do to Defense Against the Dark Arts tomorrow, and maybe Snape will kick me out of the class,_ Harry thought hopefully.

The commotion in the common room grew as more students returned from dinner. Sheltered from the room by a sofa and Ginny's chair, Harry didn't bother moving.

Crookshanks wandered by, stepping up onto Harry's chest and sniffing at a spot of gravy on his robes, before settling down on his chest. It made Harry strangely happy, that Hermione's cat didn't mind him being different.

"You always know what's going on, don't you?" Harry murmured, letting the cat bat gently at his quill.

"Leave off, Ron!" Hermione's voice sounded, not loud, but nearby. Harry froze. He'd left Hermione and Ron down at dinner. But of course they would come back up here. He just couldn't see a damned thing from where he was lying.

"Hermione, he's acting weird!"

" _He's_ acting weird?" Hermione snapped. From the sounds of things, she dropped onto the nearby sofa. Another person sat as well. Probably Ron.

"You two should know..." Ginny started. Harry reached out a hand and hit her in the leg, just as Ron shushed her.

"Ever since he came back from St. Louis, with its weird necromancers and freaky vampire children, it's like he'd got some kind of stick up his damned arse!" Ron continued.

"Ronald Weasley, you be quiet!" Hermione said, sounding very angry. "He's your friend, you're supposed to talk to him about these things, not just start jumping to conclusions--"

"What other kind of conclusions am I going to jump to?" Ron protested. "Necromancers are one thing, it's just magic, but he said he'd made friends with one of those-- those abominations!"

Harry stared up at the stone ceiling, almost hidden in shadows. Something twisted in his chest at Ron's words. All of a sudden, he didn't care what Ron wanted anymore, or why he was really mad at Harry.

All that mattered was that Ron kept saying these things about Harry's mother. Some things just didn't have any excuse.

Pushing Crookshanks to the side, Harry sprang to his feet from behind the sofa. Hermione squealed when Harry popped into view; Ron leapt off the sofa and nearly backed into a table.

"Do you want to see a picture of one of these people, these vampires children that you think are so dangerous?" Harry asked, digging his fingers into the back of the sofa. His heart was beating so hard it hurt his chest. He was a fraction away from losing control, from leaping at Ron and hitting him until he bled. But that was something Harry would not ever let himself do.

"What were you doing down there?" Ron demanded, face red.

"Harry--" Hermione tried to say something, but she wasn't part of this right now.

Prying his hands off the cushions, Harry turned and walked very deliberately over to the stairs to the dorm. The conversations of the other Gryffindor continued around him; Ron must not have been talking as loud as Harry had thought. _It was loud enough for me._ Harry didn't know if he'd ever get that horrible, ugly tone in Ron's voice out of his head.

Not thinking about why he was doing this, Harry pushed open the doors to his dorm and headed to his trunk. The picture album lay under his socks, and he pulled it out carefully. Opening the pages to the picture of his mother as a seventh year, Harry carefully detached it from the page. He lifted the photo closer to his face.

"Sorry, mum," he whispered. The image of Lily frowned slightly, then her face relaxed back into a smile.

There was nothing else to do. Holding the photo carefully, Harry shoved the album back into his trunk. His hand caught on the edge of the latch as he pulled back, scratching him so deeply that his hand began to bleed.

The sight of the blood stopped him. He made a fist, squeezing the blood out, feeling the pain in his hand as the skin around the wound stretched.

His blood. Lily's blood. Damian's blood.

Harry got to his feet. He could do this.

Ron was waiting when he got back down to the common room. He opened his mouth as Harry approached, but Harry spoke first.

"This is one those dangerous people," he said, tossing the photo face-down onto the sofa cushions. "One of your evil abominations."

Harry didn't stop, just kept walking toward the portrait hole. He might have made the decision to let the secret of Lily's parentage out, but he didn't think he was strong enough to see the look of disgust on Ron's face.

It was never easy, losing your best friend.


	50. Overflow

* * *

Harry didn't know where he was going. It was late, probably almost time the students needed to be in their dorms. The library wasn't an option, any more than any of the study halls.

 _I should go find Voldemort,_ Harry thought, insides writhing with fury. _I could rip him apart without even giving a fuck about his soul pieces._

Splashes of water under his feet startled him into glancing around. Without realizing it, he'd made it all the way the second floor hallway outside Moaning Myrtle's toilet. It seemed as if the petulant ghost had once again flooded the hallway.

Harry slowed. _Why not?_ he thought rebelliously. _It's late, it's not like anyone's going to be there. And no one will think to look for me there._ Carefully, Harry picked his way across the floor and slipped inside the door.

The room was just as dim and dreary as Harry remembered from second year. "Hello?" he said nervously. No one, ghost or human, popped out at him, and he relaxed slightly.

Everything seemed smaller than he remembered it. Even the fake sink that was the hidden entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, seemed so... ordinary.

 _It's the entrance to Salazar Slytherin's secret lair, and it looks like a broken-down kid's wash basin,_ Harry thought. _I can't believe Slytherin would climb down a gross old pipe to go see his pet basilisk._

Leaving the sink behind, Harry crossed the floor, past the stalls, to the wall with the high-set window. He hoisted himself up onto the stone ledge and let his head fall back against the wall.

Unmoving in the silence, broken only by the slow drip of water from the leaky faucet, Harry couldn't keep back the memory of what he'd done in the common room.

 _Ron won't say anything,_ Harry thought uncertainly. _Hermione won't let him tell anyone that my mum's dad was a vampire._

Confidence in Hermione aside, an awful thing occurred to Harry. Ginny had been sitting right there. If the feeling in the Wizarding world, about vampire children being monsters, was so strong, would Ginny react like Ron? Would she think bad things about Lily? About Harry? That thought felt like a shaft of ice through Harry's heart.

At least he'd still have Hermione, and Dumbledore, on his side. There had been times before, when everyone thought Harry was a lunatic, unstable.

 _But they thought that about me, not my mum._ The anger began to press hot and prickly against Harry's eyelids, and he had to close his eyes hard.

Even though he knew it was childish, Harry wanted to go back to St. Louis. Everyone there knew who he was; knew Damian. Not everyone was pissed off at him. _And Voldemort's not trying to kill everyone there, either._

Eyes still closed, Harry heard a soft splash, as if someone had stepped in a puddle. His wand drawn before he turned his head, Harry looked around the room.

Even though the light was dim, Harry couldn't see a soul, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Someone was here.

Silently, Harry slid to the floor, wand at his side. Scarcely breathing as he faced the room, he tried to decide if he should wait for whoever it was to make the first move, or to go on the offensive.

The air by the sinks shimmered. Harry's wand was up and aimed before the folds of the invisibility cloak moved to reveal Ron's head. He glared at Harry. "What's the idea?"

Harry kept his wand up. "Going through my stuff now?" he demanded angrily. "What else did you take? Book or two? I'm sure I've got some Chocolate Frog cards you don't have yet."

"Shut up!" Ron shouted. He yanked off the invisibility cloak and draped it over a sink. "It was the only way I could come find you!"

Harry stared at him for a moment, then put his wand to his side. "Why did you need to do that? Couldn't wait until I got back to have another go at my mum?"

"I wasn't having a go at your mum! What are you playing at? If you makes jokes about this, someone's going to hear--"

"Shut up," Harry ordered. "This isn't--" He stopped himself, tried to take a deep breath to calm himself. "Just go away, Ron, before I do something Hermione's not going to forgive."

Ran gaped at him. "You can't be serious!" he said, horrified. "Your mum's father was a _vampire?_ "

"What does it matter?" Harry demanded. "Does this suddenly make me a danger? Am I going to start slaughtering you lot in the night?" He sauntered closer to Ron. "What, are we vampire children dangerous? Bloody-thirsty animals? Like werewolves or giants?"

Ron's face flushed a deep red, and Harry knew he'd hit home. When Ron had found out Remus Lupin was a werewolf, in third year, he had reacted badly. The same thing had happened when they learned Hagrid was half-giant. Sure, Ron had gotten over it, but suddenly being on the receiving end of Ron's attitude was fueling Harry's rage.

"Maybe I shouldn't be at the school at all, is that what you think? Take myself and my unpure blood away? Is that it? God, Ron, you're like Draco fucking Malfoy talking about Hermione!"

"Don't talk about Hermione!" Ron shouted, getting in Harry's face. He was a head taller than Harry and much broader across the shoulders, but Harry was too furious to be intimated.

Harry's lip curled up into a smirk. "Why not? Are you afraid she'll agree with me?" He wasn't thinking any longer, just reacting. "Or maybe it's because of the same reason you don't want me talking to Ginny--"

Ron's fist lashed out before Harry could finish. Harry tried to duck, but the punch hit him hard on the side of the mouth. The pain roared into fury, and Harry tackled Ron, driving them both onto the flooded floor.

Ron rolled them over, trying to pull back to hit Harry again, but Harry wouldn't let him up, wrapping an arm around Ron's neck and putting him into a headlock.

As the cold water soaked into his robes, along with the ridiculousness of the situation, Harry stopped fighting. Gradually, Ron stopped struggling. The sound of their ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.

Sick of it all, Harry let Ron out of the headlock, and rolled to his feet. Ron lay on the floor, soaking wet, with a large bruise developing on his cheek.

Harry shoved his wet hair back with both hands. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded. "This isn't about Hermione or Ginny, you were like this on the fucking train!"

Ron staggered to his feet, favoring one leg. "You weren't here this summer, were you? You went away!"

Harry just stared at him through water-specked glasses.

"Don't you get it?" Ron said. He tried to pull his wet robes back into place. "Of course you don't, why would you?"

Harry ran his tongue over the corner of his mouth, winching at the pain and at the taste of warm coppery blood. "You know, Ron," he began conversationally, "You've gone completely mental. Why don't you just go away, and we'll have this conversation when you come to your senses, like in July."

Ron whirled around and kicked at a stall door. The splintering noise was like a shot in the room. "Do you know how many people died the last time this happened?" he demanded.

Briefly, Harry wished Hermione was there. She at least could usually translate what Ron was talking about. "The last time what happened?" he said wearily. "Is this about Voldemort?" Ron shrugged, which gave Harry his answer. "No, Ron, I have no idea about losing people to Voldemort. Why don't you tell me about that, will you?"

The sarcasm in Harry's voice cut through the air. Ron shook his head, lips pressed together so hard they were white. "Both my uncles died!" he said hotly. "And loads of others, too! Your parents, what happened to Neville's parents--"

"And now Voldemort's back, and he's been trying to kill me every bloody year since I was eleven!" Harry shouted. "Don't talk to me about Voldemort! He wants me dead, _me!_ You're not even on his list!"

"This isn't about me!" Ron shouted over Harry. His eyes were open wide, and it took Harry a moment to realize what was barely hidden in Ron's eyes. Fear.

"I wasn't aware you cared that much about me, Ron," Harry said, righteous anger faltering. Ron was never afraid, not like that. Ron was one of the bravest people he knew.

"It's about Hermione."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean, Hermione?" Worry bubbled up in his chest, over the anger. "Did someone threaten Hermione? Is she okay?"

Ron pulled out his wand and dried his robes. "You know how she is! Just goes flinging herself into danger." He clenched his jaw, not looking at Harry. "Plus, she's muggle-born. She'll be one of the first they come for, if..."

"So you're worried about Hermione," Harry said dully. He was totally lost. What had happened between Ron and Hermione while he was out of the country?

Ron leaned against the wall, staring very intently at a spot on the wall. "I want to ask her to marry me," he said miserably.

"What?" Harry asked without thinking. "You didn't tell her that, did you?"

Ron buried his head in his hands. "Never mind," he said, embarrassed.

"No, not 'never mind,'" Harry said hotly. "Ron, you're seventeen! You can't get married!"

"Well, why not? My parents got married just out of Hogwarts, so did yours!" he said defensively.

"But none of them was Hermione!" Harry tried, and failed, to find words to explain to Ron. "You love her, right? Does she know that, at least?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered.

"So why get married?" Why change things, Harry wanted to scream, but he held his tongue on that.

Ron shrugged again.

Feeling a bit like as if he was reading a book, and he'd skipped a few chapters, Harry said carefully, "You don't need to be married."

"I know that," Ron said crossly. "It's not like we _waited_ or anything, but it's just that I want everyone to know."

"Waited for what?" Harry asked. The instant the words left his lips, he felt his cheeks go red. Oh. That.

Ron gave him a look. "Don't tell her I told you, okay?" he said.

"No problem," Harry said, voice strangled. He really hadn't needed to know that, especially about his best friend, or about Hermione.

"Good," Ron said, ignorant of the uncomfortable turn Harry's imagination was taking. "I just... I don't want to lose her."

Harry shook his head firmly. "Hermione's the smartest witch ever," he said forcefully. "She's a lot smarter than the two of us. She knows how to fight, to defend herself." Making a decision, Harry crossed the floor and grabbed Ron's arms, made his friend look at him. "Besides, we're both stupid enough to jump into the fray in front of her."

Ron swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He didn't say anything until Harry let go of his arms and stepped away. "She told me I was being stupid," he muttered. "About your mum."

Harry sighed. So they were back on this. Great. "Yeah, well, you are."

"What else am I supposed to think?" Ron demanded. "It's dangerous! Having vampire blood, it almost always goes bad."

"Have you ever heard your parents say my mum was dangerous?" Harry demanded. He tried to whip up some anger at Ron, but his mouth still hurt and he was just so tired. "I met him, my grandfather! So did Dumbledore, and he said it was okay."

"Dumbledore knows?" Ron appeared flummoxed. "And you met this vampire? How?"

"It was over the summer," Harry said. "He's in St. Louis with Anita and all them. His name is Damian."

Ron stared at Harry. "Are you sure it's not a trick? Maybe something Voldemort--"

"It's not a trick." Harry withdrew his wand from his sleeve and flicked the water off his robes. "He's got my mum's eyes and hair. Don't you think Dumbledore would have thought the same thing? And he never said anything."

"That doesn't make any sense," Ron pressed.

Harry flung his hands in the air. "What do you want me to say? I meet the only family member I have who doesn't detest the very sight of me, and you can't stand it? Damn it, Ron, this is my life!"

"But the stories--"

"Stories?" Harry paced across the room, wishing in the back of his head that he could just start running, run far and fast and leave all this behind. "How about the stories where Parselmouths are evil wizards? How about necromancers? Being born a certain way doesn't make you evil, it just means you're a little different."

"Being a necromancer isn't a little different," Ron scoffed.

Harry thought about what Anita told him of her childhood; about how Bellatrix tortured her; about everything she did and how she tried to protect everyone. "How is raising the dead from the grave any different from turning a writing desk into a pig?" Harry asked. "It's not like Anita deals in souls, not like she split her soul into little pieces so no one can kill her."

He closed his mouth with a snap. Ron was looking at him, horrified.

"Who's split their soul into pieces?" Ron asked in a quiet voice. When Harry didn't answer, he inched closer. "Was it... was it You-Know-Who?"

It was easy to forget that Ron was quick, under his usual appearance of being clueless. So much more so when Harry was mad at him. "We shouldn't talk about this here," he said.

Ron put his hand over his mouth. "That's..."

"Ron."

Ron swallowed. "Yeah. Sorry."

"We should go," Harry said. "Someone's bound to have heard us."

"Right." Ron picked up the invisibility cloak. "It's past curfew, if we get caught..."

Harry was still angry enough at Ron to take his chances. "We're not all right, Ron," he said. "This isn't... You can't be mad at me because of who I am."

"What, like you've been a saint for the last few days?" Ron said hotly. "Kissing strange women, not telling us anything, showing off for the girls, especially Ginny--"

"Oh, yes, Ron, let's talk about Ginny," Harry snapped. "First off, I'm not doing anything to Ginny, and second off, if I step a foot out of line, she'll hex me out the window!"

"Will she?" Ron tossed the cloak over his shoulders, leaving only his head visible. "She's had that bloody crush on you since her first year and you saved her life, she might not act rationally around you!"

Harry made himself count to ten, then to twenty. "I will never do anything to hurt Ginny," he said quietly, once he could guarantee he wouldn't start hitting Ron again. "She doesn't like me anymore, not like that, so don't worry. Now can we just go before we both get detention?"

Ron glared, then held open the side of the cloak. Instead of the offer of invisibility, Harry tapped his wand on the top of his head and said the incantation for the Disillusionment charm. The spell flowed over him, cold trickles running shivering down his body.

"Someone's going to see you," Ron said stiffly, flipping the hood of the cloak up over his head.

"It's dark."

In uncomfortable silence, they left the girls washroom. Harry thought he heard Filch once or twice, and they had to hide behind a statue to avoid Professor Sprout, but they got back to the Gryffindor tower without attacking any attention.

"Wolfsbane," Ron said to the Fat Lady's portrait.

The picture put her hands on her hips. "I'm not going to open up until I see who's there!" she said. "What kind of security do you think we have here?"

Harry sighed, and removed the Disillusionment charm with a tap of his wand. Ron flipped up the cloak's hood to show his face.

The Fat Lady gave them a disapproving look. "As you will." She swung the portrait open, and they climbed into the room.

It was later than Harry had thought. The room was empty except for Ginny and Hermione, and a couple of fifth years playing Exploding Snap on the far side of the room.

Hermione jumped up when she saw them, her hands clapped over her mouth. She waited until they were closer before she hissed, "Were you fighting?"

"Something like that," Ron muttered. He jumped back as she smacked him on the arm.

"What were you thinking?"

"It's not about thinking," Ginny said, closing her potions book. "It's just about being angry."

"Angry? Us?" Harry said sarcastically.

"Don't snap at me," Ginny said, popping out of her chair. She picked something up off the table and brought it over to Harry. He looked down to see his mother's picture in her hand. "Why didn't you tell us?"

He looked into her eyes, to see if she shared any of Ron's revulsion. There was something warm in her eyes, that eased the tight knot of tension in his chest. "I don't know," he mumbled.

Hermione shook her head. "You're both so stupid!"

Since Harry had said something similar within the last hour, he couldn't argue with her. "Are you mad at me too?"

"Of course not!" she snapped. "But you could have told us!"

Harry turned the picture of Lily over in his hand, so Hermione could see it. "I did."

"But not like this!"

Harry sighed, and plopped onto the sofa. Behind him, he heard Ron mutter something about bed, then footsteps moved away.

"I'm going to bed as well," Ginny said, shouldering her book bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

Harry looked up. Her long red hair was loose around her face, brown eyes warm with concern and something Harry couldn't identify. Licking his suddenly dry lips, Harry made himself smile at her, then winced as his split lip pulled painfully.

"Good night," Ginny said, sounding as if she was trying not to laugh.

Hermione settled onto the couch next to Harry, staring at the fire. Harry tried to get comfortable, but a sore spot on his hip from his tousle with Ron made that nearly impossible.

They sat like that until the two fifth years wrapped up their card game and headed up the stairs. Into the silence, Hermione said, "Why do you two do this?"

"Do what?" Harry toed off his shoes and curled up into a ball on the sofa. "Fight?"

"Act like boys," Hermione said crossly.

"Because we are?" Harry said, just as unhappily.

"But you're supposed to have grown out of that!" Hermione frowned deeply. "This was supposed to get easier, not harder."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, pretend for half a minute that I can't read minds, and tell me what you're talking about," he pleaded.

"Growing up!" she said as she pulled her feet up onto the cushions and rested her chin on her knees.

"Growing up's just getting older," Harry said. He laid Lily's picture on the edge of the cushions. "It never gets easy. Just more complicated."

"It's not supposed to be this way," Hermione said faintly.

Harry looked at her as she gazed into the dying flames. He should really tell her about the Horcruxes; maybe she'd have some kind of idea he'd missed. He'd opened his mouth and was about to speak, when some fragment of Ron's angry words came back to him.

Was Hermione in more danger than him or Ron? Would the Death Eaters want to kill her more than Ron? She was the proof that all their pure-blooded crap was wrong. Was that the danger?

Hermione caught him staring at her. "Is everything all right?" she asked. "Are you and Ron still fighting?"

He forced a smile. "We dealt with most of it. Promise."

She didn't look as if she quite believed him. "You better. I don't know if I can deal with the two of you being like this any longer." She scooted over on the couch and surprised Harry by giving him a hug. "I have enough to worry about."

The feel of her arms, warm around his back, startled him badly. It wasn't until that very moment that he realized how _cold_ everything was at Hogwarts. No warm hugs, no friendly slaps on the back or lying against someone as warm as he was.

 _That's what Reece meant about it all being too cold_ , Harry thought. He hugged Hermione carefully, his hands smoothing down her robes chastely, his cheek against her hair.

She gave him a squeeze then pulled back; Harry let her go immediately. With a smile, Hermione said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning. And don't sleep in, we have Defence Against the Dark Arts after breakfast."

"What, and deprive Snape of the chance to eviscerate me in front of the whole class?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Good night."

" 'Night," Harry said as she left. Only when she was gone, and he was alone in the room, did he let out a shaky breath.

 _Nothing like almost groping your best friend's girlfriend, not an hour after he told you he's in love with her!_ Harry thought angrily. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Pushing himself roughly off the sofa, Harry scooped up his mother's picture and stomped toward the stairs. He hoped with all his heart that he was too tired to talk in his sleep. Otherwise, Ron might find yet another reason to kill him before morning.


	51. Priorities

* * *

Snape's glare the next morning at breakfast put Harry right off his food. Stomach churning with anxiety and other things, he pushed his eggs around his plate until Hermione leaned over in concern.

"Will you be all right?" she whispered.

Harry dropped his fork. "Yeah," he muttered. "I guess I'm not hungry."

"We have Defence Against the Dark Arts in half an hour, do you blame him?" Ron asked her. His voice sounded strained.

Hermione was unimpressed with the two of them. "We have this class every year!" she hissed. "Just because Professor Snape is teaching the class doesn't mean anything!"

"Except that I'll probably walk out of there with my legs on backwards?" Harry stood up. "I'm going to go for a walk, see you in class. And no, I will not be late," he said quickly, before Hermione could open her mouth. Turning his back on the head table, Harry walked out of the Great Hall as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the heads turning to watch him.

He had no idea where he was going, only that he was about five minutes away from a panic attack. _It's only Snape!_ He tried to tell himself. _He won't kill me, Dumbledore wouldn't let him!_ Somehow, that was small comfort.

"Harry?"

Harry almost tripped over his feet. He looked up to see Luna staring dreamily at him. "Oh, hi."

"You were thinking too hard," Luna said.

"Probably." Harry ran his hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. "So, um, how are you?"

Luna tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you said the other day."

It had been a busy couple of days, and Harry had no idea what Luna was talking about. "Which part?" he asked, trying to pretend that he knew what she meant.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "For what you said about being my friend."

It was coming back to Harry now, but her phrasing didn't make him feel any better. "Is Michael bothering you again?" he demanded.

Luna shook her head. "Did you hear what Ron and Parvati were fighting about, yesterday?" she said, changing the subject.

"No, but--" 

"I thought Hermione would have told you," Luna said, leaning back against the stone wall to let a pack of first-year Ravenclaws run into the Great Hall.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Not Ron?"

Luna waved her hand. "You weren't talking to him yesterday, Ginny said so. She didn't know why."

"What else did Ginny tell you?" Harry asked, crossing the hall to lean on the wall beside Luna. Up close like this, he could smell the faint scent of smoky incense in her hair, a captivating spicy smell. He leaned in closer for a better sniff.

"She said that Parvati was gossiping about how many boys Ginny would have dated by the end of the month, and Ron got very upset," Luna said.

"Parvati said _what_?" Harry demanded. How dare anyone talk about Ginny like that? Harry cast his mind about to who Ginny might date, and felt an unhappy rumble in his chest.

Luna smiled. "You're a good friend to Ginny," she said, pushing away from the wall and backing toward the Great Hall. "Make sure she doesn't study potions too hard." With that, Luna ducked through the Hall doors.

"Potions?" Harry repeated to the empty hall. He didn't know what to make of all that Luna had told him. _She does that,_ Harry mused. _Look at me with those huge blue eyes and say things that makes my head spin before she vanishes._

The Fat Friar, the Hufflepuff house ghost, drifted past, chuckling to himself. Harry shook his head and turned toward the stairs. Class started in a little while, and he needed to figure out what he was going to do.

 _Snape will do whatever he can to torment me, I know that. Any excuse to torment me in front of the class, anything at all._ The problem was, Harry didn't know what Snape would do. Try to transfigure him? Hex him?

 _No_ , Harry realized as he started mounting a staircase. _It's going to be Legilimency, I'll bet anything._ That would appeal most to Snape, to dig into Harry's head and humiliate him like that in front of everyone.

Harry's steps slowed as the staircase pulled free of the wall and swung across the tower. The dream he'd had the night before, that he'd been trying to push out of his head ever since he woken up gasping, skin on fire, came back.

 _Snape cannot see that!_ The staircase landed against the wall with a thud, and Harry ran. He made it off the stairs and was through a door in a few seconds. _He can see anything but that!_

Harry barged into an unused classroom and slammed the door shut. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and almost fell into the first seat he came across. As much as he tried to push it back, the dream seeped back into his head, like smoke through a crack under the door.

Hands, on Harry's skin. Gentle kisses on his shoulder, with just the safe edge of teeth. A wash of silky hair, auburn, over the sheets.

Nathaniel's face, smiling languidly at him.

 _I can't be dreaming about Nathaniel, I just can't be!_ Harry dropped his head to the desk with a thud. _If Snape sees that--_

Harry took a few deep breaths. _What was it Anita said?_ he thought desperately. _I need to have my priorities. Always priorities._

Priorities. Harry made himself take a mental step back. Yes, if Snape saw that dream with Nathaniel, he'd mock and humiliate Harry mercilessly.

And if Snape saw the memory of Harry disarming Bellatrix Lestrange and letting the werewolves eat her, Voldemort would find out.

 _Get your priorities in order!_ Harry chastised himself. _Snape can't know I helped kill Bellatrix. I can't let him know about Damian either, or Anita, or Christoff and Elsa's protection. And especially not about me being clawed up by a werewolf!_

Harry stood up and paced down the room. The dust that hung over the unused room tickled his nose as he moved. At the end of the room hung a broken mirror, cracks radiating out from a spot in the centre. Harry stopped and started at his broken reflection in the pieces of glass.

 _Snape can't know about the Horcruxes here, either,_ Harry realized, horror growing in his chest. _He'll tell Voldemort, and then Voldemort will come here to get them, he'll have to!_

Harry touched the mirror's frame. It was just an ordinary looking glass, but it reminded Harry of another mirror he had seen in another unused room at Hogwarts, in his first year.

 _What was it Dumbledore said about the Mirror of Erised?_ Harry wracked his brain. _It showed you your greatest desire, and that's how Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone!_

An idea was growing in Harry's head. He'd let Snape find something that Snape wanted -- something humiliating and real. Behind that memory, he'd bury all thoughts of Anita and werewolves and Damian, and underneath it all he'd put the thoughts of the Horcruxes. If Snape could dig that far into his head, Harry didn't deserve to hold any secrets.

Harry dropped to a crouch and buried his head in his hands. Concentrating as he never had before on his Occlumency, Harry piled memory upon memory, leaving the dream with Nathaniel near the top.

He'd wonder why he was having those kinds of dreams about Nathaniel, after he survived Defence Against the Dark Arts. If he survived.

* * *

There was a queue outside of the closed door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when Harry slipped into the back of the line. He saw Hermione and Ron talking near the door; rather, Hermione seemed to be talking very fast, while Ron glowered at her.

In front of Harry, Neville was nervously fiddling with the strap on his bag. "Everything all right?" Harry asked quietly.

Neville jumped at Harry's words. "Oh, yes," he stuttered. "It's just..."

"Snape," Harry grumbled. He was a lot calmer than he had been at breakfast, but a whole flock of butterflies flew swooping in Quidditch formation in his stomach. "Come on, Neville, you'll do great. You were in the DA, and all that. Even last year, you did excellent."

"Last year it wasn't Snape," Neville pointed out. His bag strap broke open, spilling books and parchment all over the stone floor. As Neville dived to pick things up, Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies burst into laughter.

"Don't mind them," Harry said to Neville as he bent to help gather up Neville's school supplies. Even though his face was a bright red, Neville didn't comment.

The door to the Defence classroom swung open, and Snape stepped out. He peered down his sallow nose at the gathered seventh-year students. When he spotted Harry and Neville on the floor, his lip curled up into a sneer. "Get inside," was all he said.

The students slowly entered the classroom. Snape had imposed his charming personality on the room already. The blinds were drawn over the windows, many lit candles illuminating the room, casting things into shadow. Dozens of new tapestries and portraits graced the walls, picturing people in what Harry supposed were the horrible aftermath of Dark magic attacks.

Unlike previous years, the desks were drawn back into a neat row at the side of the room. "Put your things by the wall," Snape murmured as he swept bat-like toward the front of the room. "I did not tell you to take out your textbooks," he added as Hermione started to remove her book from her overstuffed bag. "Wands only."

Snape reached the front of the room and spun in place, robes whirling around him. Harry was not impressed. Snape surveyed the group of students.

"For the last six years," Snape began silkily, "You have had a series of professors who had... their own agendas." His eyes flickered to Harry, then back to the group. "Frankly, it is surprising any of you managed to pass your OWLs. I certainly do not expect even half of you to pass your NEWTs. Unless you pay close attention."

Snape stalked slowly down the room. "The Dark Arts are infinitely various, always changing and eternal. Fighting Dark magic is similar to battling a many-headed monster. Each time you manage to sever a neck, in its place sprouts a head even more ferocious and far cleverer than before. You are up against the unfixable, the indestructible."

Harry listened to Snape with a growing sense of annoyance and outrage. _How can he talk about Dark magic like Hagrid talks about his creatures?_ he wondered. _Like it's his favourite hobby! What was Dumbledore thinking?_

"Your defences," Snape continued, becoming slightly more businesslike, "Must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the Arts that you seek to undo. You will need to work extraordinarily hard if you wish to lean to defend yourself against truly Dark wizards." He surveyed the class, a horrid smile breaking out over his face. "I will need a volunteer for a demonstration."

No one moved. Not even Hermione, who was always the first to volunteer for everything.

"Mr. Potter."

"What?" Harry blurted out. He knew it! He just knew this would happen!

"Up here, Potter," Snape spat. "Let's see how much you know."

Harry took a deep breath, making himself settle back into his Occlumency. He pulled his wand out of his sleeve as he stepped out of the pack of students to face Snape, alone, in the empty space on the floor.

"It has come to my attention that no one has ever shown you silent incantations," Snape said. He addressed the class, but he never took his eyes off Harry. "What benefits would a voiceless spell have in a duel?"

Hermione slowly raised her hand. When no one else moved, Snape nodded at her. "If you use a silent incantation, sir, then your opponent will have one less clue to defend himself," she said.

"Copied word for word from last year's textbook," Snape said. "If you do not have to go around shouting spells at the top of your lungs, then you might have a split-second advantage. Not that I expect any of you to be able to channel the force of will and magic that the skill will require--"

While the word was still coming out of his mouth, Snape raised his wand, a fraction of an inch. Harry barely had time to fling himself to the side as a powerful blast flew toward him, hitting the wall behind him with a crash.

"But then, a voiceless spell is not the only skill you will endeavour to learn this year," Snape added, turning all this attention back to Harry. He flung another silent spell at Harry. This time, Harry was ready for it, and he muttered under his breath to fling up a shield charm. The hex shattered off the shield.

Harry thought about trying to fire a jinx back at Snape, when he saw the man aim his wand over Harry's head. Instinctively, Harry ducked and half-turned, to see if Snape was bringing down the wall on him. The half-second of inattention was all Snape needed, and with a powerful magical yank, Harry's wand flew out of his hand.

Wandless, Harry backed up, trying to keep some distance between him and Snape. The professor advanced on Harry, as happy as Harry had ever seen him. "A true opponent will not stop to let you regain your wand if you are disarmed," Snape almost shouted. He raised his wand.

Harry lunged to the side, grabbing the edge of a heavy student desk and putting all his strength into jerking it into the air in front of him. The wood shattered as Snape's silent curse slammed into the surface.

Harry set his jaw. His whole world narrowed down to the fight. He wasn't going to let Snape win. It wasn't going to happen.

Every sense alert, Harry watched Snape for any sign he might be ready to shoot off another curse. The only noise in the room was the low murmurs of students, and the occasional squeal from someone who sounded a lot like Lavender, whenever Snape aimed his wand at Harry.

Desperation was growing, and with it the angry rumble of the beast in Harry's chest. He was thinking less and less like a student, and more like the werewolf he carried within him. He had teeth and nails, and he could rip Snape apart if it came down to that kind of fight.

Harry wasn't fast enough to dodge the next curse. It hit him square in the left shoulder, pain radiating up his arm and into his chest. Heavily, Harry fell against someone. He hadn't realized he was that close to the edge of the room. Looking up, he registered that it was Neville he'd hit, Neville's hands that had caught him as he fell.

Putting his right hand on Neville's arm to balance himself, Harry felt something stiff and long in Neville's sleeve. _His wand_.

Hearing Snape behind him, Harry hoped that Neville would forgive him. He braced his feet and pushed away from Neville at the same time his fingers fastened onto Neville's wand. Shielding his right hand from Snape's view, Harry flung up his left hand as if to ward off another curse.

It happened so fast that Harry didn't have time to think. As Snape raised his wand, Harry channeled all his desperation and panic into the unfamiliar wand in his hand, and screamed inside his head, _ACCIO WAND!_.

Neville's wand sent a burning jolt up Harry's arm, as the magic burst forth. Harry's wand flew into his outstretched left hand, and Harry shouted, "Expelliarmus!" 

The charm exploded out of Harry's wand, shooting pain through his injured shoulder. Snape's wand flew out of his hand.

The room froze. Harry stood, arm outstretched, wand pointed at Snape for a long moment.

It occurred to him. For a split second, Harry wanted to finish this fight. The wolf wanted to make sure Snape would never hurt him again. It took a disturbing amount of effort for Harry to lower his wand.

Snape glared at him, spots of colour in his pale cheeks. "Thirty points from Gryffindor for removing another student's wand, Potter," he spat. Ignoring the loud outburst from the watching students, he crossed the room and plucked his wand off the antlers of a stuffed jackalope head. "When you are in a fight, you will not be surrounded by an audience!" he roared over the din, silencing the students. "Pair up to practice voiceless spells!"

Around Harry, the students jumped to find a partner. Harry didn't move. His left shoulder burned, and the magic in his right, where he still held Neville's wand, pulsed like a living thing.

Snape looked over Ernie McMillan's head at Harry. "Give Longbottom back his wand, Potter!" Snape barked.

Harry gave Snape one last glare, then turned to Neville. The beast gave an unhappy rumble.

It would not forget this.

* * *

After the longest two hours of Harry's life, class finally ended. Harry was the first person out of the room, hurtling down the hall as fast as he could.

 _Forty-seven points!_ Harry fumed, stalking down the corridor. _Snape took forty-seven points of Gryffindor for me, all because I was doing things perfectly! Blowing up a desk, ten points! Not having the proper wand position for the silent spell, five points! Bleeding on the floor, two points!_

In his rage, Harry had manage to perform a voiceless curse every time. Even Neville had managed to pick it up after a few times. The rest of the class hadn't been so lucky, although Hermione had managed twice before the end of class. Still, Snape hadn't awarded Gryffindor a single point.

Harry rounded a corner, finally letting his steps slow. He walked to the window at the end of the corridor, and looked out onto a perfect Scottish morning.

 _This is bullshit!_ Harry fumed. _Snape's not really trying to teach us proper defence at all. He's only doing this to pick on me!_

The utter unfairness of the whole situation, combined with the pain from his shoulder and the raw edge of adrenaline from two hours of being constantly on guard in case Snape attacked him again, burbled up in Harry. He wanted to scream, he wanted to break things. Instead, he reared back and slammed his good fist into the hard stone wall.

The nearby window shuddered with the impact. Harry pulled his hand back to see the blood on his knuckles; he'd torn the skin on his hand. The pain dulled his anger. He was just so tired.

 _Every fucking year, it's one more thing,_ he thought morosely. He stared at the blood on the wall for a movement, then shook his head and dragged himself off down the hall. _Snape tried to maim me in front of the whole class, then takes points away because I refused to lie down and take it. Everyone will turn on me if they knew Mum's dad was Damian, a vampire. Voldemort will keep on trying to kill me. The only people who treat me like an adult are across the bloody ocean._

_My life sucks._

Pushing open the door to the boy's toilet, Harry dropped his bag by the sink and examined his knuckles. They didn't look too bad.

Harry turned on the tap to wash the blood off his hand. He hissed as the cold water hit the scrapes. Then he heard something over the water. Frowning, Harry turned off the water. It was the sound of someone retching.

"Hello?" Harry said, stepping toward the only closed stall door. "Are you okay?"

Whoever it was stopped throwing up, and the stall door slowly opened. Little Reece staggered out. He was pale and shaking and tears streamed down his cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded at once. He closed the distance between him and the boy and, ignoring the smell of sick, put his arm around the boy.

"I-- I--" Reece's face went grey, and he stumbled. Harry picked him up bodily, gritting his teeth against the shooting pain in his shoulder, and carried the child over to the sinks. He set Reece down, then transfigured a quill into a cup and filled the cup with water.

"Drink this," Harry ordered. He helped Reece hold the cup to his mouth. The boy took a few swallows as the paleness in his cheeks receded. The boy gasped and leaned his head back against the wall. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Harry asked, pulling out a handkerchief for Reece.

Miserably, Reece shook his head. "We... we had potions," he finally managed. "We had to make something, and I kept feeling sick but I stayed and it got worse and I came up here after class."

Harry got him some more water. Reece drank it alone this time, but his hand was shaking so badly that he sloshed water all over his front.

"Don't tell anyone," Reece whispered as Harry took the cup away.

Harry bit back a sigh. Was he this bad when he was eleven? He really hoped not. "You should go see Madame Pomfrey," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "You might be allergic to something you used today in the potion. If you don't know what it is, this might happen again."

Reece sniffled, then blew his nose loudly. "Okay," he said almost inaudibly.

"And everyone probably at lunch, so they won't see us," Harry said, then regretted mentioning food as Reece paled again. "Let's go."

Their progress was slow, as Reece was rather wobbly on his feet. Even with his injured shoulder, Harry could have carried him faster, but he didn't make the mistake of mentioning that. Reece was probably embarrassed enough that he'd almost passed out on Harry in the bathroom.

As Harry had predicted, the corridors were empty. Madame Pomfrey was examining a large green bottle as Harry and Reece walked into the infirmary. She turned to them instantly. "Well, what have we here?" she asked briskly. Her gaze lingered for a moment on Harry's blood-soaked shoulder, then went to Reece.

Harry squeezed Reece's shoulder reassuringly. "Reece was good enough to come up here with me," he said with a smile.

Madame Pomfrey raised her eyebrows. "Indeed." She gestured toward an empty bed. "Up you go, Mr. Trevelyan. I'll be right with you." She turned and went over to her desk. "Mr. Potter, over here."

"But--" Harry began to protest.

"No arguments!"

Harry shook his head, and helped steady Reece as he climbed into the bed before joining Madame Pomfrey.

"What happened?" she asked, gesturing for Harry to remove his robe.

"Incident in Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said shortly. He ignored the pain as he shrugged out of his robe, then pulled his shirt off over his head.

"And how is your opponent?" she asked, examining the wound. It didn't look as bad as Harry thought it might. It had even stopped bleeding.

"Professor Snape is fine, ma'am," Harry said in a tight voice.

The matron paused for a moment, startled. Then she quickly muttered an incantation. Heat spread over the wound, and Harry hissed as it healed up in a matter of seconds.

"This goes on there twice a day to prevent the muscles from seizing up," she said, handing him a tiny jar of ointment. "And no flying for three days."

"Three days?" Harry protested. "But Quidditch practice! We've got tryouts next week!"

"You are the captain, direct from the stands this weekend," Madame Pomfrey said. "No exceptions."

"Fine," Harry muttered, pulling his bloody shirt back over his head. He stood up to slip into his robe. "Reece just had potions," he said under his breath, his back to the young boy. "He was throwing up in the toilet. He almost passed out."

Madame Pomfrey busied herself with straightening things on her desk. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Harry walked down the length of the infirmary, stopping by Reece's bed. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Reece nodded. His eyes were still red, but he was beginning to get a little colour back into his skin. "Thank you," he whispered.

"No need to thank me," Harry said with feeling. "We need to stick together, right?" He patted Reece on the back, and was rewarded with a wan smile.

The air outside the infirmary seemed cooler than before, and Harry drew in a deep breath. Reece was in good hands. It was really too bad that his first potions class had been so horrible. _I wonder if Slughorn is any better a teacher than Snape,_ Harry wondered. He'd have to ask Ginny.

Tucking the little ointment jar into his pocket, Harry turned in the direction of the Great Hall. Lunch was almost over. Even though he had no class in the afternoon, he didn't fancy starving until dinner.

He was halfway down the stairs when he realized that he had been so focused on helping Reece, he had totally put Snape's class out of his head. Harry almost laughed out loud. _I guess that was what Anita meant by having priorities._

To Harry's surprise, Hermione and Ron were waiting for him outside the Great Hall. "Are you okay?" Hermione demanded the second Harry stepped into view.

"I'm fine," Harry said. He looked between them. Hermione wore her worried expression, while Ron was grave. "Did something happen?"

Ron made a noise in his throat. "Snape almost killed you in class and you ask that?" he hissed.

Hermione picked up a large wrapped parcel from the floor. "Come on, let's go outside," she ordered.

"But lunch..." Harry began.

"She's got enough to feed a bloody army," Ron cut him off. "We need to talk."

Confused, Harry let himself be guided out of the castle, down by the lake. Hermione magiced a large blanket out on the grass, and began to spread out the food she'd nicked from the Hall.

"What's this all about, then?" Harry asked, watching the Giant Squid wave its tentacles in the sunlight.

"Did you go see Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked, voice strained. Her hands shook slightly as she refolded a napkin.

"Hermione..."

"She saw you punch the wall," Ron said. Anger warmed his voice. "What the hell happened today? Why did Snape _do_ that?"

"I went to the infirmary, yeah," Harry said, frowning. "And I don't know why Snape is such an arsehole, today or any other day!" He looked at Hermione. "You followed me after class?"

"Of course I did!" she exclaimed. Harry thought he heard tears in her voice. "You were _hurt_ , I couldn't just let you go!"

"But I'm fine," Harry tried to reassure her. "It's unlikely Snape would actually kill me, I think Voldemort's got that in hand."

"This isn't funny!" Hermione shouted. Ron quickly put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. "This is your life!"

"Hermione..." Harry was at a total loss. He'd never seen Hermione fall apart like this.

Ron stroked her hair with his free hand, murmuring something into her ear that Harry couldn't hear. Hermione closed her eyes, tears trembling on her lashes.

Carefully, Harry crawled across the blanket and carefully touched the back of her hand. When she opened her eyes, he said, "It'll be okay, Hermione, I promise."

"You can't know that," she said.

"Yeah, but it's me," he pointed out. "There is no way I'm going to let Voldemort kill me. Or Snape, either."

"Yeah, the only reason Snape took points off today was because Harry beat him at his own game," Ron told Hermione. "Harry was disarmed, and he still managed to win."

Hermione managed a watery smile. "He was pretty good."

"I can hear you," Harry said in mock seriousness. He met Ron's eyes over Hermione's head. Their fight wasn't over, things were still not so great between them, but Hermione had a very good point. They'd deal with the problems between themselves after they dealt with external threats. "I just wish Snape wasn't so creepy about the subject." He slipped his voice up into a falsetto imitation of Snape. " 'Fighting Dark magic is similar to battling a many-headed monster.' Honestly. It's disturbed."

"But that's sort of like what you said, isn't it?" Hermione asked, sitting away from Ron.

Harry stared. "What are you talking about?"

"You know, in fifth year, in the DA. You said that fighting Dark wizards wasn't just a bunch of spells, it was being quick on your feet and thinking. That's sort of like what Snape was saying."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. He reached for an apple to try and cover his bewilderment.

"But at least you never tried to blow up another student in DA," Ron said darkly.

"Give me time." Harry pulled off his glasses and tossed them on the blanket. "Thanks for lunch."

Hermione smiled again. "You didn't have a lot at breakfast," she said, a bit flustered.

Harry bit into his apple and smiled wryly. Ron was a lucky guy, to have Hermione.

But did it go the other way? Harry looked out at the lake. Yeah, they argued a lot, but Hermione was always able to hold her own with Ron. Ron knew how smart she was, and how brave and amazing. Maybe Hermione lucked out too.

 _That just leaves me,_ Harry thought. In an effort to avoid getting maudlin, he said, "So, Hermione, tell me about Arithmancy."

Hermione frowned. "You don't know anything about Arithmancy."

"We could talk about cheese instead," he said. "Dominoes? Cloud formations? I'm changing the subject."

She shook her head. "You're incorrigible!"

"What's that, there?" Ron asked, pointing up at the sky. Harry squinted, then remembered he had removed his glasses. "Bit late for an owl."

"It's a rather large owl," Hermione said.

Unlike most owls, this one wasn't headed for the castle. It angled down toward the lake, and it soon became apparent that it was headed for the three of them.

Hermione was right. It was one of the largest owls Harry had ever seen. It winged its way to the top of a nearby rock, and glared expectantly at Harry.

"That's an international post owl!" Hermione squealed. "I've never even seen one!"

The owl solemnly held out a thick letter. Harry climbed to his feet and carefully approached the huge bird. "Is that letter for me?" he asked.

The bird clicked its beak impatiently. Harry took the letter, jumping back as the bird shook its wings, then took flight.

"I guess there's no fee on delivery," he muttered. He looked down at the envelope in his hands. His name and the name of the school was written on the front of the letter. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar.

"Who'd be sending you post like that?" Ron asked when Harry got back to the blanket.

Harry turned over the letter. "There's no return address," he said.

"Maybe it's a trick?" Hermione suggested, pulling out her wand.

Harry lifted the envelope to his nose and sniffed. It smelled familiar in ways he couldn't describe. Worry beginning to gnaw at his stomach, Harry ripped open the package. Out slithered several photographs, but Harry was too busy flipping open the letter to see what they were.

_Harry! We thought you would forget all about us, so we decided to put together a little care package so you don't get too lonely._

Harry turned to the back page of the thick letter, to see Jason's name scrawled across the bottom. He let out a shaky breath. _Jason wouldn't have written like that if anything was wrong, right?_ Harry prayed.

"Who's it from?" Hermione asked.

"Jason, a guy I met in St. Louis," Harry said distractedly, dropping the letter to his lap and picking up the photos. They appeared to have been taken during his going-away party earlier in the week.

"Wizard?"

"Werewolf." It was only after a minute of intense silence that Harry looked up from the photos. "What?"

"You met a werewolf in St. Louis?" Ron sounded a bit as if he was being strangled.

"Don't be like that," Hermione admonished.

Harry felt his expression grow cold. "Yeah, Ron, I met a werewolf in St. Louis. Several, in fact. Plus some vampires and stuff too." He thrust out a picture of himself, Jason, the twins, Nathaniel, Zane, Cherry and Vivian. "What of it?"

Ron put his hands up. "I don't want to talk about this right now."

"Too bad." Harry held up another picture. "This is Damian. My vampire grandfather."

Ron winced, at either the words or the tone, Harry wasn't sure. At the same time, Hermione reached out and took the photo from Harry's hand. "He looks an awful lot like pictures of your mother," she said after close examination.

"You think?" Harry snapped.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "Stop it!" she demanded. "This really isn't funny anymore. Both of you, just grow up!"

She held up the picture for Ron to see. Heart pounding, Harry waited as Ron stared at the picture.

"He's got long hair," Ron said after a minute.

"So does Dumbledore," Harry pointed out.

"Was he a wizard?" Hermione asked.

"No, a Viking." 

Hermione's eyes grew wide, and Harry would sense the pile of questions about to come out of her mouth. Surprisingly, Ron beat her to it. "He's not, you know, violent or anything?"

Harry shook his head emphatically.

"What's he like?" Hermione asked.

Harry took back the picture from her and collected them all into a pile beside the letter. As intensely curious as he was about what Jason had written, and why, he knew he needed to fix this thing with Ron immediately. Like with Hagrid or Remus, Ron would be able to see past the rumours to the person, but Harry needed that to be sooner, rather than later.

Leaning forward, Harry quickly began to tell Ron and Hermione about his first meeting with Damian at Anita's house, over a month ago. As long as he avoided talking about being clawed up by a werewolf, he would probably be safe.

_Probably._


	52. Being Right Means Never Having to Say...

* * *

Harry skipped dinner. He didn't want to see Snape again, not even across the crowded Hall. Instead, he went up to the deserted Gryffindor common room to read his Animagus book.

 _I'm going to be an Animagus if it kills me,_ he thought grimly as he settled into an armchair. Although he couldn't quite put it into words, he needed to do something that Snape couldn't, and Snape wasn't an Animagus. Harry needed to prove to himself that he wasn't the incompetent child he'd acted like in class this morning.

 _Losing my wand, just like with Bellatrix Lestrange,_ he remembered, a wave of hot shame running down his body. He closed his eyes momentarily, trying to block out the memory of Anita's screaming. _You'd think I'd learn!_

The crackling sound of the fire brought him back. He took several deep breaths, then lowered his eyes to the book. If he became an Animagus, then if he lost his wand, he wouldn't be totally defenseless. _What was it Jason said, before we went to the Lupanar that first night? That I wasn't prepared for dealing with a fight with claws and teeth aimed for my stomach? Maybe that means the Death Eaters wouldn't be, either._

Which reminded him. Harry looked around the room, to make sure it was empty, then set his book aside and pulled out the letter from Jason. He'd been so wrapped up in the conversation with Hermione and Ron that he hadn't had a chance to see what Jason had sent.

Harry took another sniff of the letter. Even though it was only paper, it carried a tiny hint of an indescribable quality, that warmed Harry down to the tips of his toes. It smelled like home.

 _Home. What's that?_ Harry wondered as he carefully unfolded the letter, and began to read.

* * *

_Harry! We thought you would forget all about us, so we decided to put together a little care package so you don't get too lonely._

_Mostly, it's pictures from your party, because we had to leave for England before we could get them developed. But we figured that you could show all your friends over in England how much fun you had this summer. Just forget all that crazy crap._

_I made a bunch of people include little notes. They're under the pictures. This is just to show you that I'm not the only one who misses you._

_Before I end up sobbing on the page, one last thing: Can you come over for Christmas break? That would be really neat. We'd all like to see you. Except Asher, but he doesn't count. Even Melanie has asked when you were coming back. Which was a whole lot of creepy, now that I think about it._

_Tammy Reynolds is arranging us to send this letter by something she calls owl post. Is that the logo or something? The U.S. Postal Service has an eagle as the mascot. I asked her, and she gave this look like I was a total knob._

Harry broke from the letter, laughing hard. He could just imagine the look on Jason's face when he saw the huge postal owl.

_The trip back to St. Louis was okay. Anita was in a really foul mood, which was partly leaving you behind, and partly flying when she was exhausted and hung over from donating blood. I didn't lose any body parts, which is always an added bonus. Although she got snippy with the Customs Officials who didn't believe she was a U.S. Marshal. They called the cops and everything, and when the police got there, they were really unimpressed with the airport guys, because they all know Anita. Just general badness._

_(This is part of the reason for the letter -- anything to get Anita's mind off being so very angry. Remember what I told you about the difference between Anita being annoyed and her being angry? This is it. It's not pretty.)_

_I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.... can your pictures do that? I know the ones you had didn't speak, only move. That must be weird, if the person dies, but is still all alive in the pictures._

_Come home for Christmas. This is not a request!_

_Manly hugs and kisses,_

_Jason_

_PS: Damian doesn't want to send a note, but he very somberly said you coming home for the holidays was a good idea, something he never does, which is his Viking way of showing affection, I suppose._

* * *

Harry laid down the letter, grinning like a fool. They wanted him to go back to St. Louis for Christmas! They missed him! Then he laughed out loud again. Of course they wanted him. They'd said so before he left, hadn't they? It had been a long three days, for him to be wondering otherwise.

Pushing aside the photographs, Harry dug into the envelope for those notes Jason had mentioned. The pictures could wait.

* * *

_Hi Harry._

_Did you have fun in London? Jason said you did. He said you were really awesome with Christoff and Elsa and that banquet. Those are pretty weird, those vampire things. I've only ever been to them with Anita too, which is a lot better than not having her around._

_I was thinking about something, and don't tell anyone, but since you're in school you can know, right? I was thinking I should get my GED, the high school diploma for people who didn't go to school. I don't need it, I can keep working at the club (Jean-Claude gave me another shift, so now I'm headlining more often and making more money). But I don't know if Anita would want me to. She says she wants me to be independent, but then when I do stuff she says she wants, she gets surprised. I don't want to make her mad. And I don't want to tell Micah, because he'll tell her. I don't know._

_What would you do? If you do write back, don't mention this, okay? Just in case someone sees._

_Anita says you should come over for Christmas. I think that's a good idea._

_Nathaniel_

* * *

 

_Harry,_

_Jason has informed me what you said to Anita, the night of Christoff's banquet. While I would not have had you tell Anita of your plans, it does seem to have had the desired result. I stand in your debt, for your willingness to protect Anita and my pomme de sang._

_I was also informed of your other conquests of the evening. If you can, cultivate a relationship with Siva. He is quite a fascinating conversationalist, and while he does not become involved in court intrigue, he is quite well versed in the human politics of the day._

_Lastly, a note of caution on Christoff and Elsa. While you have been offered Christoff's protection, be aware that Elsa is fanatical when it comes to protecting her Master's honor. If you do find yourself back in Christoff's territory, be on alert for Elsa as well as other dangers._

_Jean-Claude_

* * *

 

_Harry,_

_How's school this year? I know we talked about your classes, but I was thinking that if you ever need any help with anything, you can always ask me. I may teach junior high, but I've been asked to consider moving up to senior high school to teach biology for next year. You may be good practice._

_Anita said there's a boy like Jason at the school. How young is he? Does his family know what's going on? What kind of protections does the school have for the end of the month? Are you okay with that? I know it's not my place, but the younger ones need a lot more help than the adults. Changing that early in life can change a kid's outlook. Jamil changed when he was 13; he's a little more in tune with his "other self" as he's been with it longer._

_Take care of yourself._

_Richard_

* * *

 

_Hello Harry._

_This was Jason's idea, and I'm not sure why; we saw you a day and a half ago. I don't know what can happen in three days -- no, scratch that. I do know. I just hope that you haven't been doing any of that._

_When we got home, almost all the damage from your party had been fixed. I've got a guy coming on the ninth to fix the porch railing. I have no idea how Gregory managed to "accidentally" fall through six feet of flower bed and through the rails. He promised to come over and wash my car once a week for a month. I'm convinced that he'll manage to trick Stephen into doing it._

_This is stupid, I never know what to put in letters. The flight home was okay. Requiem is fine, although he's decided that flying in his coffin is as unfun as you can imagine, and won't do it again. No kidding._

_If you have no other plans for Christmas, you can come here. We'll pick you up at the airport and put you up for a few days. Damian would love to see you. And so would I._

_Be careful. I don't know what they're going to say to you about whatever fight you find yourself in, but remember: You're the one I want walking out the other side alive._

_Anita_

* * *

Harry traced Anita's signature on the page. Reading her letter, it was very easy to imagine hearing her voice in his ear, voice partly annoyed by what Jason was making her do, and partly worried about him.

 _How long has it been since I heard her laugh?_ Harry wondered suddenly. _Just because she was happy, and not worried about anything?_

Shaking his head, Harry slipped the letters away and picked up the photographs. The top photo was the one of Damian that Harry has shown to Ron and Hermione. Damian was the focus of the pictures, but standing a little beside and behind him, almost hidden, was Anita. Peering closely at the picture, Harry though he saw Anita resting her hand on his wrist.

The sudden flare of envy startled Harry. _I am not going to think that about my_ grandfather _like that!_ he thought, shocked. _He's her vampire servant! He lives in her house!_

Uncomfortable, Harry went onto the next photograph. He stood crushed in a group hug with Jason, Stephen, Gregory, Nathaniel, Zane, Cherry and Vivian. They were such a diverse group of people; tall, short, skinny, muscular... but something about them looked the same to Harry. _Their animals,_ he realized. _Am I imagining it, or can I actually see something here?_ On a closer look, Harry decided that he was being silly.

The next photograph made Harry smile. Anita was leaning against Micah, watching the poker game. In the picture, Harry was making a face as Jamil once again won the hand. Anita was smiling slightly, wrapped up in Micah's arms. _Things should always be that safe._

At the next picture, Harry's smile slid away. Nathaniel and Harry stood together, laughing about something. Harry had his arm over Nathaniel's shoulders. At the time, it was just the thing to do. Now...

Harry swallowed hard, his mouth strangely dry. He'd never thought of Nathaniel like _that_ , not before his dream the previous night. He wasn't gay, after all. Right?

So why had he dreamed of Nathaniel, like that?

Harry shoved all the pictures back into the envelope, along with the letters, then went back to his Animagus book. He didn't want to think about St. Louis any more.

He managed to read about three pages of the book before he came across an illustration of a large cat. He traced his fingers along the drawing, then let his head fall back against the back of the chair.

 _I'd understand dreams about crazy horrible things, or even going to class naked. But why this?_ He'd never had a dream about anyone, even a girl, that had been so very vivid. It was like he had actually been there with Nathaniel.

 _One more thing I can't talk to Ron about,_ Harry thought bitterly. At least Jason had wondered about these kinds of things too. He'd even kissed Nathaniel to prove a point to himself.

That was exactly the wrong thing Harry needed to remember. He shot to his feet and stalked over to the windows, staring out onto the cold landscape. The sun was setting in the west, painting the sky brilliant colours. It was still daytime in St. Louis. Maybe Anita and everyone were just getting up, ready to start the day.

Lucky them.

"Harry?" came a breathless voice from behind him. Harry swung around to see Ginny climbing in the portrait hole. "What happened in Defence?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.

Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder impatiently. "What do I mean? Half the school's saying that you tried to set Snape on fire, while the other half says he tried to Avada Kedavra you!"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "That's not what happened at all!"

"I know that, but I can't get Ron or Hermione to give me a straight answer!" Ginny came closer and peered up at his face. "You don't look that bad."

"Thanks." Harry went back over to his armchair and flopped down. "I'm fine, it's just... It's a long story."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Will you all stop being so cryptic?" she demanded. "Did you do something to Snape? He wasn't at dinner."

"He wasn't?"

"No, and neither was Dumbledore."

"Oh." Maybe something had happened, something with Voldemort. Harry frowned. "Was McGonagall there? Did she look worried?"

"No, just annoyed." Ginny pulled over a footstool and sat beside Harry. "So, tell me!"

With a sigh, Harry told Ginny the story of what happened in Defence Against the Dark Arts class. "He was being a total git, too, taking points off me for stupid stuff!"

"Yes, but he always did that," Ginny pointed out. "Ron used to say so about Potions all the time."

"Are you taking _Snape's_ side in all this?" Harry demanded, incredulously.

"For heaven's sake!" Ginny exclaimed. "If I was taking Snape's side, I'd be saying this was all your fault, which I am not! I'm saying that Snape's acting like he always does!"

"He never tried to kill me before!"

"Do you honestly think that if he wanted you dead, he'd have missed?"

Harry gaped at her. It took him a few seconds to make his mouth form words. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny shifted on the footstool. "I overheard Mum and Dad talking this summer, about Snape. They said he could be really dangerous."

"Does Dumbledore know about this? Of course he does," Harry answered his own question. "What the hell is he playing at?"

"You're missing my point!" Ginny wrapped her fingers around Harry's wrist. "He wasn't trying to kill you at all!"

"Just maim me," Harry said, voice faltering. Ginny had leaned forward, her hair falling over her shoulder, her fingers burning against his skin. All he had to do was move forward another few inches and he could kiss her....

And then she'd punch his teeth out.

"Thanks for the words of comfort," he said, pulling away from her a little hastily. "But I think I'll skip Defence for the rest of the year." Before Ginny could say anything, he reached for the pile of photographs. "Want to see a picture of my grandfather?"

Harry ended up showing Ginny all the pictures from his going-away party. She was fascinated with the photograph of Damian, and the ones of Harry. She kept returning to the image that had caused Harry so much trouble earlier: the photo of Harry and Nathaniel.

"He's got such long hair," she said enviously.

"Yeah, I guess."

Ginny gave him a sideways glance. "He's also really cute."

Harry shrugged.

"What does he do?"

"He's a stripper," Harry said without thinking.

Ginny blinked. "Is that some muggle term? Like that paint stripper advertisement Dad found?"

"Um, no." Harry felt heat rising to his cheeks. "He strips his clothes off, on stage. Women watch and give him money."

Ginny made a weird noise in her throat and dropped the picture. " _What?_ Why?"

Harry's lips quirked up into an embarrassed smile. "If I had a body like his, I'd do it too."

Ginny's eyes got even wider, and belatedly Harry remembered that he wasn't talking to someone like Jason; this was a girl, his best friend's little sister. That probably wasn't the best thing to say to a girl like Ginny.

The portrait hole swung open, and several Gryffindors came in, chattering loudly. Harry looked away from Ginny and began to gather up the pictures.

"Harry, you all right?" Dean asked, coming over with Seamus and Neville. "You took off after Defence so fast."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry said. "Hermione was keeping an eye on me."

Seamus cracked a grin. "See?" he said to Dean. "I told you he was fine." Dean and Seamus wandered off, leaving Neville hovering anxiously.

"Are you really okay?" Neville asked. "I don't think anyone else saw how bad you were bleeding."

"I'm fine. Really."

Neville sat on the edge of a nearby table. "What was that all about?" he asked in a low voice.

"I don't know."

"Didn't Hermione say that you two were the only ones, besides her, that got the voiceless spell thing today?" Ginny asked them.

"Yes, but--"

"No buts!" Ginny interrupted Harry. "How often does that happen?"

"Often enough with Harry, in Defence," Neville said. "Hardly ever with me."

"That's not true!" Harry said hotly. "In the DA, and last year, you were almost as fast as I was at getting those spells!"

"But only when I was working with someone who got them too!" Neville retorted. "Otherwise, I was horrible!"

Ginny smiled a slow smile. "Snape must hate it that his two least-favourite students performed the best in his first class."

"Something like that." Harry slumped back in the armchair. "Look, I don't want to talk about Snape. In fact, I never want to think about him again."

"Suit yourself," Ginny said, getting to her feet. "You still did great today." Flashing Harry a brilliant smile, she walked away.

It took Harry a minute to get his breath back. "How was dinner?" he asked Neville.

Neville shrugged. "It was dinner. Everyone was talking about the Defence Against the Dark Arts class."

"Great." Harry toyed with the edge of his sleeve. "Look, Neville. I'm sorry I grabbed your wand in class today."

Neville shook his head. "No, don't be. It worked, you got your wand back and you beat Snape!"

Harry was about to protest, but then he saw the fierce expression on Neville's face, and he bit back the words. "It's a good wand," he said instead. "I've used other people's wands before, but this time it was different."

"Hotter, you mean?" Neville asked.

Harry frowned. "You feel that too?"

"The first few times I used it, sure." Neville seemed more animated now. "It still does that sometimes, when it's a really tricky spell. I got it from Olivander after my old wand was broken at the Ministry in fifth year." He hesitated. "Do you remember that dusty wand that Olivander used to have in his front window?"

"I do..." Harry finally clued in to Neville's meaning. "This is it?"

Neville nodded. "He tried almost every wand in the shop with me. Gran had to leave to get to Gringotts before it closed, and that's when he tried this one. And it was... it was perfect."

Harry blinked. "But I thought I saw that wand there last Christmas when we were in London. How could it be there if you had it then?"

"An illusion, maybe. Olivander said it would be best if I didn't tell anyone which wand I had."

"So why tell me?"

Neville stood up. "Maybe I needed to tell someone." Seeming slightly embarrassed, he headed toward the stairs.

Harry stayed slumped in the chair. His head was spinning. _Maybe that's because I'm hungry. And I missed supper for nothing._

Just as Harry was contemplating going down to bother Dobby for some leftovers, Ron dropped onto the footstool nearby. "Hi," he blurted out.

Harry looked around. "Where's Hermione?"

"Dunno. Head Girl stuff." Ron shuffled his feet, looked everywhere but Harry. "I'm, uh..."

Harry waited as Ron turned an interesting shade of pink under his freckles.

"I'm sorry I said those things about your mum," Ron finally mumbled.

Harry didn't say anything, just stared at Ron.

"And, um, about your grandfather and stuff."

"What about accusing me of doing whatever-it-was to Ginny?" Harry said coldly. "Or am I still under suspicion for that?"

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed. "I'm trying to apologize and you're angry at me?"

"You told me to stay away from Ginny for no reason!" Harry said from between clenched teeth. "You can't just expect me to forget all about that!"

"Why not?"

"Because that's not the way it works!" Harry stopped shouting when he realized that everyone was looking at them. "I would never do anything to Ginny. How long have you known me? Six years? Have I ever done anything, at all, that would even give you the remotest idea that I'd do anything to hurt Ginny?"

Ron paled. "No," he said in a clipped voice. "But she's been my little sister longer than you've been my friend. I have to look out for her!"

"She's a witch, Ron, she can look after herself."

"Oh, not that rubbish!" Ron snapped.

"It's not rubbish! Just because Ginny's a woman doesn't mean that you need to chivalrously protecting her honour, Ron. She can do that herself. Women are allowed to do that now, we're not back a hundred years ago." _God, I'm starting to sound like Anita now,_ Harry thought.

Ron took a deep breath. "Fine. If you say so. Just... if you hurt her, we're not going to be friends anymore."

Harry felt like screaming. "I'm not going to hurt her! How many times do I have to say this? Ginny's not even interested in me anymore!" He pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Did Hermione put you up to this?"

"Don't you think I'd have done it better if she had?" Ron's voice was bitter and slightly sarcastic, and about as tired as Harry felt.

"Probably." Harry opened his eyes when he heard the portrait open. He was expecting more students to pile back in, so when he saw McGonagall's distinctive pointy hat, he pushed his glasses back on and sat up straight.

McGonagall, Hermione at her side, made a bee-line for Harry and Ron. "Mr. Potter," McGonagall said tightly. "On your feet."

"What did I do?" Harry said, standing up slowly.

"Quite a lot, from the sounds of things," McGonagall said. "Thank you, Miss Granger. Well, Potter, come on."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, glaring at Hermione. She glared back, although she went over to Ron and squeezed his shoulder. "Did I miss something at dinner?"

"All in time."

Harry was left with no option but to follow McGonagall out the portrait hole. He loped along easily behind her, wondering what he'd done now. It couldn't be Quidditch; the try-outs weren't until the following week. He hadn't broken anything, or even done anything wrong except skipping dinner, since the morning class. Hadn't Snape done enough to him in class? Maybe McGonagall was going to yell at him for taking Neville's wand.

 _She could have done that in the common room, though,_ Harry thought. _I didn't forget a detention, did I?_

A tiny voice in his head wanted him to ask McGonagall about being an Animagus, but Harry kept his mouth shut. The last thing he needed was McGonagall thinking he was trying to become an unregistered Animagus. _She'd have my head on a platter!_

Eventually, the route they were taking began to sink into Harry's head. "Are we going to see the Headmaster?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Great," Harry muttered. He hurried to keep up. McGonagall didn't say another word until they reached the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Blood Pops," McGonagall said. The gargoyle moved aside to reveal the stone spiral staircase up to the office.

Too soon, they were at the top of the stairs, at the door to the Headmaster's office. McGonagall rapped at the door with her knuckles, then barely waited for Dumbledore to say, "Come in," before pushing open the door.

Dumbledore looked up from his desk at their entrance. "Please, sit down," he said, pushing his papers aside.

Gingerly, Harry sat on the edge of the hard-backed chair across the desk from Dumbledore. McGonagall stayed standing, arms crossed over her chest.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, regarding Harry through his half-moon glasses. "How are you, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry looked to McGonagall, then back to Dumbledore. "What's this about?"

"Just answer the Headmaster's question, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said.

 _I will if you tell me what this is about,_ Harry thought sullenly. "I'm fine," he said.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us?" Dumbledore pressed.

"What is this?" Harry asked. "An interrogation? I don't have anything to say; you brought me up here. I could have told you I was fine in the common room."

"Miss Granger told us what occurred during Defence Against the Dark Arts class today," Dumbledore said.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. He knew Hermione. She wouldn't have gone running to the Headmaster with stories about Snape. Not without talking to Harry, at least. "You mean you asked her," he said, although he knew the answer.

"Yes." Dumbledore was as somber as Harry had ever seen him. "Was the curse that hit your shoulder the only one that struck you?"

Harry glanced at McGonagall. Both she and Dumbledore were far too serious for this to just be about what happened in Defence. Students had been hurt in class before. Hell, Neville had broken his wrist falling off a broom in his first week at Hogwarts, and that didn't need a teacher meeting.

"Harry, the curse," Dumbledore reminded him.

"Yeah, that was it," Harry said. "I mean, I was disarmed or I'd probably have been able to block... it..." His voice trailed off. "Is something wrong?"

McGonagall paced across the office to one of the windows. "I have spoken with Professor Snape," Dumbledore said. Anger surged in Harry, hearing that name, as Dumbledore went on. "The forty-five points he took from Gryffindor will be restored to the House total."

"Forty-seven."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forty-seven points," Harry said. He shifted back a bit on the chair. From the look on Dumbledore's face, he wasn't going anywhere for a while. "I had two points taken off for making a mess of the floor."

"How?" McGonagall asked tiredly.

"Bleeding." Harry raised his eyebrows at Dumbledore.

"Forty-seven points will be restored, in that case," Dumbledore said. "Is there anything else you'd like to say about this morning, Harry?"

It was tempting, so very tempting, to get Snape in trouble, but Harry wasn't a tattletale. Dumbledore knew how much Snape loathed Harry. "No sir."

"Very well. Minerva, I wish to speak to Harry a little longer," Dumbledore said.

McGonagall pinched together her already thin lips. "Very well. Good night, Mr. Potter. Albus."

"Good night, Professor," Harry said. He sat, waiting, until McGonagall shut the door behind her, before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh.

He heard the rustle of cloth, and the creak of furniture. "Would you care for some tea?" Dumbledore asked. Without opening his eyes, Harry nodded. He sat like that for a few minutes, until he heard the delicate clatter of fine china, and opened his eyes.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, sipping the light amber drink. The taste was clear and refreshing on Harry's tongue, and he breathed in the steam for a moment, before setting the cup down.

Dumbledore waited for Harry to place his cup firmly on the saucer, before saying, "Professor Snape tells me that he curse he used this morning only works on werewolves."

Harry shot to his feet. "What?" he demanded, aghast. "What's he playing at? Using that on students? While Reece is in the school?"

"Reece was not in that classroom, Harry, you were."

"That's not the point!" Harry shouted. "Does it matter if he tries to kill me with flying curses? Or falling rocks? If he's doing this to me, in seventh year, what's he going to do to the first years?"

"He will not be doing anything of the sort. According to Professor Snape, it was merely a demonstration that got a little out of hand."

"A little out of hand?" Harry raked his hands through his hair so he wouldn't start throwing things. "A little out of hand would have been stopping when he disarmed me, not shooting me in the shoulder! When was he going to stop, when I fell to his feet and begged for mercy?"

"Harry, enough." Dumbledore's voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the gathering anger and frustration Harry was feeling. "Sit down."

Harry stayed standing for just a moment, long enough to feel rebellious, before shuffling back to his chair. He picked the teacup back up and stared into the liquid rather than look at Dumbledore.

"For any other student, the curse would only have felt a rush of wind," Dumbledore said. "Professor Snape said that he did not notice that you were bleeding."

Harry gulped down the rest of the cooling tea. "Then how do you know how hurt I was?"

"I spoke with Madam Pomfrey this afternoon." Without moving a finger, Dumbledore levitated the teapot over and refilled Harry's cup. "She had some concerns about the depth of your wound."

"It'll be fine, she fixed me up," Harry said, not exactly easy with this line of the conversation. "Is Reece okay? He seemed to get a little better on the walk to the infirmary. At least he stopped throwing up."

"Yes, Mr. Trevelyan will be fine. The potion the first year students were mixing today contained an ingredient to which he had an adverse reaction. He will be fine in a day."

"Good," Harry muttered. He rested his head on the back of the chair. His right arm was aching. He must have torn something when he heaved that desk in front of him to block the curse in class that morning.

"Unfortunately, it is not," Dumbledore said.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore met his gaze steadily. "In light of what happened in class today, Professor Snape has asked that you be removed from Hogwarts at once."

Horrified, Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"It is his opinion that you must have been infected as a werewolf by Remus Lupin at some point over the summer, and that you are thereby a danger to every student in Hogwarts."

A very bitter laugh escaped Harry's mouth. "He couldn't wait to pin this on Remus, could he?" _Dumbledore can't be serious about this, can he?_

_Can he?_

Feeling as if his whole life was circling down the drain, Harry set his cup down on the desk with a trembling hand and stood up. He managed to walk over to the windows where McGonagall stood earlier, and looked out at the pitch-black night.

Snape had never, in six long years, asked that Harry be expelled. Detentions, humiliations, points taken off, but never to be outright expelled. And now, to ask over something that wasn't even true... Harry didn't know what to say. Heaped on top of everything else he'd had happen to him in the past few days, with the Horcruxes and Voldemort and Snape and Ron and Reece and all of it, he didn't have any idea of what to do.

 _Why can't all of this shit happen to someone else?_ he thought, exhausted, as he traced the glass in the window.

"So am I going to have to leave tonight, or can I at least grab something to eat tomorrow morning?" Harry asked after a few minutes.

Dumbledore sighed. "You aren't going anywhere."

"Why not?" Harry demanded, turning around. "You don't know I'm not a werewolf, all I ever did was tell you! Maybe, if I wasn't here--"

He broke off, unable to finish the sentence. Hogwarts had been his home for the past six years, the first real place he had to call him own, after the Dursleys' house. His friends were here, his world... Even to think of it being ripped away by one vindictive man hurt more than Harry could have imagined.

Dumbledore stood and walked around the desk to where Harry was standing. "You told me, Harry, and I believed you."

"Why?" Harry had to ask. "No one else ever does. They didn't believe me about Voldemort, or anything." He leaned his shoulder against the stone wall, wincing at the pain that ran down his arm.

"I have always believed you, Harry." When Harry looked around, Dumbledore was smiling slightly. "You have never been a fanciful child, making up stories others want to hear. That does not change. You know the weight of the events of our day; you would not tell tales about this."

"But Snape--"

"Snape is not headmaster," Dumbledore reminded Harry. "Even if you were a werewolf, as I told you in St. Louis, you would be welcome here."

"But Remus had to leave, when everyone learned he was a werewolf," Harry found himself saying. "After that thing with Sirius and Pettigrew..."

Dumbledore was shaking his head. "Remus chose to leave. Until you choose to leave, Harry, Hogwarts will be your home."

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered, miserable. "I think I should go back to the common room now." He slowly trudged across the office. Maybe some sleep would help get rid of this horrible feeling, like he'd been run over by a herd of Thestrals. In with all the aches, he was starting to get a little sick to his stomach. _This is the worst day ever._

"On Monday evening, Harry, I would like you to come to my office after dinner. I have found a new source of information on the Horcruxes, which I hope to retrieve tomorrow."

"Sure thing, sir."

"Harry..."

His hand on the doorknob, Harry turned around. Dumbledore was opening a small closet in the wall, where Harry knew he kept his Pensive. "Yes?"

"Very quick thinking this morning, in your Defence class," Dumbledore said.

Harry couldn't even manage a smile. "Thank you."

He left.

* * *

Later that night, in bed, Harry stared at the darkened walls of his dorm. His dormmates were asleep; had been for hours.

Harry's shoulder ached too much for him to sleep. He'd rubbed that ointment on his skin like Madame Pomfrey told him, but it hadn't dulled the pain. His other arm still hurt, and at some point between Dumbledore's office and the common room, he'd developed a killer headache in addition to his upset stomach.

Water hadn't helped. Nothing helped, so Harry lay awake in the cold bed.

He tried to blame Snape for doing this to him, but he'd hated Snape for so long that he couldn't whip up any more emotion. _If I'd been quicker, smarter, he never would have gotten my wand away from me in the first place. Bellatrix did it once -- that Snape did it in class a month later is inexcusable!_

He replayed the fight in his head, over and over until it began to bleed together with Bellatrix's attack in St. Louis, her laughter overlying the malevolently gleeful gleam in Snape's eyes as he closed in for the kill.

Lying there, Harry swore he would never be disarmed again. Even if he had to tie his wand to his arm with string, he would never again let himself be so defenseless in a fight.

 _A wolf wouldn't be defenseless._ In that moment, Harry had never been so disappointed that he hadn't shifted into a werewolf, on the night of the full moon.


	53. Work Like a Dog

* * *

By the time the sun rose the next morning, Harry was ready to die. His head ached, his tongue was dry, and over it all his shoulder kept having spasms.

It was still too early for anyone else to be awake when Harry dragged himself from the room and down to the showers. The bright room gleamed harshly, brightly, setting the blood pounding in Harry's head.

 _At least I don't have to go to class today,_ Harry thought blearily as he undressed. _Maybe I'll go up to Madame Pomfrey after breakfast._

The mere thought of food made Harry queasy. _I must be getting sick; that has to be it._

The chill spray of the shower made Harry gasp, but he gritted his teeth and grabbed the soap. He closed his eyes against the glare of the lights and washed himself as quickly as he could, wishing that he was back at Anita's house, able to shower in that tiny bathroom near his room, to turn the lights on or off as he wished, able to eat whenever he wanted.

The shower left him shivering as he made his way quietly back up to his dorm room. No one had moved; if things held the same as previous years, no one else would be awake for a few more hours. Harry shimmied into clean clothes, then hesitated for only a few seconds before throwing the Animagus book into his bag over his school books. Vague thoughts of going to the library at some point in the day flitted in Harry's head as he stumbled down the stairs again, and out the portrait hole.

Only a few others were up at this time of day, and all headed in the direction of the Great Hall. Harry made it all the way to the doors of the Hall before he caught the smells of breakfast. The mixing scents of the food, of eggs and sausages and so many things, made his stomach clench. Giving up any idea of food, Harry walked through the castle doors and out onto the drying grass.

He plunked himself down and concentrated for a few minutes on not throwing up. He felt thick and stupid, and wanted the sickness in his head and body to go away.

 _I'll get over it in a few days, it'll be fine,_ Harry tried to reassure himself. He flipped open his bag and pulled out the first book that came to hand. _Transfiguration. Brilliant._ Not that he didn't need the review. He had the suspicion that McGonagall wouldn't let up on them at all this year. _Might as well make an effort._

The writing in the book was tiny, and Harry often had to reread whole pages, but he'd managed to work his way through the section on changing inorganic objects like rock and metal into living animals when someone nearby cleared their throat. More than a little irritated at the interruption, Harry looked up slowly.

Reece stood about three feet away, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "What are you doing?" the boy asked in an annoyingly cheerful tone.

"Studying," Harry said shortly, and bent back over his book. His whole body ached and it was now rather hard to breathe without throwing up, but damn it, he wasn't a crybaby, he'd been sick before.

"What subject?"

"Transfiguration."

The one-word answers didn't deter the child. "I like that class. Professor McGonagall's nice."

"No, she isn't." Harry slapped the book closed. "Don't you have something better to be doing with your weekend?"

The boy's happiness was immediately wiped away at Harry's harsh words. _Damn it!_ Harry thought as Reece cast his eyes down. _Why did he have to come talk to me?_

"Look, it's just a hard subject," Harry said, trying to make up for almost yelling at Reece. "And I'm having a bad day."

"I've had those," Reece said, tentatively glancing back up at Harry. "My mum gave me this for when I feel rotten." He dug in the pocket of his robe, and pulled out a brightly coloured plastic package. He handed the object solemnly to Harry.

Harry had to turn the package over to see that it was a bag of muggle beef jerky. "Dried meat makes you feel better?" Harry asked, wondering if he was missing something.

Reece nodded enthusiastically. "If I feel bad, I eat some and I feel better. Don't you feel like that?" He cocked his head to the side in a very wolf-like action, watching Harry with a stillness so intense he was almost vibrating.

"I'm not..." Harry's voice trailed off. Now he really wanted to kick himself. What was it Jason had said? The lycanthropes needed to eat a lot, to not feel so bad? But Harry hadn't shifted... was he the same way?

"You can keep that," Reece said, bouncing in place. "We're going to practice flying now! Do you want to come?"

"Uh, no thanks," Harry said.

"Okay!" Reece hopped back and then turned to run off.

"Don't you need a teacher or something?" Harry called after him, then winced. Now he was starting to sound like Hermione!

"We've got a prefect!" Reece shouted as he ran in the direction of the Quidditch pitch.

The boy certainly had a different attitude toward flying than he had a few days ago. Harry glanced back at the dried meat in his hand. Breakfast was probably over, and he hadn't eaten anything since noon the previous day. Maybe he just needed to eat something.

 _And if that solves how I'm feeling, then I'm never going to live this down._ Feeling rather silly, Harry broke off a piece of the dried meat and stuck it in his mouth. It was hard and salty, and for a moment Harry wished it was warn and almost raw, fresh off the grill, like Nathaniel used to make.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry ate the entire bag of meat, and had to stop himself from licking the salt off the wrapper. He already felt much better. His headache receded a little, letting him think.

 _I'm an idiot._ Harry bundled the plastic wrapper back in his pocket before scooping his books back into his bag. He stood, and was surprised to see the number of other students out on the lawn. _Did I miss this many people around me?_

For the second time in two days, Harry was upset with himself. _Not paying attention! Snape could have snuck up on me again and I'd never even have heard him!_

Ignoring the looks from the other students, Harry hurried into the coolness of the castle. Out of the sun, his headache vanished and he could think again.

Glancing at the clock, Harry saw that he had hours to go before lunch. Briefly, he considered going to the kitchens, but the thought of encountering Kreatcher down there was incentive enough to starve until lunch. His feet moved of their own accord, taking Harry up and through the castle.

 _I could go find Hermione and Ron,_ Harry thought. _They may be in the library. I'm sick of reading though. The only thing I want to read is the Animagus book, but I can't see reading that in front of Hermione--_

Harry came to a dead stop as an idea sprang into his head. _What was it Dumbledore said? Accepting the beast is the hardest part? Maybe if I just skip all that boring reading and go right to the incantation..._

It was a foolish idea; dangerous. The teachers always told the students to never to try a spell on themselves unless they knew what they were doing.

 _What's the worst that can happen? I just won't change!_ Harry argued with himself. He changed course and walked as quickly as he could to one of the unused towers in the castle.

If the spell didn't work, no one would be the wiser. If it did work, if Harry really could become an Animagus, then he'd have another way to defend himself if he lost his wand. That was more important than any hesitations he might have.

 _Anita said that I have to protect myself,_ Harry thought as he slipped into a secret passage to climb up to a blocked-off floor. _This is the best way._

* * *

It took Harry a while to find a good place to practice changing into an Animagus. Finally he located a dusty room with enough windows for light.

After stripping off his robe and laying it and his wand on the ground, Harry settled on the floor, opened the book and flipped past all the parts on meditation and history of the Animagi, to the chapter on the incantation.

 _Okay... be at one with your beast, then close your eyes and say the spell in your head, and you'll change into your Animagus form._ Harry reread the page, just to be sure, then put the book to the side and closed his eyes. In his head, he said the incantation, and waited.

Nothing.

He opened his eyes and looked down at his very human body, feeling slightly foolish. _That didn't work._ He thought about what he'd done, then realized he'd forgotten to be "one" with his beast. Whatever that meant.

Harry closed his eyes again and tried to feel his beast. All he felt was human.

 _Maybe I'm too hungry._ No, that couldn't be it. Sirius had changed into his dog form often when he was on the run, without too much to eat.

Harry's determination faltered as he thought about his godfather. Would Sirius have been mad at Harry for trying this? Harry couldn't see why; Sirius was a huge fan of breaking the rules, and this was about as rebellious as Harry would get without actually causing damage to something or somebody. Sirius wouldn't only understand; he'd get a kick out of the whole thing.

 _Don't think of Sirius, think of the beast._ Harry tried to think of times that his beast had threatened to overwhelm him. In St. Louis, fighting with Jamil, or when he was scared of losing Anita. Neither memory sparked the beast.

Harry let out a groan. This had to work! What would Richard think of? Or Jason? How would they interact with their beasts? How did it feel when they shifted, under the light of the full moon, at the Lupanar?

 _The Lupanar._ Harry cast his mind back a week, to the night of the full moon at the Lupanar, of throwing his head back and howling defiantly at the moon, surrounded by others of his kind, werewolf and wereleopard and Anita, feeling for the first time in his life like he had a place to belong, a home.

Deep in his chest, the animal stirred. This time it wasn't just in his chest, but in every cell in his body. The wolf uncurled, feeling for the first time as if it truly belonged in this skin.

Reveling in the sensation, the animal heat in his body, Harry let his head fall back and whispered the incantation.

Lost in the feel of his body, Harry forgot what he was doing. Eventually, he remembered that he was supposed to be trying out a spell. _It must not have worked,_ Harry thought, and opened his eyes.

The world had changed.

Harry yelped and tried to jump to his feet, but everything went screwy and he ended up lying on his back, limbs in the air.

 _My hands are gone!_ He flailed around for a moment, trying to understand what he was seeing. Instead of hands, paws waved in the air in front of him. There was also something on his face interrupting his view. Crossing his eyes, Harry focused on... his nose? His nose wasn't that long!

Harry stopped moving. _I did it! I'm an Animagus!_ He tried to move, but just flopped onto his side. _Now what?_

Harry twitched a paw. It moved the way his brain wanted it to. He tried stretching out his whole arm, and that worked too. Next, he tried moving his legs. They felt shorter than before, and loads more powerful. A wave of joy swelled up in Harry. Then something else moved at the base of his spine. _I have a tail!_ The thought alone was enough to freeze him in place. He tried to lift his head to see, but it was a bad position. _First job, figure out how to stand up._

The joints in his arms... well, his front legs, didn't have the range of movement that his elbows did. Pushing himself up from his side like this was impossible. Feeling like the most uncoordinated wizard ever, Harry eventually rolled into his stomach.

Very self-consciously, he tried to stand. He managed to prop his body up on his front legs, but his mind wanted to go into a kneeling position, and the legs he had wouldn't move like that.

Frustrated, Harry tried to swear, and all that came out was a low growl. He flopped back to his stomach, resting his jaw against the cold stone floor. Mentally, he counted to ten while he tried to let the frustration bleed away.

While he lay on the floor, he took the chance to look around the room. Things weren't as colourful as he was used to, but everything looked much sharper, crisper. The wall looked both closer and farther away. Harry really wished he could stand up to investigate.

 _Maybe I'm thinking too hard._ None of the other werewolves had this much trouble in moving. Harry took a deep breath, smelling dust and the musty book and the faint meaty smell of the plastic wrapping in his robe's pocket. _Stop thinking about how to stand up, and just stand._

It took him two tries, but he finally got to his feet.

 _This is so strange!_ Harry looked down at his paws, pressed against the floor, then glanced around at the back of his body. Sure enough, he had a bushy grey tail, wagging behind him. He concentrated, and the tail stopped moving.

 _What am I?_ Harry thought. _Am I a dog like Sirius?_ Looking around, Harry couldn't see any mirrors in the room, or any shiny surfaces. _I guess I'll figure that out later._ It didn't really matter, at this point. Harry felt great. It didn't even seem strange to be on all fours, rather than standing up straight like a human.

Gleefully, Harry paced across the room. The world was full of new smells to investigate. Harry had never realized how much his schoolbag smelled like books and ink and parchment and all kinds of things. Moving on to his robes, Harry tried to paw open the folds of cloth so he could get to the plastic. It was really weird, not having hands!

His wand, sticking out of a pocket, was the most familiar smell in the room. The wood was overlain with the smell of hands, and the indescribable sensation of magic. It tickled Harry's nose, and he sneezed.

Harry jumped and turned, getting used to moving with four legs and a tail. Once he stopped thinking about how strange it was, he quickly became accustomed to the way his tail stretched out behind him for balance. _I bet I could run even faster with this tail to help me not fall over!_

A distant noise sounded, and Harry froze. He pointed his whole body toward the windows, where the sound had seemed loudest. _Is something wrong?_

Moving with purpose, Harry stepped his front paws up on the windowsill and looked out the window. Far below, tiny black-robed students were making their way into the castle. They weren't moving as if they were scared. _Must be lunch!_

Harry jumped down from the window. _I'm starving. All I need to do is change back to human and--_

He froze again. Change back? How was he supposed to change back?

A steady stream of growls came out of Harry's mouth as he cursed himself. _Stupid, stupid!_ He dashed back over to the book. _Can I even read like this?_

His paws were not suited at all for turning pages. He finally had to lick the bottom of his paw to be able to turn a page. The letters on the page made sense to him, but he had to concentrate very hard on the words.

The incantation to reverse the Animagus spell didn't seem so hard, although the book recommended that the wizard hold his wand at the same time.

 _I'd like to see how a bird Animagus would do that!_ Harry hurried over to where he left his robe and wand. He managed to use his jaw and tongue to pick up his wand, ignoring the peppery taste of the magic. When he was once more in front of the book, he sat back on his haunches, wand still in his mouth, and closed his eyes.

 _I sure hope this works_. Harry recited the words of the incantation, praying the whole time that this would work.

The taste of the wand in his mouth changed, to boring wood. Harry snapped his eyes open, and spat his wand out, rubbing at his mouth with his hands. _Hands?_ Harry jumped to his feet, staring at his fingers and his very human body.

"It worked!" he exclaimed. The words sounded strange in the dusty room, but he was too excited to care. He'd done it! He was an Animagus, like his dad and like Sirius! Although his shape was more like Sirius's, something with paws and a tail and rather sharp teeth. _Something dangerous_.

Once the elation dimmed slightly, his head felt as if it was wrapped in cotton; all sound was muffled, things looked slightly fuzzy and less bright. For a fleeting instant, Harry wanted to change back to the animal he had been a few minutes before, and it was with a supreme force of will that he made himself gather up his belongings. _Soon,_ he promised himself. _Soon I'll change back and practice more, so I can actually run when I need to_.

He couldn't wait.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Hermione hissed when Harry slipped into a place next to her at the Gryffindor table. "You missed breakfast! We couldn't find you!"

"I was just studying," Harry said thickly, mouth already full of food. "You know I need the practice."

Hair flying every which way, Hermione sat up straighter and glared at Harry. "That's not the point!"

Harry washed down his mouthful with some water, and put his hand over Hermione's. "I promise, everything's fine. Now."

"Now?" Hermione asked, perking up. "Did something go wrong last night, with Professor McGonagall?"

Harry shook his head, and leaned in close enough to whisper in her ear. "You know how we're not supposed to try to transfigure anything if we don't know how to end the spell?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "You didn't!"

Harry shrugged. "I fixed it, in the end."

He didn't know why, but he didn't want to tell Hermione or Ron about his adventures as an Animagus right yet. He wanted this to be his own, if only for a little while. When he told them, they'd want to try, and if his experience was any indication, Hermione would be able to change in no time at all.

"You know better than that," Hermione whispered. She gave him a tiny smile, as if she was trying to soften the chastisement.

"Yeah, I probably do." Harry smiled back. He wondered what Hermione would smell like, if he were still in his Animagus form. _Like ink and parchment and books, no doubt. I wonder if she'd smell like a girl._

I wonder what a girl would smell like.

Sitting back, Harry turned back to his plate, hoping that no one would notice his sudden blush.

"Anyway, what are you planning on doing after lunch?" Hermione asked in a normal tone.

Harry plucked two sandwiches off the platter in front of him. "I don't know. I'm not allowed to fly, so maybe nothing."

"Not nothing," Hermione corrected. "I'm going to go to the library, you should come too."

"Why?"

"Have you finished your Charms homework yet?"

Harry's chewing slowed. "We have Charms homework?"

Hermione sighed. "Were you paying attention at all in class?"

"Apparently not."

Hermione patted his arm. "We'll go to the library after lunch, and you can work on it," she promised. "It'll be fun!"

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "Oh really?" He licked a bit of mustard off his thumb and went back for another sandwich. "Where's Ron and Ginny, anyway?"

"I don't know where Ginny is. Ron and Seamus are up to something." Hermione sounded disapproving, which was no surprise.

"Anything interesting?"

"We'll find out when they get detention, won't we?" Hermione toyed with the crust of her sandwich. "Did anything bad happen last night?"

Harry's chewing slowed. He couldn't tell Hermione that Snape wanted him expelled, because then he'd have to explain about the werewolf curse, and why it had affected him. Of course, then he'd have to explain about the Horcruxes and Voldemort.... "No, nothing bad happened. They just wanted to talk to me."

Hermione frowned. "But..." She looked past Harry to the front. "Snape wasn't here at breakfast, either. I wonder where he is."

"I don't care," Harry said with feeling. "If I never have to see him again, it'll be too soon."

"But we've got class again on Friday."

Hermione's comment was met with Harry's silent chewing.

"You can't skip class!"

"I never said I was going to." Harry grabbed two apples off the table and shoved them deep in his book bag. "Are you done? Let's go study."

Shaking her head the whole time, Hermione stood up and gathered up her large bag. "You do realize this is the first time you've voluntarily gone with me to the library when we _haven't_ been breaking school rules?" she pointed out as they left the Great Hall.

"Maybe spending the summer in America made me appreciate the quality of Hogwarts books," Harry teased.

"Did you bring anything fun back from St. Louis?" Hermione asked curiously as they climbed the stairs.

"A lot of clothes," Harry said. "And I also borrowed a college textbook on preternatural biology from Anita; it's got some fascinating information on the physiology of--"

"You borrowed a _textbook_?" Hermione repeated. "Really?"

"Come on, Hermione! The stuff in the Defence Against the Dark Arts texts don't have anything remotely current on werewolves! This at least has some stuff on DNA and the virus transmission. I thought.... Well, I thought if I read it, when I talked to Remus next, I'd have something to say."

"He misses you, you know," Hermione said softly.

Harry stopped so suddenly he almost tripped over his feet. "Did you see him recently?" he demanded, heart pounding in his chest. "Is he okay? What did he say?"

Over the last year, Harry had found it extremely hard to talk to Remus about anything. After Sirius died... Harry had blamed himself in part, and he suspected that Remus had also blamed him. The man never came out and said anything, but he didn't have to.

Now, what would Harry say to Remus? That he had been clawed up by a werewolf but he didn't change, wasn't that wonderful? That he was an illegal Animagus after one day of trying? That he was sorry his actions had killed one of Remus's best friends?

"Harry?" Hermione came up to Harry's side, and when he didn't move, rested her hand on his arm. "Are you going to be okay?"

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He put his arm around Hermione's shoulders and gave her a tiny squeeze.

She squeezed him back. "It'll all be okay," she promised. She rested her head against Harry's shoulder for a moment before pulling away. "Remus is fine, Tonks told us so. He's doing something important, and she doesn't know when we'll see him again."

"Remus was talking to Tonks?" Harry asked, letting Hermione guide him down the hall. "Why?"

"Very funny," Hermione said.

"No, really. Was it because of Sirius?"

Hermione gave him an incredulous look. "Are you joking? You know that Remus and Tonks are together, right?"

"Together how?"

"Together! As in a couple?"

"You are having me on!" Harry exclaimed, attracting the attention of a passing gaggle of Ravenclaws.

"Of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. "They've been together since last April."

"Last April, I was sort of busy not dying!" Harry raked his hand through his hair. "When did you find out?"

"Tonks told us this summer, but we'd all seen it at the end of last year..." Hermione's voice trailed off. "Sorry."

"No one tells me anything!" Remus and Tonks? Wasn't Tonks too young for Remus? Well, probably not, she was old enough to be an Auror, and that was a really hard job. She was really smart too, and funny. Harry had just never thought about anyone being interested in Remus like that. "Weird."

"It's not weird, it's good," Hermione said. "We like Remus and want him to be happy, right?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Of course." He linked his arm through hers and turned in the direction of the library. "Come on, let's go up to the library and you can tell me what else I missed this summer."

* * *

Harry let out a groan and let his face fall forward into his Charms book. He was going to go mental if he had to read another word about levitation spells.

"Are you being attacked by a Harleekork?"

Harry rolled his head to the side and opened one eye. Luna bent over the edge of his study carrel, gazing down at him with concern. "A what?"

"A Harleekork." Luna pulled over another chair to sit beside Harry. "They nibble at your ankles and suck your energy out through your toes. They're native to Madagascar, but there have been some sightings in Oxford."

Harry propped his head up on his fist. "No ankle-biters here."

Luna shrugged. "As long as you're certain."

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. "What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you," Luna said, pulling her feet up onto the chair. "You're here by yourself?"

Harry shifted his chair over to give Luna more room, once again smelling a hint of that spicy incense in her hair. "Hermione was studying with me, but she had to go take care of a Head Girl emergency."

"That's too bad." Luna looked down at Harry's notes. She looked very serious.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked, laying down his quill.

"Oh yes," Luna assured him. She glanced around. "So, did you hear that there's a Hogsmede weekend in a couple of weeks?"

Harry shook his head. "I missed breakfast."

"They told us at supper last night. Are you going to go with anyone?"

Luna was moving way too fast for Harry to keep up. "Huh?"

"Are you going to Hogsmede with anybody?" Luna propped her chin up on her knees and looked at Harry with huge blue eyes.

"No..." Harry hadn't really thought about Hogsmede weekends. There was that disaster with Cho, then the non-event with Susan Bones.... Mostly, he just wandered about with Hermione and Ron.

But with the two of them being so close these days, would they even want him around?

Harry looked again at Luna. She was interesting, nice to be around, and made him laugh. Had he ever seen her at Hogsmede on the weekends? He couldn't remember. "Do you want to go to Hogsmede with me?" he said without thinking.

Luna's eyes grew even bigger. "Oh! That's not what I meant!" she said, flustered.

"It could be like friends," Harry said. "Just to get away from the castle for a bit. Unless you've got other plans?"

"No, but..." Luna bit her lip.

Harry smiled what he hoped was a winning smile. "Come on, it'd be fun."

Luna looked at him, so solemn. "Okay."

Harry's smile widened into a grin. "Great!"

Luna got to her feet. "I have to go now," she stuttered, and took off.

"Bye," Harry said as loudly as he dared. He frowned as he watched Luna go. "I didn't mean to scare her off."

Already, he was wondering if he'd done the right thing, in asking Luna to go with him to Hogsmeade. She seemed upset. _I'm not that bad company,_ Harry thought, his pride slightly wounded. _I'll talk to her about the next time I see her. She doesn't have to go with me if she doesn't want to._

Harry stared at his Charms book, thinking about the look in Luna's eyes. She'd changed a lot in some ways over the last couple of years, but in other ways she was still the same dreamy girl who had been in the carriage on the train in fifth year.

_Only prettier, especially when she bites her lip like that..._

Harry pushed that thought away. If he started thinking about pretty girls, he wouldn't be able to get any work done at all. No thinking about girls' lips, or the way they smelled, or their hair, or the magic that seemed to radiate from their skin at time--

Harry buried his head in his hands. He wasn't going to be able to get any work done if he kept up like this! Had he been this bad before he had been clawed up by a werewolf? He didn't think so.

 _I need to think of something else,_ Harry told himself. _Like cold showers, or Dementors, or Snape--_

The moment Snape's greasy face crossed Harry's mind, a wave of anger surged up in his chest, so strong it surprised him. _I can't believe he wanted to expel me!_ Harry thought, furious. _And now he thinks, I'm a werewolf!_

Harry closed his Charms book. _Snape thinks he's so smart, with all his Dark Arts. He's probably going to keep trying to kill me in class, just to show everyone how smart._

Harry wasn't going to let that happen. Grimly, he pulled out his Defence Against the Dark Arts book. Even if he failed every other class this year, he'd be the best in Defence, no matter what.

 _I'm an Animagus now,_ Harry thought, opening the book to the section on voiceless spells. _If I can do that, I can do anything._


	54. Don't Think

* * *

"There's no need to fume," Ginny said as she followed Harry into the castle.

"No need to fume?" Harry whirled on her, only then realizing that Ron was right on Ginny's heels. "Half the people who showed up for the Gryffindor Quidditch team tryouts weren't even _in_ Gryffindor! A third of them couldn't fly!"

Ginny put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "You're only mad because Sloper flew into the first years."

"I'm mad because no one seems to be taking this seriously!" Harry shouted. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"It wasn't that bad," Ron said, leaning his broom on the wall. "I think those twin girls, the ones in first year, might be good Beaters."

"No, Sloper and Kirke are still better," Ginny said dismissively. "But maybe for in a couple of years, when--"

"If you two are quite finished?" Harry said.

Ron and Ginny turned to him with the same annoyed expression. "Will you stop it?" Ginny demanded. "You're worse than Hermione after a bad exam! You've got a week to make a decision on the players."

"She's right, mate." Ron gave Harry a crooked grin. "I've got a couple suggestions, if you... you know, still want to talk about plays and stuff."

Harry restrained the urge to sigh. They were right. The Quidditch tryouts hadn't been horrible. If only Sloper hadn't dive-bombed the watching first years, he might not be so upset. "Yeah, that'd be a good idea," he said reluctantly. "I need to go run the Snitch back to Madame Hooch, we can go over the results after lunch?"

"Right, I'll see you in the dorms," Ron said, looking positively gleeful.

Ginny shook her head. "After a shower."

"What do you mean, after a shower?" Ron demanded hotly.

"I mean, after a shower," Ginny said, pushing Ron down the hall. "You need a shower. Bye Harry!"

Harry turned in the direction of Madame Hooch's office. At least Ginny was speaking to him again. For the last week, even since Harry had asked Luna to the Hogsmeade weekend, Ginny seemed to have been avoiding him, and he couldn't figure out why. When he'd asked Hermione about it, she had given him a withering look and walked away without answering.

 _I guess flying with Ginny this morning made her less mad at me,_ Harry mused. Not that he'd had much of a chance that morning to fly; he hadn't even had a moment to hop on his broom before the others began to arrive for the tryouts. _Maybe next week, in the morning._

Resting his Firebolt broom on his shoulder, Harry bounded along the corridor, irritation at the tryouts leaking away. Compared to the first week of school, the second, the one that had just passed, was beautiful, if he didn't count Ginny ignoring him. Classes had gone well, and he'd actually gotten his homework done on time thanks to Hermione's prodding. Reece seemed to be doing better, and there appeared to have been no more potions incidents with the boy.

Harry's Monday meeting with Dumbledore had been rather strange. Dumbledore had shown Harry a series of Pensive memories, of Voldemort's mother's family, the Gaunts. Strange, disturbed people, each and everyone one. In the end, Harry had learned that Voldemort had tricked the Wizarding world into thinking that his maternal uncle had killed the Riddles, Voldemort's father's family. As Harry had watched the memories, he had thought he'd seen something, some kind of strange thought about Voldemort, but it vanished whenever he tried to get too close to it. He was sure he'd get to it someday.

Harry had even survived his Defence Against the Dark Arts class on Friday. Snape had ignored Harry's presence entirely, and Harry had been glad enough to return the favour. In spite of everything, Harry's studying had paid off; he'd been able to perform every counter-curse Snape set to them. He hadn't been awarded a single point, but he was used to that.

 _All I have to do now is to keep this up, and hopefully I'll get through the term without injuring the greasy bastard._

Madame Hooch's office was near the Ravenclaw common room, so when Harry heard the murmur of voices down the hall, he wasn't surprised. A few more steps down the hall, however, and Harry could identify one of the voices, rising up in a panic. _Luna?_

Harry's steps slowed, and he concentrated on the voices. He couldn't say what it was about Luna's voice, but he knew she was nervous and angry and more than a little scared.

Putting the case with the Snitch against a wall next to his broom, Harry hurried silently down the corridor.

"-- had a deal!" a boy's voice said, angry. "Why do you think this would stop?"

"I'm not going to do your homework anymore, Michael!" Luna said, voice as strong as she could make it, but wavering slightly on the last word. "It's not right!"

"Really?" Michael Corner said mockingly, as Harry looked stealthily around the corner. "I'm sure Ginny would love to read this little diary... Or how about your precious Potter?" He laughed, but it was the sight of Luna growing so pale it looked as if she might faint that made Harry's blood boil. "Do you honestly think he'd still want to hold your hand in Hogsmeade if he knew?"

Luna tried to move away, but Michael went after her, grabbing her arm. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry was around the corner, pulling Michael off Luna and slamming him up against the wall.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Harry growled, balling up Michael's robes in his hands.

"Harry!" Luna shouted, grabbing his arm. "Stop it!"

Terrified, Michael tried to twist away from Harry, but Harry wasn't letting go.

"Harry, please," Luna tried again. "He wasn't hurting me!"

"What was he trying to get you to do?" Harry demanded.

"Nothing, let him go!" Luna sounded so upset. Harry made himself step back and let go of Michael, not being able to resist giving him a hard shove against the wall.

The second he was free, Michael bolted down the hall. Harry wanted to go after him and hit him, just once, for doing whatever it was to Luna. _How dare he do anything to her!_

"What happened?" Harry demanded, turning on Luna. It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized she was trembling. "Did he hurt you?" Harry asked anxiously, looking her up and down.

She shook her head. "It's nothing," she said, lifting her chin. "Don't mind him, he--"

"He's a piece of dirt," Harry interrupted. "Come on." Carefully, he put his arm around her thin shoulders and guided her over to a low window seat farther along the corridor. "Here, sit down."

Luna sank to the seat, twisting her hands in her lap. Harry knelt in front of her, staring up at her pale face. He waited for a while for her to speak, not wanting to rush her. Just when she though he wasn't going to say anything, she finally opened her mouth. "Michael just..."

"Just what?" Harry asked softly. Inside, he was so angry he wanted to break something, preferably Michael's face.

Luna took a deep breath. "Did I ever tell you that sometimes, people take my things?" She waited until Harry nodded. "Last year, Michael took my diary. That's all."

"He took your diary?" Harry asked. "What..." Suddenly, all the pieces of the puzzle clicked together. "Wait, he's _blackmailing_ you?"

Luna looked miserable. "It's not really like that--"

"But he's making you do his homework or else he'll start showing your diary around?" Harry had never heard of such a low, underhanded, foul thing to do to a person, especially someone as nice and sweet as Luna. "What's he holding over you?"

Luna clenched her hands together so hard her knuckles went white, and shook her head.

Carefully, Harry pried her hands apart before she hurt herself. "I promise that I won't freak out, no matter what."

"You might." Harry had never heard Luna's voice be so bitter.

"I doubt it." He ran his thumb over the skin on the back of her hand. "Are you a Death Eater?"

"What?" Luna said, startled into looking up. "Of course not!"

"Planning on robbing Gringotts? Been betting on the Quidditch World Cup?"

Luna shook her head again. "You won't understand," she whispered.

"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to." Harry reached up and touched Luna's cheek. "But you can't let that bastard Corner keep doing this."

"It's easier."

Harry bit down a growl. "He's a year ahead of you in classes, doing his homework can't be easy."

"I'm leaning lots more."

"Luna."

Luna deftly pulled her hand out of Harry's and slipped to her feet. She paced a ways down the corridor, then slowly turned and came back. She knelt on the ground beside Harry and looked at him with a burning intensity. "You have to promise me that you'll never tell anyone else," she said.

"I promise," Harry swore.

Luna took a deep breath. "Last year, I wrote something in my diary. It was stupid, but Michael..." She settled back on her heels, so frail in her black robes. "He read it and threatened to tell."

"Who would he tell?"

"Ginny." The word was whispered so low that Harry almost didn't hear. "He said he'd tell Ginny."

"What would he tell her? What did you write?" Now Harry was confused. He'd thought Luna and Ginny were close friends. What could Luna possibly have written about Ginny that Michael could blackmail her?

"That--" Luna took another breath. "That she'd kissed all kinds of boys, and I wondered if she'd ever wanted to kiss another girl. Like me."

Harry blinked. "What, that's it?" he said, the words out of his mouth before he thought. "What's wrong with that?"

Luna threw up her hands. "Everything's wrong with it!" 

"Everyone thinks like that, it's part of growing up. And there's nothing wrong with it at all!" Harry exclaimed.

She shook her head. "I keep forgetting you grew up with Muggles."

"Huh?"

"It's just--" Luna closed her eyes. "It's just not _done_ in the Wizarding world! If Ginny found out, she'd--" Luna's voice broke off. "She's just the first friend I ever had, and I'm scared she'll never talk to me again."

Harry moved to put his arm around Luna. After a second, she relaxed against him, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry could feel her trembling, ever so slightly.

"Ginny is your friend," he said firmly. "There is nothing that you could say to her to make her hate you."

"This might."

"What would you say if Ginny said something the same to you?"

"She won't."

"But you grew up in the Wizarding world too," Harry said. He had no idea what he was doing, and he hoped desperately that he didn't say something stupid. "Would you freak out?"

He felt Luna shake her head. "But this is different."

"No, it's not. And hey, I know and I'm not freaking out."

Luna sighed.

"So, can I kill Michael Corner now?" he said, only half-joking.

Luna pulled away slightly, eyes flashing. "No fighting!" she said hotly.

"How about injuring?"

"Harry! You'll get in trouble!"

"He's been blackmailing you!"

"Which makes it my problem!" Luna pushed her hair away from her face. "My problem. I have to deal with it."

As much as Harry wanted to go beat on Michael for a while, Luna was right. No matter what Harry did, it wouldn't solve the root problem. Luna needed to solve this.

"You won't tell Ginny," Luna said after a minute.

"I promised you that I wouldn't tell anyone," Harry reminded her. "Now, I need you to do something for me. Promise me that you won't let Michael do this anymore?"

Luna fidgeted with a fold in her robe. "I don't want him to tell Ginny."

Harry patted Luna's back gently, really wishing he understood girls. "Ginny wouldn't want you to be hurt."

Luna looked up at Harry with wide eyes. "You're a very strange person," she said. "You're nice to me, no matter what."

"I'm not strange," Harry contradicted, getting angry again. "I'm your friend. That's not going to change."

Luna smiled tentatively. "Do you still want to go to Hogsmeade next weekend?"

"Of course." Harry stood and took Luna's hand to help her stand. "Anything you want." 

Suddenly, Luna went up on her toes and kissed Harry on the cheek. "I'm glad you're my friend." Then she turned and ran off.

Stunned, Harry put his fingers to his cheek. Luna had kissed him. She'd let him hold her hand, and promised to stand up to Michael Corner, and she'd kissed him.

With his mind swimming in incoherent circles, Harry wandered back down the hall to where he'd left his broom and the box with the Snitch. In a daze, he took the case to Madame Hooch's office, left it in the bin outside the closed door, then headed back in the direction of the Gryffindor common room.

 _She said she'd stand up to Michael, even though he's been blackmailing her for... how many months?_ Harry thought. _She seemed so flighty when I met her, but not really any more. Was that because of Michael?_

Wishing he hadn't told Luna he wouldn't hurt Michael, Harry bounded up a flight of stairs, turned a corner, and almost ran over a teacher.

Bouncing back, Harry tried to apologize.

"Not a problem," said the teacher. It was Professor Slughorn, the new potions teacher. "Harry Potter! Just the young man I was looking for!"

Harry frowned, pushing the mess with Luna to the back of his head as he focused on the professor. He was short enough for Harry to have to look down at him, and seemed to have gained a little weight in the short time since Harry first saw him at the head table the first day back at school.

The professor rocked back on his heels, hooking his thumbs in his old-fashioned waistcoat, and beamed up at Harry. "Just back from Quidditch, I see?"

"Er," Harry managed.

"Right! Well, Mr. Potter, you are invited to a little get-together I'm having this evening, just a few close friends, some rising stars here at Hogwarts. Just after dinner! Don't be late!" Before Harry could speak, Professor Slughorn bustled away.

Harry was left staring at the spot the teacher had just been. "What the hell just happened?"

* * *

The walk up to Gryffindor tower dulled Harry's irritation at Slughorn, letting him return all his attention to the problem with Michael Corner.

 _Maybe I can convince Luna to talk to Professor Flitwick._ The head of Ravenclaw, Flitwick always seemed to Harry like a serious and principled teacher. There was no way he'd condone blackmail in his own house.

 _If only I hadn't promised Luna I wouldn't talk to anyone about it,_ Harry thought as he stormed up to his dorm, dropped his broom on his bed and grabbed clean robes. _I wish I could just deal with it on my own, but I can't!_

However, if Harry ever saw Michael lay another hand on Luna, he didn't know what he'd do.

Ron was the only one left in the boys' shower when Harry got there. "Took you long enough," Ron said, leaning close to the mirror as he shaved. "Get lost on the way to Hooch's office?"

Harry growled low in his throat as he began stripping off his Quidditch robes. "I had a problem with an ass."

Ron frowned at Harry's reflection in the mirror. "Should I even ask what you're talking about?"

"No, don't bother." Harry kicked off his boots and pushed them against the wall, under the bench beside his crumpled robes. "Just a stupid, ignorant, hateful little ass who's going to get himself hurt if he's not careful."

"Who's going to hurt who?" Ron asked, rinsing his razor.

"Oh, never mind," Harry grumbled. "Then to top it off, I almost ran over Slughorn and now I'm stuck going to some kind of after-dinner thing tonight and I don't even know _why_."

"Oh, that Slug Club thing?"

Harry twisted around. "Wait, you know about it?"

Ron gave a wry smile. "Both Hermione and Ginny are going."

"Since when?"

"Apparently Slughorn arranged it in the middle of the week, while you were buried up to your neck in Defence Against the Dark Arts books in the library."

"Oh. So why aren't you going?"

"Not invited," Ron said shortly.

"So go with Hermione."

"It's not that simple." Ron busied himself putting his things away. "Slughorn only wants people he thinks will amount to something, someday. Guess that doesn't include me."

Harry took in the dejected slump of his friend's shoulders, and wanted to kick something. "That's utter shit!" He yanked his t-shirt over his head. "There's all this bullshit about what we'll end up doing, and they don't know! They don't know anything! Hell, you've faced off against Voldemort with me how often?"

It was only after Harry threw the shirt onto the pile of his clothes that he realized how quiet the room was. He turned to see Ron staring at him.

"What's wrong with you?"

"What happened to your shoulder?" Ron demanded.

Harry looked down at his shoulder, where Snape had hit him with the curse the previous week. The skin had healed over, leaving only a lingering red mark. "Snape did that, in Defence last week. It's fine, just a little--"

"Not that," Ron interrupted. "All down your back. What happened?"

 _Oh, shit._ Harry remembered, far too late, that the scars from Richard's werewolf claws over a month ago still hadn't faded; probably never would. He made himself shrug. "Just a bit of roughhousing. One of Anita's friends had a dog."

"How big was the dog?" Ron asked, horrified.

"Big. It's fine," Harry said, scooping up his towel and heading to the showers. "Look, I'll see you in a bit, all right?"

Not much bothered Harry about his friend, but seeing the look of scrutiny and almost out-of-character intensity on Ron's face was enough to send chills down Harry's back. Ron might be able to deal with the vampire blood, but could he handle the werewolf Harry held within his skin?

* * *

"At least there's no dress robes," Harry muttered as he gave himself one last glance in the mirror. He still couldn't believe he was doing this.

"You could stay here and we could go over the Quidditch results," Ron said gloomily, leaning against his bedpost, watching Harry get ready.

"I should." Harry wondered for a moment if he should slick his hair down, from the unruly tangle. _I'm being an utter prat,_ he told himself. _Since when do I care what a teacher thinks of me?_ "Hopefully I can get out of there in a few minutes, after I've seen what Slughorn wants. What kind of a name is the Slug Club. Honestly."

Ron slumped a little lower. "Ginny said Slughorn's been asking after you all week."

Harry frowned at his reflection. "Why?"

"Dunno." Ron watched as Harry bent over to tie his shoes. "He used to be Head of Slytherin House, you know."

"Brilliant," Harry muttered. "Just what I need, more Slytherins." He stood. "Look, I'm going to go. Hopefully this will all be a giant disaster and I can leave in a couple of minutes."

"That's right, think positive." 

Ron slipped off his bed and went down to the common room with Harry. Everyone was gathered about, and Harry thought he saw a rowdy game of Exploding Snap in the corner, before his vision was interrupted by Hermione appearing in front of him. "Are you ready to go, then?" she asked excitedly.

"I guess..."

Hermione didn't seem to notice his reluctance. "We'll just get Ginny and we can go."

"Have fun," Ron mumbled, slouching against the back of a nearby couch.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, Ron," she said. Then she went over to him and went up on her tiptoes to press her lips against Ron's.

Harry forgot it was rude to stare as he watched Hermione kiss Ron. He'd never seen them do anything like that, and in front of everyone, too!

A loud whoop came from the far side of the room, and laughter as Hermione pulled away from Ron, a satisfied look on her face. For his part, Ron looked a little pole-axed.

"They've been doing that all summer," Ginny said, popping up by Harry's elbow. He jumped a little at her sudden appearance. "It's really rather boring."

"What, kissing?" Harry asked. He blinked down at Ginny and promptly forgot all about Ron and Hermione. Her hair was tied back with the blue silk scarf he'd brought her from St. Louis, and she smelled like flowers and the breeze and all kinds of wonderful things.

"Watching them walk around like an old married couple," Ginny said, smiling up at Harry. He smiled back, his heart pounding in his chest. "Come on, don't want to be late."

Ginny stepped away, catching Hermione's hand on the way. Harry had to run to catch up as they exited the portrait hole into the hallway.

The girls their heads bent together, giggling, and Harry hung back a little. He needed some space to get his head together.

Hermione and Ron... he knew about that. He wasn't jealous of Ron, not really. Knowing Ron and Hermione were, well, close, was a whole lot different than actually seeing them kiss. _Why isn't it as easy for me to find someone like that?_ Harry wondered, a little desperately. All the girls he seemed to want to kiss were either totally out of reach, like Ginny, or interested in someone else, like Luna.

 _You are not allowed to read anything into what Luna did, kissing you on the cheek!_ Harry told himself sternly. _You were helping her out, as a friend!_

"You're going to hurt yourself," Ginny called. She was now walking backwards beside Hermione, watching Harry. "Stop thinking so hard."

Harry held in a sigh. What was he doing, going down to this party? He had so many other things to be doing, like figuring out who to put on this year's Quidditch team, or studying Dark Arts defences, or even trying to decipher more about Voldemort's Horcruxes. _Do I really have the time for socializing?_

"Do we have any idea what's going to happen tonight?" Harry asked, catching up with the girls. "How soon we can leave?"

Ginny shrugged. "Professor Slughorn likes to talk about people he knows. There will probably be food, too." 

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

* * *

"Harry, my boy!" Slughorn crowed as he pumped Harry's hand. "Welcome, welcome!" He gave Harry a little shove into his office before greeting Hermione.

Harry stumbled deeper into the room before he had a chance to look around. Slughorn's office was much bigger than any other professor that Harry had seen, besides the Headmaster. Squishy armchairs were arranged around the low tables, which were loaded with hors d'oeuvre. Standing around, looking as uncertain as Harry felt, were several other students.

He, Ginny and Hermione won't the other ones from Gryffindor. A fifth-year boy, Lawrence Hawkins, hovered in the corner by the mince tarts. He gave a weak smile when Harry looked at him.

Head Boy Blaise Zabini was the only seventh-year Slytherin. Harry was thrilled to realize that Draco Malfoy wasn't there. Harry didn't have a chance to look further around the room, as Slughorn was suddenly at his side, pulling an amused Ginny along. "Would anyone care for a drink?" Slughorn asked, lumbering over to a well-stocked table. "Butterbeer? Fizzy Lifting Drinks? Pineapple juice?"

Harry accepted a drink at random, then gingerly sat on the arm of a huge armchair. Hermione sat on the proper part of the chair and threw him an indecipherable look.

"Now, do we all know each other?" Slughorn asked, settling back in his chair and reaching into a box of dried fruit at his side. "No? There's no excuse for that in a school of this size!" He indicated Lawrence Hawkins, who though some trick of fate was the closest to the professor. "Lawrence Hawkins; his family manufactures the Firebolt broom line."

Lawrence gave a small smile to the room, but Harry saw the unhappy twitch of his mouth at Slughorn's words.

"Next is Melinda Bobbin, her family owns a series of apothecaries across England." The girl nodded with a solemn self-confidence.

Slughorn went around the room, introducing everyone, saving Harry for last. By the time it was Ginny's turn, Harry was about ready to walk about of the room, rather than listen to Slughorn's cheerful lauding of accomplishments not his own.

"And this is Ginevra Weasley, my best potions student!"

Harry blinked at that. Best at potions? With Hermione sitting right there? He snuck a glance at Ginny. She was sitting, pale under her freckles, resolutely watching Slughorn.

"Lastly, we have Harry Potter, who I am sure needs no introduction."

Behind Slughorn's back, Blaise Zabini looked as if he had swallowed something bitter.

"Quidditch captain, defeater of You-Know-Who, and holder of the highest Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL that Hogwarts has seen in almost a century!"

Harry forced a smile.

"This gathering here reminds me of many students past," Slughorn said, gazing fondly into the distance. Either he was really lost in his memories, or he was a very good actor, Harry through privately. "Your mother, Harry, Lily Evans, also a magnificent potions student on her day." 

Harry opened his mouth to make a snapped comment about how it was too bad Voldemort killed her, but Hermione stabbed him in the hand with the point of her drink's umbrella, and he just glowered.

"I was talking to Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daily Prophet, about what we can do to facilitate the careers of our young people. Dear Barnabas, I remember when he was printing the Gobstopper Club newsletter in his second year here." Slughorn droned on about famous people he knew, all the while plying the students with more food. Harry was so on edge, he didn't eat a thing.

 _What's the point of all this?_ he wondered as Slughorn launched into a moderately amusing tale about Gwenog Jones, the captain of the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. _To show off? To be able to say 'I knew them when' if we get famous?_

As Slughorn talked, gradually drawing the students into conversation, Harry leaned back against the chair back and thought, hard. What was it Hagrid had said? Slughorn had been Hagrid's potions professor. Which meant that Slughorn had taught Tom Riddle, back when the soon-to-be Dark Lord was a student, making his diary Horcrux.

_I wonder what Slughorn knows about Voldemort._

Harry waited as the conversation moved past Quidditch, to potions, then slowly to old Head Girls and Head Boys.

"... excellent marker of the quality of Hogwarts," Slughorn was saying, beaming at Hermione and Blaise. "The finest we have to offer, an excellent institution."

"Did you know all the Head Boys and Girls in your time, sir?" Harry said quickly, trying to be as smooth as possible.

"Yes, I certainly did!" Slughorn poured himself another drink. "Your parents included, Harry. Wonderful people."

Harry gave a tight smile. "Actually, sir, I was wondering if you could help me with something. A while ago, I came across an award to an old Head Boy, for Special Services to the School, and I'm curious if you know what he did."

Slughorn blinked at Harry, his moustache bouncing. "I'm sure I would," Slughorn said importantly. "Do you happen to recall the year?"

"1943," Harry said, trying to keep his face blank, not betray the pounding of his heart. "His name was Tom Riddle."

Harry heard a tiny snapping noise beside him, but he didn't look down at Hermione. He waited, watching Slughorn as the teacher paled, then gulped down the rest of his drink. "Tom Riddle, you say?"

"Yes, sir." Harry glanced around the room. Blaise Zabini was looking at him intently, but everyone else had a blank look on their faces. They didn't know the name. Ginny had gotten up to get another drink, and her back was to Harry. "I was curious, as it was a Head Boy like my father, and I wondered..." Harry let his voice trail off, his insides shuddering as he compared James Potter to the man who murdered him: Voldemort. _I'm sorry, Dad._

"Perfectly understandable," Slughorn said, rallying. "I'm afraid I can't help you about the specifics about those awards, you should speak to Headmaster Dumbledore."

The note of finality in his voice told Harry that was all the information he was going to get. Harry leaned back, let Slughorn start talking about an author he knew, who was writing on vampires.

 _Slughorn knows that Tom Riddle is Voldemort, or else I'll eat my shoe!_ Harry thought. _And he knows damned well what that school award was for: "Closing" the Chamber of Secrets! What else does he know about Voldemort?_

The evening quickly tapered to a close, with Slughorn pressing boxes of chocolates into everyone's hands ("A welcome back gift from Ambrosius Flume, Honeydukes owner, surely you've sampled his treats before") and promising another evening soon, with a special guest or two.

Once the door closed behind Slughorn, the students stood awkwardly in the hall for a moment. Blaise Zabini was the first to stalk off in the direction of the Slytherin dungeons. The group broke up and headed in the direction of their respective dorms.

Harry caught up with Lawrence Hawkins as the fifth-year Gryffindor tried to escape down the corridor. "Hey, Lawrence?"

"Yes?" the boy asked, looking at Harry warily.

"I didn't know your family made the Firebolts," Harry said. "They're great brooms."

Lawrence pushed his scraggy brown hair back with blunt fingers. "Yeah."

His distinct lack of enthusiasm was enough to penetrate even Harry's interest. "I didn't see you at the Quidditch tryouts..."

Lawrence shrugged. "We make them, we don't fly them," he said. "It's the charms, they're the interesting part."

"You're into levitation charms and all that?" Harry asked. Lawrence nodded quickly. "Cool, I could never get those in class. I thought Flitwick was going to have kittens."

Lawrence shrugged again. "We can talk about it later, if you want."

"Not now?"

The other boy looked behind Harry. "I think someone else wants to talk to you now. I'll see you later," he said as he scampered away.

Harry twisted around to see Hermione and Ginny standing nearby. Hermione had her arms crossed over her chest, and she was glaring daggers at Harry.

"Oh."

Hermione uncrossed her arms and grabbed Harry's wrist. "What were you thinking?" she hissed, jerking Harry along with her down the corridors. "Why were you asking about _him_?"

"Someone has to, don't they?" Harry retorted.

"But we already know why Voldemort got the special award!"

"Yeah, but Slughorn doesn't know that," Harry pointed out. "He taught Voldemort potions for seven years! He might know something about--"

"About what, his motivation? His desire to kill all Muggles? To rule the Wizarding world?" Hermione stopped suddenly. "Do you honestly think that Slughorn can tell you anything you don't already know?"

"I won't know until I ask him, will I?" Harry said. Frustration was building in his chest. Why didn't she understand that he was only doing what he needed to do? "I need to know more about him, Hermione! If I'm going to stop him, I need to know all I can!"

"By asking potions professors?" 

"By asking everyone!" Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Just knowing what Dumbledore tells me may not be enough, in the end. Right?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't like this!"

"You don't have to!" Harry folded his glasses and put them in his robe pocket. He could see well enough without them. "I just need to get this done!" He glanced down the hall, and frowned. "Where did Ginny go?"

"She went on to the common room," Hermione said. "Oh, Harry, I do wish you knew what you were doing!"

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Would it make you feel any better if I agreed with you?" he asked.

"No," Hermione said miserably.

Harry held out his hand. "Come on, let's go back to the tower and tell Ron how horrible tonight was."

Hermione looked at the offered hand, and instead looped her arm through Harry's. "Just don't tell him about the pumpkin cake; he loves that," she cautioned.

"This not inviting people thing is rubbish," Harry muttered. "We should bring him next time. He's a million times more interesting than Zabini."

"I wonder..." Hermione said. "Not about that," she corrected quickly. "But why Slughorn invited people like Melinda Bobbin, or Lawrence Hawkins."

"What do you mean?"

"People whose parents own things, not them. You and Ginny and Blaise and myself; we've all done things ourselves. Nothing against Lawrence, but he hasn't. Not yet."

"Maybe Slughorn sees potential?" Harry guessed. "Or else he wants a Firebolt."

Hermione smacked his arm. "Harry!"

"What?" Harry shot back. "He's trying to curry favour."

"It might help us," she said.

Harry clenched his jaw. "I don't want help from someone who used to favour Voldemort."

* * *

Late in the night, Harry woke gasping, the aftermath of another dream about Nathaniel burning on his skin. This dream was a lot more intense, and Harry's whole body ached. _Why is this happening to me?_ he wailed silently.

Groping around for his bathrobe, Harry got out of bed. He pulled his robe on as he snuck out of the dorm and down the stairs to the common room, his bare feet silent on the cold stone.

_I don't understand! Why not a dream about a girl? Even a dream about Anita, I'd understand, but Nathaniel?_

The fire in the grate had burned down to embers, and Harry bent over the coals for a few moments to warm his hands. _Nathaniel's hands were warm,_ he remembered, _along with his tongue and his--_

Harry stood up a little too quickly, bumping his head on the mantle. "Ow," he muttered, rubbing his skull.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped about a foot into the air. "Ginny?" 

The girl unfolded herself from the window seat on the far, dark side of the room. "Why are you up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he lied. "Why are you up? You took off so fast after Slughorn's party, I didn't have a chance to talk to you."

"Why would that matter?"

Harry frowned at the cold tone. "What's wrong?"

"How can you ask that question?" Ginny flipped her hair behind her. "How can you stand there, after talking about Tom like that, and pretend you don't know anything?"

"Ginny..."

"Will you stop talking?" she demanded. "All that ever happens when you open your mouth these days is lying, or evading. You don't tell us the truth anymore, and when you do, it's hard and it's wrong and you can't say anything about Tom that I don't already know!"

Her voice was low, but a thread of something sharp, like shattered glass, rode on her words.

"Ginny, I--"

"You what? Want to know how Voldemort did in potions class? How he used to slice his valerian roots just so? How Slughorn used to award him extra points whenever he made a potion the perfect colour? What exactly did you want Slughorn to tell you about him?"

His insides turning to ice, Harry tried to think of something to say. "I didn't think--"

"Really?" The hard sarcasm in her voice was thick enough to hurt.

"Ginny," Harry tried again, "I needed to know if--"

"Can you just go away?" Ginny demanded. "You can't be here right now, all right?"

She turned and looked back out the window at the moonless night. Harry wanted to say something, to tell her he was sorry for not thinking about her when he was talking to Slughorn, but everything he thought of sounded like a lie in his head.

Eventually, he went back up to bed. He lay awake for a long time, wondering what he could say to make Ginny understand.


	55. Cold (Ron POV)

* * *

"Ron?"

He came instantly awake, the pressure on his shoulder and the edge in Hermione's whisper shattering his dreams. "What?"

She shushed him. He blinked hard in the darkness, wondering why Hermione was in the boy's dorm in the middle of the night, and what was wrong. "Ginny's missing."

Ron sat up. "What?"

"One of her roommates came to get me," Hermione said in the softest voice imaginable. "It's the second night in a row, she said. Ginny's not in the common room or in the girls' toilet or anywhere in the tower I can find."

Rob rubbed his face, trying to think. He spared a glance at Harry's bed, and was both relieved and worried to see his best friend in his bed, dead asleep.

"Go downstairs, I'll meet you in the common room," Ron told Hermione, not being able to resist touching her hair. "Give me a second."

She nodded and slipped out of the room as quiet as a mouse. Ron watched her go, then bent over to pick up his trainers. He crossed the room quietly to Harry's trunk. The lid lifted silently, letting Ron grope around in the box for the soft folds of cloth of Harry's Invisibility cloak.

Luck was with him, and the cloak didn't snag on anything as he pulled it from the trunk. He stood, cloak in one hand and shoes in the other, and looked down at Harry in the faint light. Harry was curled up in a tight ball, covered in comforters, one hand flung out toward the side table, where his wand lay.

Ron considered for one second, then discarded the next, the idea of waking Harry for his help. If Ginny was in the kind of trouble Ron imagined, the last thing she'd need was Harry.

Hermione was pacing back and forth in front of the fire in the common room when Ron made it down the stairs. She waited until he was sitting on a couch, lacing up his shoes, before she spoke.

"It's not like Ginny to do this," Hermione said. "Is it?"

Ron shook his head. "Usually if she can't sleep, she stays in the common room. At home, she's usually in the kitchen."

"What?" Hermione said, confused. "What are you talking about?"

Ron pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Fred told me, he'd sneak down here a lot with George after-hours, and he used to find Ginny sitting up, reading or something. It's the same thing at home. Sometimes, she just can't sleep."

"Why not?"

Ron shrugged, although he knew exactly why Ginny couldn't sleep, and when it started. He couldn't tell Hermione, not without asking Ginny first. It wasn't his story to tell. "You're sure she's not in the bathroom?"

Hermione shook her head. "Very sure. I checked in her dorm, all over the place, too."

"Brilliant." Ron picked up the Invisibility cloak and pulled it over his shoulders.

"Where are you going to look?" Hermione demanded.

"I'll start with the infirmary, and then go from there." 

"You'll get in trouble," Hermione said doubtfully.

Ron managed a grin. "That's why I'm going, and not you." He fastened the cloak so only his head was showing, and bent down to kiss Hermione on the cheek. He knew himself; if he kissed her properly, he'd get distracted. Sometimes, it worried how much he loved her. "I'll find her."

"Then will you tell me what's going on?" she asked, eyes wide. "I know it's something bad, it has to be, but--"

"If Ginny wants me to tell you, I will. If not... I just..."

"No, it's okay." Hermione managed to smile. "I get it."

 _No, you don't,_ Ron thought. _You don't have any sisters. You never had to listen to your baby sister screaming night after night, with nightmares about being eaten alive by snakes and being possessed by evil._ "I'll be back soon. Come on, come ask the Fat Lady if Ginny came out at all."

Ron flipped the hood of the cloak up and waited as Hermione opened the portrait hole, then climbed out after her. He only listened to a fraction of the conversation, making his way down the corridor as soon as the Fat Lady irately told Hermione that yes, Ginny had left hours before.

It was the quietest time of night. Ron couldn't remember ever being out so late. The portraits snored as he made his way down the darkened hallways. He couldn't risk a light.

He didn't know where he was going. Ginny wouldn't be in the infirmary. She never went in there, even when she was sick. The only thing Ron could think of was Moaning Myrtle's toilet, for a host of disturbing reasons.

Part of Ron wanted Ginny to be there, so he could just drag her back up to the Gryffindor common room and be done with it. The other part of him hoped that Ginny wasn't there, wasn't hiding in the place that almost killed her so many years before.

She wasn't there.

Not sure where to look, Ron wandered around for a while. Ginny wasn't in any of the classrooms he peeked into, or in the study hall. He had just decided that he was going to have to brave the library, when he caught sight of movement on the stairs, high above in the tower.

Ginny sat halfway up the stairs to the fourth floor, leaning against the banisters, staring at nothing. Ron pushed down the hood of the cloak as he climbed the steps; even so, Ginny didn't see him until he was a few feet away. She started violently, lifting her hand, then closed her eyes and rested her head against the stone. "You'll get in trouble, being out so late," was the first thing she said.

"I'll get in trouble?" Ron tried to joke. He sat beside her and flung the cloak around her shoulders too, so they were both mostly invisible. "You're the one who's out."

Ginny sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "So what?"

"So nothing." Ron could feel how cold she was, and wished Mum was there, to be able to figure out how to fix this. "Why _are_ you out here?"

Ginny shrugged. "Just because."

"Is it because of Harry?" Ron guessed.

"No." Ginny pulled the edge of the cloak closer around her bare feet. "Maybe."

"What happened? Was this because of what he was asking Slughorn on Saturday?"

"How-- Oh, Hermione." Ginny sighed. "He's just... I don't know. He's lying and he pretending he's not. And he's always there when I need to be alone."

"Is he, you know, bothering you?" 

"No. Not like that, so don't be getting ideas," Ginny said. "I can't be around him when he's talking about Tom, and pretending he doesn't know things that he should."

A trickle of ice ran down Ron's spine. "Tom?"

"What?"

"You said Tom," Ron said carefully.

"No, I didn't, I said Voldemort," Ginny said, her voice a little fast.

"You said Tom." Ron tried to think of something to say, something that was actually useful, something that didn't involve him having hysterics on the steps that Ginny was calling You-Know-Who "Tom", like she knew him.

Like she'd been possessed by him when she was just a little girl.

"No, I didn't," Ginny whispered, letting her head sink to her knees. "I didn't."

Ron put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her. She was small, like the twins and their mum, but not stocky like Fred or George; just a little slip of a thing, even smaller than Hermione. She'd always been smaller than him, always trying to keep up, always running after him, wanting to play. When he was a little boy, he'd thought it was embarrassing, had been so glad to go away to Hogwarts that first year and leave her behind.

He'd tried to ignore her, her first year at school. Her crush on his best friend was bad enough.

Could he have seen it, if he'd been paying attention? He had asked himself that question a million times. That first summer, after the mess with the Chamber of Secrets, he'd lain awake in his bed night after night, listening to Ginny talk in her sleep, arguing with someone, screaming in fear, pleading for someone to help her. His mum was always there, trying to calm her, but every night, it took an eternity in the dark, while Ron stared at his ceiling, blaming himself.

He knew the twins and Percy heard it too. Everyone had big black circles under their eyes, but no one would talk about it. Mum was always so cheerful in the morning, cooking breakfast like nothing happened, coming up with all kinds of projects to keep Ginny busy, pushing the best things to eat on her. Before, everyone always complained if Mum showed any favoritism among all the kids. After that summer, no one did.

"Why don't you come back to the common room?" Ron suggested. "Harry's sleeping, he won't come down."

Ginny didn't answer.

"I can ask him not to bother you," Ron suggested. "Look, I heard he asked Luna to Hogsmeade, but--"

Ginny sat up. "Oh, not that," she said impatiently. "Luna was trying to ask him for _me_ , but he didn't get it and thought she wanted to go with him. He never gets it. He never gets anything to do with girls. He's just so stupid."

"Sure is." Ron tried to make a joke, but he didn't find this conversation at all funny.

"Would it bother you if he was interested in me?" Ginny asked bluntly.

"Yes!" Ron exclaimed without thinking. "He's..."

"He's what? Ginny demanded. "He's your best friend!"

"He got weird over the summer," Ron said, voicing for the first time the thing that had been bothering him for weeks. "He's suddenly got all those nice clothes, and a vampire for a grandfather, and he's not telling us everything!"

"Oh, don't start that vampire thing again!" Ginny exclaimed. "I thought you dealt with that! Even Dumbledore knows about it!"

"It's not that! You didn't see him kiss that woman at the train station!" The instant the words left his mouth, Ginny stiffened up, and Ron wanted to kick himself. "I mean, he's too sure of himself, like he knows something about himself that he won't tell us." He shifted uncomfortably. "And he keeps smelling you."

"What?" Ginny asked, startled.

"He keeps sniffing your hair when he's sitting next to you," Ron said. "Same with Hermione, and all the girls. It's not really noticeable, but he's doing it."

"He's smelling us," Ginny repeated.

"Yeah." Ron began to get a little red. Sure, girls smelled nice, but you weren't supposed to go around sniffing at their hair in public!

Ginny shifted beside Ron. "You're crazy," she said after a moment. "But I agree with you about him being weird. It's like he took a vacation and everything went strange."

"We went on vacation to Egypt and we didn't go all weird," Ron grumbled, very happy to have changed the topic.

"That's because we went on vacation because I went strange," Ginny said.

"We went to visit Bill," Ron said, frowning. "Because Mum and Dad won that money from the Daily Prophet contest."

Ginny sighed. "You've got the observational skills of a raisin scone sometimes. Do you honestly think there was nothing else they could have spent seven hundred Galleons on? I know it was because of what happened to me." The bitter tone that Ron hated hearing in her voice was back. "I mean, they could have bought so many things with all that gold."

"Hey," Ron said roughly. "Don't think like that." Like they wouldn't spend everything they had just to make you better.

"Right." Ginny slithered out from under the cloak and stood shivering on the steps. "We should get back to the tower before sunrise."

Ron stood up. "Come on, we should both be under here. Save us a detention."

"It's four in the morning, Ron, no one's out." Ginny stepped under the cloak, and Ron carefully raised the hood to cover their heads. "This is a very large cloak."

"You should have seen the three of us under it in first year," Ron told her as they navigated their way down the steps. "I have no idea how we never tripped."

"Magic," Ginny said, yawning.

In spite of the darkness, they didn't fall over on their way down the stairs and along the halls. They were both silent, careful not to attract attention from the passing portraits.

Ginny heard the distant noise first. She grabbed Ron's hand, then together they pressed back against the wall. Ron pulled his wand out of his pajama pocket and tried not to breathe, hoping his heart pounding in his chest wasn't as loud as it sounded to him. A thousand wild thoughts ran through his mind. It could be a teacher, or an Auror, or Filch...

... or Wormtail or Bellatrix Lestrange or even Voldemort.

A light shone around the corner. Slowly, someone rounded the corner, a levitating torch floating off to the side. Ron almost fell over in relief. It was Dumbledore.

Dumbledore appeared to be reading a book as he slowly walked down the corridor. Neither Ron nor Ginny moved as the Headmaster paced slowly past them, then stopped and turned around. He closed the book in his hands and seemed to look directly at them. "Mr. Weasley. Miss Weasley."

Ron's heart sank. Guilty, he lowered the hood of the Invisibility cloak. "Sir."

"Hello, sir," Ginny echoed.

Dumbledore looked at them sternly. "You are both aware, no doubt, that curfew was many hours ago."

Ron ducked his head, as Ginny said, "Yes, sir," in a whisper.

"I am going to have to take points off the both of you." Dumbledore's gaze bored into them. "Ten points from Gryffindor." His gaze softened slightly. "I was going in the direction of Gryffindor tower, if I may walk with you?"

Ginny slipped out of the Invisibility cloak. "Aren't you out awfully late, sir?" she asked.

"I suppose I am," Dumbledore said as they began to walk. "When one gets to be my age, Miss Weasley, sleep no longer seems as necessary."

"Why not?"

"One of the many unanswered questions of life, I suppose," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Now, how are you both finding your classes this year?"

Ron mumbled something under his breath about Charms as he pulled off the now-useless Invisibility cloak. Ginny, however, took up the conversation. "Potions has been really neat. Professor Slughorn is really into the class."

"He has been raving about your skills, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore told her. "I trust that your studying is proving fruitful?"

Ginny nodded hard. "Yes, the book has a fascinating section on silver-based potions." Her voice faltered. "But, sir, you said that the student who wrote in my book... did you know him?"

"I did, Miss Weasley. Why do you ask?" 

"It's just..." Ginny shrugged. "He was brilliant at Potions, but he just seems so unhappy."

Dumbledore sighed. "That can happen, Miss Weasley. It is one of the perils of being the very best at any task. You are left wondering what lies outside, what you are missing."

"But what happened to him?" Ginny pressed, her voice rising. "I found some of those curses you told me not to try, and they're just so _angry!_ There's this one, all it says is 'For Enemies', no note of what it's for, but whenever I look at it I just--" She put her hands up as if she was trying to push something away. "It's like it's getting inside my head and _bad_ and I don't know why!"

"Ginny," Ron interrupted. He caught her hands and pushed them down. "It's just a class, right?" He knew she'd been studying Potions a lot, but he'd always been too busy with his own studies to see what she was really doing. Was he missing something again?

"If the book is becoming too much--" Dumbledore began.

"No!" Ginny interrupted. "I'm fine, I am! It's just sometimes I'm wondering if the fact that I'm starting to understand means I'm starting to think like him. Whoever he was."

Dumbledore gave her a piercing gaze. "I doubt it, Miss Weasley," he finally said. "You have something that the potions student did not."

"What?"

"People who cared for him." Dumbledore's glance slid to Ron as he spoke. "Ah, here we are."

The Fat Lady wasn't very impressed with being roused again, but she grudgingly swung the portrait open for Ginny and Ron.

"Oh, and one last thing," Dumbledore said.

Ron turned, one foot already through the portrait hole.

"It would behoove you both to keep the school rules in mind." With that, Dumbledore gave a nod and walked away.

"No kidding," Ron muttered, and slipped into the common room, Ginny on his heels.

Hermione was sitting bolt upright on the sofa, waiting for them. She glanced at Ron before sinking back into the cushions with a groan.

Ginny walked stiffly to an armchair by the fire. "Aren't you going to ask where I was?" she said.

"No." Hermione pushed her hair back as Ron dropped the Invisibility cloak to the side and sat next to her.

"Why not?" Ginny pressed. "Nothing about getting Gryffindor in trouble?"

"No," Hermione snapped. "I've been thinking about Harry."

Ginny threw her hands in the air. "Of course. All everybody thinks about is Harry!"

"Keep your voice down!" Hermione hissed, glancing anxiously at the stairs to the dorms. "You know how he is, he could be up any moment."

"It isn't even five in the morning, Hermione," Ron said. He was beginning to feel a little fuzzy around the edges, from being up so late.

"Yes, but he's either up at the crack of dawn, going to see Hagrid, or he sleeps past breakfast," she said. "He went to bed early last night, so he's probably going to be up soon."

"So now you're monitoring his sleep patterns?" Ginny demanded. "What's next, taking his temperature?"

"Maybe!" Hermione snapped back. "He's not acting normally!"

"Has it occurred to either of you to just _ask_ him what's wrong?" Ron asked, letting his head drop into his hands.

"Why don't you?" Ginny said. "You seem to be getting along famously these days."

"Enough!" Hermione whispered harshly. "I think we all agree that we think Harry's not telling us everything?"

Ron and Ginny glared at each other for a few moments. Ron was the first to mumble, "Agreed."

"And it's probably not related to anything to do with his grandfather."

"Why do you say that?" Ginny asked. "It started this summer, right? Who's to say it doesn't have anything to do with what happened in St. Louis?"

A niggling thought scratched at the back of Ron's consciousness. Something he'd seen. Something he _knew_ , if only he could dig the information out of his head, but he was just so tired.

"What do we know happened to him over the summer?" Hermione asked anxiously, bending forward, her wild hair falling in front of her face like a curtain. "He went to St. Louis. He stayed with Anita Blake, a necromancer, for a month. He met his vampire grandfather and from the looks of those photographs, made friends with other vampires and werewolves."

Werewolves.

 _No._

Comprehension crashed over Ron like an icy wave, washing away the confusion in his head and leaving him breathless.

"Ron? What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Ron licked his lips and turned his head. "What did you just say?" he asked, distantly surprised how normal his voice sounded.

"She was talking about Harry's new friends," Ginny said, standing up. "Why?"

Ron swallowed. "I, uh, I saw Harry in the shower yesterday." Ginny raised her eyebrows, and it was enough to make Ron blush. He shot to his feet. "That's not what I mean! I saw his back!"

"And?" Hermione said.

"And he's got these claw marks all over his back, fresh scars!" Ron exclaimed. "He said he was playing with a dog over the summer. What if--"

Ginny was shaking her head. "You're mental," she informed him. "There is no way Harry was infected by a werewolf!"

Hermione, on the other hand, looked as pale as Ron had ever seen her. "It makes sense," she said breathlessly. "The temper, his changed appetite, how he keeps _smelling_ everyone--"

"Am I the only one who hasn't noticed the smelling?" Ginny asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking alarming like her mother. "This is insane! And even if you're right, so what? Remus is a werewolf, and he's not in the least bit dangerous the other days of the month!"

"Remus has been a werewolf since he was seven," Hermione pointed out. "He can contain it the other days of the month. A newly infected lycanthrope is far more dangerous, no matter how much..." Her voice tapered off. "Oh, what are we going to do?"

A horrified silence fell in the room. Finally, Ron shook his head. "We're going to ask him."

"Ron--"

"No! I'm sick of not talking about this!" Ron looked from Ginny to Hermione. "This isn't something stupid he's done, this is huge! I'm sick of trying to figure out what he's not telling us!"

"What if he doesn't want to tell us?" Ginny asked.

Ron sighed, scuffing the toe of his worn trainer against the edge of the sofa. "Then we know where we stand with him, don't we?" 

Ginny clenched her jaw. "I guess we do."

"Hold it, the both of you!" Hermione said, standing up. "You can't be serious about this!"

"Why not?" Ginny challenged. "He's supposed to be your best friend, how can he not tell you something like this?"

"How would you feel?" Hermione asked. "Trying to deal with being infected as a werewolf, with all the mess that's happening with You-Know-Who--"

"He needs support, I get that!" Ron exclaimed. "We can be supportive. We'll be so damned supportive he won't know what hit him!"

"Are you able to do that?" Ginny asked. "You freaked out about Damian."

Ron took a deep breath. He wasn't proud of what he'd done, how he'd reacted about the talk of vampire children, especially before Harry had informed them it was his mother. "I'm not going to freak out about Harry on this," he said.

"Ron..." Hermione said gently.

"I am! Come on, it's Harry!"

Hermione closed the distance between them, and hugged him tight. "I've never wanted to be wrong so much in my life," she whispered.

Ron put his arms around her, wondering if he could just shut out the world forever. "I know."

If Harry was a werewolf, well, they'd deal with it. But it just wasn't _fair_ , to have that happen on top of everything else.

Looking over Hermione's head, Ron saw Ginny, watching them warily. What was he going to do about Ginny? He knew how much she liked Harry, even if Harry himself was clueless about it.

Having his best friend date his sister was one thing. Having it be a werewolf was a whole different matter, never mind what Remus and Tonks were up to.

Ron closed his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered how different his life would have been, if he had never met Harry Potter.


	56. Blindsided

* * *

"Harry, are you busy?"

Harry swallowed his mouthful of eggs a bit too fast and almost choked. Coughing, he reached for his cup of tea. "Why?" he asked when he could breathe again.

Hermione stood beside the table, twisting her hands nervously. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?"

Harry looked forlornly at his plate. "Can you talk to me here?" he asked. He'd gone for a run that morning before he saw Hagrid, and he was hungry enough to eat a horse. Although not literally; he'd leave that for Jason.

"No."

Harry groaned, but obligingly piled rashers of bacon between two slices of toast. "Is the world ending?" he asked as he climbed over the bench and picked up his school bag with his free hand.

"Of course not, don't be silly!" Hermione said, giving a nervous giggle at the end. Her manner was setting Harry on edge. Something wasn't right.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as they fought their way out of the Great Hall as the first rush of students entered for breakfast.

"Some place quiet," Hermione said, not looking at him.

His chewing slowed. "And why are we going there?"

"Just to talk, that's all."

Talk. Great. It occurred to Harry that he hadn't seen Hermione talk to Ron all day on Sunday. _Oh, no, is that what this is about?_ Harry thought, dismayed. _Why would she want to talk to me of all people if she's having trouble with Ron?_

What was he supposed to do, anyway, when his two best friends were fighting? It hadn't been easy even before they were dating. _I'll do what I always do,_ Harry decided, swallowing the last of his sandwich. _I'll be nice and non-committal, and try and figure out how much is Ron's problem and how much is Hermione's._

Rather satisfied with his plan, Harry followed Hermione into a classroom. She paused to close the door, letting Harry go ahead. "All right, Hermione, what is..." Harry's voice trailed off as he took in the other occupants. Ron leaned against the teacher's desk at the front of the room, while Ginny paced beside the window. Harry's good mood vanished. "What's the idea?" he demanded, whirling on Hermione.

Hermione closed the door tightly and locked it from the inside. "We wanted to talk to you," she said, voice wavering slightly.

"So you ambush me like this? What the hell is going on?" 

"Harry..." Ron started, then let his voice trail off. He looked about as uncomfortable as Harry felt.

"We needed to ask you a question," Ginny said, stepping away from the windows. Her brown eyes met Harry's steadily.

"Why are we in here and not at breakfast?" Harry asked. His heart was beating a little bit too fast, and part of him wanted to run away, escaping whatever they were planning.

"Harry," Hermione said, coming over. "It's a little complicated, but you need to know that we'll always--"

"Always what?" Harry asked, backing away. "I thought we'd all gotten past this!"

"Past what?" Ron suddenly shouted. "How could you not tell us? What did you think we'd do, turn on you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry yelled, taking a few steps away from Hermione. His movement put his back against the wall, and his feeling of being trapped only intensified.

"I'm talking about those claw marks on your shoulder!" Ron yelled back, brushing off Hermione's frantic attempts to hush him. "You're smelling all the girls and you're acting weird! You spent the summer with werewolves! What are we supposed to think?" 

Harry could only stare. "You're mental," he said after a minute, hardly able to choke the words out around his frantically beating heart. "All that time with Fred and George, making you see things."

"Harry, you have been acting rather strangely since you got back," Hermione said carefully. "You're just a little _different_ , and I can't think of what else it might be."

 _How about having my friends tortured because of me?_ Harry wanted to scream. _Or killing a witch and being happy she was eaten by werewolves? Or knowing that it's going to be even harder than we thought to kill Voldemort, and I don't know if I can do it?_

"Did it ever occur to you that people change?" he said coldly, trying desperately to pull his Occlumency around him to calm the defensive beast, which still wanted to shift and run, run far away where no one could hurt him. "People grow up?"

"People don't 'grow up' into claw marks!" Ron said, stalking over. "Go on, tell me again that it was a dog. Tell me it wasn't a werewolf who did this to you!"

Harry wanted to lie. He wanted Ron to accept the lie and go away, both pretending that this had never happened. But Richard wasn't ashamed of what he was. Jason wasn't ashamed, or Nathaniel, or Micah or anyone. Even if Harry didn't slip his skin and become a proper werewolf, he had the beast in him, could coax it out at will. Harry wasn't ashamed of what he was.

"He saved my life," Harry finally said. He glared at Ron, hating him for forcing this out. "The werewolf that did this, he saved my life."

"How exactly does that work?" Ron demanded. He had gone pale at Harry's admission, but he didn't back down.

"Then it's true?" Hermione asked, walking over. She was trembling slightly, a miserable expression on her face. "Oh, Harry."

"I told you guys last night, it doesn't matter if he's a werewolf!" Ginny snapped. "He's still Harry, just like Remus is Remus! He's not going to hurt us!"

"Wait, no--" Harry tried to say, but Ron was already turning on Ginny.

"It matters on a few days of the month, doesn't it? He's not going to be a cuddly puppy to have in the common room those nights!"

"That doesn't mean you're allowed to be mean!" Ginny shouted.

Hermione gave up trying to deal with them, and cast a silencing charm on the classroom door.

"Just because you fancy him doesn't mean we don't deal with this!" Ron shouted, stepping closer to Ginny. Her mouth dropped open, then she gave him a furious shove into the blackboard.

"Ronald!" Hermione snapped before Ginny could do any more damage. "Stop it, both of you!"

Harry slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, burying his head in his hands. It was happening like he feared. Everyone was so angry. They'd never believe him, that he wasn't a real werewolf.

"Harry?" He looked up to see Hermione kneeling beside him.

"You're wrong, you know," he said. "I got clawed up by a werewolf, but I'm not a werewolf."

The look Hermione was giving him was too much like pity. "Harry, it's probably hard to talk about, but--"

"No, I'm serious!" he exclaimed. "We don't know _why_ , but I didn't shift on the night of the full moon! Maybe it's because vampirism is supposed to prevent lycanthropy, and with Damian..." Harry shook his head. "I was standing out there with all the other lycanthropes and they shifted and I didn't and it wasn't _okay_ , but I couldn't do anything to make it happen!"

Harry bit down the rest of his hysterical outburst. He hadn't really thought about what he would say to Hermione and Ron, and he'd never thought to tell Ginny, about his summer, and now he was doing it all wrong.

"You're really not a werewolf, then? How did it happen?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. As she spoke, Ginny sank to her knees on the stone floor.

"Ron, if you stay over there, you'll miss this," Harry said.

Ron glared. "I didn't want any of this! How was I to know you were going to do stupid things over the summer?"

"Fine." Harry tuned Ron out and faced the two girls. "Look, you know I went on a trip with the Dursleys over the summer, to St. Louis? One day we all went sightseeing out of town, and I made the mistake of turning around and they left without me." 

"I guess some things never change," Ginny said. "You getting into trouble."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "They left me in the woods where there were a bunch of lycanthropes on the night of the full moon, how is that my fault?"

"She didn't mean that," Hermione said, giving Ginny a mean look. "Will you tell us the rest of the story?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face. His hand smelled faintly of bacon, and his stomach twisted uneasily. "I tried to find my way back. Without magic." He smiled absently. "It was the day before I turned seventeen. Anyway, I was in the woods and the moon rose and suddenly there were all these werewolves about, and I ran. I didn't know how to ward off that many werewolves."

"You said one saved your life?" Ron asked, awkwardly sitting beside Hermione.

"Yeah." Harry put his glasses back on. Remembering the feelings of helplessness and terror from that night were churning in his gut. "One of them jumped me. Richard pulled that one off me, but while he was doing it, his claws cut me up."

Harry balled his hand up into a fist. He'd seen Richard in wolfman form more than once, and he still couldn't reconcile those razor-sharp claws with Richard's human hands. Where did the claws go when he was in human form?

Tiny fingers settled on his fist. "Harry, it's okay," Hermione said encouragingly. "If you need to stop--"

"No, I'm fine," he said quickly. He turned his hand in hers and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "Do you even want to hear all this?"

"I think we need to," Ron said.

"Agreed," Ginny put in.

Harry let go of Hermione's hand and straightened up. "All right, then." He tried to figure out the best way to tell this story, then gave up and just started talking. "After Richard got that other wolf off me, he told me to run, and I did, all the way out of the woods onto the road where Anita was."

Ron raised his eyebrows. "That's one hell of a big coincidence."

"Not really. She's got this mental connection to Richard, because of Jean-Claude." From the looks on everyone's faces, he was telling the story in the wrong order. He tried again. "Okay, Jean-Claude is the Master Vampire for St. Louis, and Anita's his human servant, but Jean-Claude's animal to call is the wolf, which means he's got a connection with all werewolves, and so he and Anita have this triumvirate of power with Richard, who's the leader of the werewolf pack"

Hermione blinked. "That's..."

"Barmy?" Ron suggested.

"No, complicated." Hermione's eyes unfocused. "I seem to recall reading something about that... but where?"

"I've got some books on vampires if you want to read them," Harry said. "Good books, not the crap we've got in our textbooks."

"I'm still stuck on the werewolf attack. Can we get back to the woods?" Ginny demanded.

Harry took a deep breath. "Fine. Anita was there in her jeep, and I got in the car and we drove away. She didn't know who I was, just that I was in trouble." He shrugged. "She helped me clean up my shoulder and bought me something to eat and let me stay at her house, because the Dursleys sure as hell weren't going to let me back in the hotel that late."

"That was nice of her," Hermione said.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go. You know, I met Damian that night. She told me that he was one of her roommates. I didn't even think much about him."

"How did you find out that he was your grandfather?" Ron asked.

"No, tell us the story in order," Ginny interrupted. "I'm having enough trouble following this as it is."

Harry shifted on the ground, trying to find a more comfortable position. "The next morning, we went to go find the Dursleys, and they didn't even apologize for leaving me out there. Anita freaked out on them, and then Aunt Petunia made some kind of snarky comment about it being my birthday, so I was seventeen. I got angry and told them I was leaving."

"But what about the blood protection from your family?" Hermione asked, upset. "That's why you had to go to the Dursleys for the summer and couldn't go to the Weasleys, like everyone wanted."

"Dumbledore said it ended when I turned seventeen. After the attack, there didn't seem to be much need for it." Harry glanced at Ron, who was keeping a blank face. "After that, we went back to Anita's house and met with Richard."

"The one who attacked you."

"Yes, Ron, that Richard," Harry said impatiently. "If you feel like slagging him at all, do it now and get it out of your system, okay? He's a good guy!"

"A good guy who hurt you!"

"He could have broken my neck and eaten me alive if he wanted!" Harry shouted. "God, he's taller than Bill and stockier than Charlie when he's in human form, he could pick me up with one hand and break me in two! He's not dangerous or mean! He teaches science to teenagers! He did his graduate studies on trolls!"

"He deals with trolls?" 

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying, or only picking out the odd word?" Harry demanded. "I'm only going to say this one more time. Richard is a good guy. Like Remus is a good guy. If you say anything else against that, I'll--"

"You'll what?

"I'm not sure about him," Ginny interrupted, "But I'll hit you myself, Ron." More usefully, Ginny took hold of the back of Ron's robes and pulled him down with a bump. "Shut up and listen."

Ron glowered at his sister, who glared back, but he didn't say anything else.

"What were we talking about?" Harry asked tiredly.

"You met Richard," Hermione said. "What did you talk about?"

"I, um, I sort of told them I was a wizard," Harry said. "What? I had to, Anita knew I was magical from the previous night! It just seemed like the easiest thing to do! I could show them I wasn't completely defenseless."

"How did Anita know you were a wizard, did you use magic in front of her?"

Harry shook his head. "We shook hands, and I think she felt my magic. I know I felt something." He closed his eyes momentarily at the memory. "Have you ever felt death magic? From all that we've read, I thought it would be dark and gross, but it was really... quiet and deep, like the bottom of the ocean, you know?"

Now Hermione was beginning to look worried. "You do know that we're forbidden from taking part in necromancy, right?" she said. "If the Ministry finds out, it's worse than getting thrown in Azkaban, it can get you banished from the Wizarding world."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Harry snapped. "All I did was shake her hand! I can't raise a zombie to save my life! Not that I ever tried," he faltered, seeing the look of horror on their faces.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione wailed. "You're going to get in so much trouble!"

"Which is why I'm telling you and not that idiot Minister Scrimgeour!" Harry told her. "If you don't want to hear any more, that's fine."

"We're in this for the long haul," Ron said, rubbing Hermione's back. "Go on."

Harry waited for Hermione's protest, but she closed her mouth and leaned against Ron. "All right." He tried to figure out where he was in the story. All these interruptions were confusing. "I told Richard I was a wizard, they didn't freak out, and I hung around the house for a while, trying to figure out what I was going to do. We watched some movies, and then Damian came through the room. Gregory said that we looked alike, me and Damian, and then everyone sort of saw it." Harry looked down at his grubby nails. "I didn't believe it; hell, it still sounds sort of insane."

"What made you believe?" Ginny asked.

"He knew her name." Harry leaned forward. "He knew my grandmother's name, without anyone telling him, and he was from Northern Scotland. And... I think I believed when he didn't want to. And when Anita was so damned suspicious." He frowned. "Or maybe because they didn't know who I was."

Hermione sat up and away a bit from Ron. "Didn't you tell them your name?" 

"No, I did, but they didn't know any of the magical mess. They only figured it out when Requiem, one of the vampires recognized me. He used to be in London. But they still let me stay."

"You could have come back," Ron said. "We'd have come to get you. Dad would have loved to see one of those airplanes."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't that simple."

"Why not?"

"I didn't know... I mean, I thought I was going to be a werewolf! How could I go to your house if I was like that? I'd be a danger to everyone!"

"So staying in North American was some kind of noble self-sacrifice?" Ron asked, his voice rising in anger. "Like not telling us about this? You wanted to protect us?"

"I was scared!" Harry shouted, pushing his shoulders back against the wall. "Okay? Are you happy now? I thought that if you all knew I was a werewolf, on top of all the crap Voldemort keeps trying to push on me, you'd think I was too dangerous to be around and I didn't know if I could deal with that!"

"Of course being around you is dangerous!" Ron yelled. "Just like being around Dumbledore is dangerous, but you know what? It doesn't matter!"

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"Because you're our friend, you berk! Now tell us the rest of the story about why you didn't want to tell us!"

"Are they always like this?" Ginny asked Hermione.

Hermione sighed. "Yes." Harry glared at her. "Well, you are."

"So far, we have vampires and werewolves. Are we missing anything?" Ron prompted.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "Just the Death Eater."

Hermione squeaked. "What? Who?"

Harry looked over at the door. "Is that silencing charm still in place?" 

"Of course it is, it's one of Hermione's," Ron said. "You didn't say anything about Death Eaters when you talked to us on the train!"

"Of course I didn't, Neville was there, wasn't he?"

"What do you mean?"

"I, uh..." Harry licked his lips. Every time he thought about this, Anita's screams echoed in his head. Would he ever be able to forget that? "I told you that Nigel Spencer was killed, right?"

"Yeah, you asked Hermione to look up information on him."

Harry nodded. "When he was killed, the murderer set up the Dark Mark over his house. I told Anita what it was, but we didn't know who might have done it. Then, later, we were out in the woods and she must have tracked us from Nigel's house, I don't know how else she could have found me--"

"Who?" Hermione whispered.

"Bellatrix Lestrange." Harry smoothed his robe over his knees, imagining that he felt the rough leaves and dirt under his fingers instead of cloth. "I thought she'd go ahead and kill me, but instead she wanted to-- to play. She got my wand away, then she set magic to choke Jamil, and..." Harry looked very carefully at a spot on the floor. "You guys know about that variant on the Cruciatus curse, _Crucio eternum_?"

"Oh no," Hermione breathed.

Harry didn't move, feeling those old feelings of shame and terror coming back. "She used it on Anita, and then she disapparated. Anita just..." Harry swallowed hard against the bile in his throat. "It took ten minutes to lift the curse."

"That's enough to drive anyone mad," Hermione said. "Did Bellatrix lift the curse?"

"No," Harry said dully. "I did, somehow, I don't know how or why it stopped but it did."

"Tonks said it's the worst thing she's ever seen," Ginny said, her voice hollow. She sat as still as death, staring at the wall over Harry's head. "She and Kingsley Shacklebolt found Mundungus Fletcher, after he'd had that curse cast on him. She said it took him almost fifteen minutes to die, and there wasn't a thing they could do to stop it."

"When did Tonks tell you that?" Ron demanded.

"She didn't; she told Bill one night when I was testing some of the twins' new eavesdropping products." Ginny closed her eyes. "I don't know how anyone could do that to someone."

"Bellatrix seemed to like it," Harry said bitterly. "She came back, you know, a couple of nights later when we were in the woods again with the werewolf pack. She tried to kill Anita with the Killing Curse, but someone else got in the way and he died, then she tried again but I--" Harry snapped his mouth shut as his brain finally caught up with his mouth. _I can't tell them I killed Bellatrix!_ he thought in a panic. _They won't understand, they've never had to kill someone!_

"But you stopped her," Ginny stated. "How?"

Harry shook his head. "That's not important."

"Yes, it is," Ginny said quickly. She got up on her knees and crawled toward him until she was just a little bit too close, and there was nowhere for Harry to go. "How did you stop her? Turn her into a toad? Petrify her?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Harry said, starting to get angry.

Ginny gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "Does it seem as if I care?"

"You have no idea what happened!" Harry exclaimed. "Don't try and tell me what to do; you've never tried to kill someone before!"

Ginny sat back on her heels and pointed straight at Hermione. "Her."

Startled, Harry said, "What?" 

"I tried to kill her." Ginny lowered her hand. She was as pale as Harry had ever seen her. "And Colin Creevy and Justin Fitch-Fletchley and Penelope, when I was eleven. Do you know how many roosters I killed? Snapping their necks like it was nothing?"

"That wasn't you, Ginny," Ron said with a strangled voice. He tried to get her to move back, but it was like he wasn't even there.

"I was trying to kill them," she whispered to Harry. "You don't get to sit there and act like you're different than we are."

Harry moved himself forward and took Ginny's hands in his own. She was freezing. "That wasn't you, that was Voldemort that did those things." 

She stared at him. "Everyone keeps saying that, why am I the only one who has a hard time believing it?"

"Because you're the only one who lived it," Ron said quietly. He settled down beside her, holding out a hand for Hermione to move closer.

"What did you do to Bellatrix?" Ginny asked.

Harry looked down at Ginny's hands. There was a tiny scrape on the back of one hand, a faint bruise discolouring the fair skin. Her nails were short. Harry had never noticed that before. "I took her wand away."

"That's not so--" Hermione began.

"I took her wand away and left her unarmed in the middle of a werewolf pack, after she'd killed one of their own," Harry said in a hurry, still staring at Ginny's hands as he played with her now-pliant fingers. "I killed her, same as if I used Anita's gun to shoot her."

An appalled silence settled over the room. _I suppose that's what I can expect,_ Harry thought numbly. _No one wants to hear their friend let someone be eaten by werewolves, even someone as nasty as Bellatrix Lestrange._

"Does he know?" Ginny asked.

Harry blinked, letting go of Ginny's hands. "Does who know what?"

"Does Voldemort know that Bellatrix is dead?" she clarified.

"I don't know," Harry said, trying to come to grips with her apparent matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation. "We think she was over in America alone to kill Nigel Spencer. Dumbledore hasn't said anything."

"Tell us more," Ginny prodded. "What happened after Bellatrix died?"

Harry spared a glance over at Hermione, but she was very scrupulously avoiding his gaze. He had to lick his lips before he could speak.

"Anita and I had to go to the police station," he said. The fact that Anita went crazy for a little while wasn't really relevant, he decided. "There were a couple of American Aurors there, trying to modify memories. Things went badly."

"How bad?" Ron asked, sounding both appalled and fascinated. "I mean, you told us you dueled them, but you didn't tell me how it worked out."

"I was fine," Harry said. "Anita went through a window and got cut up by the glass, bad. She always had the worst stuff happen to her." He shook his head. "But then Dumbledore came and we talked and I told him all this stuff. He didn't freak out or anything. Then he left and I stayed, in case I was going to change. Nothing much else happened. I went with Anita when she raised some zombies. Other than having to fight off a rampaging ghoul pack, that was okay. I told her about the prophecy. You know, me killing Voldemort."

"What did she say?" Ron asked.

"That it was a bunch of bullshit." Harry pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "That it was my choice if I wanted to fight him or not." He sighed. "But she didn't know about the Horcruxes."

Ginny made an impatient sound in her throat. "What are you talking about now? What's a Horcrux?"

Harry couldn't remember if Dumbledore said he could tell anyone about the Horcruxes. _Like I care._ "Dumbledore told me, when I got back, he thinks Voldemort's made some Horcruxes to ward off dying. It's a way to split your soul, stick part of it into something, so if your body dies, you don't. You have to murder someone to do make one, Dumbledore said. He thinks there are seven. He's got three here; he needs to find the other four, and figure out how to destroy them all. Well, not all. Two are already destroyed."

Hermione was looking at him now, blinking rather fast. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"I mean that there's two down, five to--"

"Not that!" Hermione exclaimed. "All of it! It's not possible to do that! It's..." She groped around for the words.

"But Dumbledore's got a way to destroy them, right?" Ron said, looking ill. "He's destroyed two of them, so we just need find the rest and he can get rid of them?"

"He's not sure," Harry said. "He only destroyed the one, this old family ring from Voldemort's family. I destroyed the other one."

" _When?_ " Ron demanded.

"Back in second year," Harry said. "It was Tom Riddle diary."

Without a word, Ginny got to her feet and walked to the far end of the room, where she put her hands on the wall and rested her head on the stone.

"Ginny?" Harry said, watching her go. "What--"

"Would you stop being such an idiot?" Ron demanded, getting to his feet. "When are you going to remember this isn't all about you, especially if that bloody diary's involved?"

A moment later, Ginny pushed off the wall and walked back to the group. "It doesn't make any sense," she said, her voice a little high. "If part of Voldemort's soul was in the diary, why did he try to take over me like that? Why wouldn't he, or it, or whatever, want to find the real Voldemort?"

Ron went over to his sister. "Are you--"

"I'm _fine_ , Ron!" Ginny brushed him away. "But if that diary was a Horcrux, then you need my help on this, Harry. You and Dumbledore both."

"I'm in," Ron said. "I'd be in, in any case, but now with Ginny and the diary... well, I'm in even more."

"Who knows how much trouble you'd get into without me," Hermione said, standing. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

Harry got up. "It could be dangerous, and..." He stopped talking when he saw the looks on their faces. "Right."

"I'll go to the library," Hermione said, wringing her hands. "I'm the only one of us who can look in the Restricted Section without a note."

"I have class in a little bit," Ginny said. "Sorry, but if I don't make it to Charms, Professor Flitwick will take points. I'll try and think of something useful."

"Right. Harry and I will, um..." Ron turned to Harry. "What are we going to do?"

"Help Hermione," Harry said. "We haven't got class until Astronomy at midnight, anyway."

"Right." Ron shuffled his feet, glancing at Hermione, then back to Harry. "But you're not a werewolf."

Harry shook his head. "Not really. Sometimes it feels like I've got a bit of one inside me, but I'm not a werewolf."

Ron managed a weak smile, as Hermione turned around. "I'll meet you up in the library," she said, too quick.

Harry took a breath. Ron was an open book; if he seemed okay with this now, he was. But what about Hermione? "We can go up with you," he suggested.

"No!" Hermione swallowed hard. "I'm not okay with this, Harry, I'm sorry. I need some time alone."

Harry took a step back, crestfallen. "Oh. Right, then."

Ron put his hand on Hermione's back. "Alone, or can I come with you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't mean you," she said, sounding close to tears.

"All right, then, let's go," Ron said. "Ginny, are you going to be okay?"

Ginny nodded. "I'll see you lot later."

"Right." Ron gave Harry an indecipherable look as he guided Hermione, who still refused to look at Harry, out of the room.

Harry walked over to the blackboard, putting a little space between him and Ginny. He supposed he should be thinking about the Horcruxes and Voldemort, but all he could hear was Hermione's voice. _I'm not okay with this._

"She'll be all right," Ginny said after a moment. "She's not like us."

"What do you mean, like us?" Harry asked, turning around.

Ginny quirked the edge of her mouth up into an unhappy smirk. "Like you and me. She knows that sometimes bad things happen, but she doesn't get how it feels. People are going to die, and sometimes people get killed."

"I don't even know what she's upset over!" Harry exclaimed. "The Horcruxes? The werewolf thing? What happened with Bellatrix?" He kicked the leg of a nearby desk. "Can't really blame her for not wanting a murderer as a friend."

"Oh, stop it!" Ginny snapped. "You know very well what might have happened if you hadn't done what you did to Bellatrix! She tortured Neville's parents, she killed Sirius, she killed one of the werewolves and she tried to kill Anita! Do you honestly think she'd have taken you back home for a nice tea party with Voldemort?" She threw up her hands. "Sometimes, you have to make choices you don't want to. I'd far rather her be dead that you."

"Yeah, me too." Harry stuck his hands in his pockets. "You're not mad at me?"

Ginny shook her head. "Harry, we thought you were a _werewolf!_ " she said, clearly exasperated.

"What about the Horcruxes?"

"It doesn't change much, does it? I'll probably break down in hysterics in Charms when it sinks in that I was possessed by a bit of Voldemort's soul, as opposed to just his memories, but we'll let Flitwick deal with that, shall we?"

"I can't see you having hysterics," Harry said awkwardly. "You're too strong for that." Ginny blushed, and Harry suddenly remembered what Ron had said to her before they started talking about the more important stuff. "About what Ron said, before you pushed him..."

Ginny blushed even harder. "You know what an idiot he is," she said.

Harry's heart sank. "So you don't, you know, like me?" He winced at how pathetic he sounded.

"No, I do like you!" Ginny said in a rush. "But Ron's still an idiot."

"Yeah." _What a mess!_ Harry thought, his stomach doing weird flip-flops. _Ginny likes me, Luna likes Ginny, and I seem to be taking Luna to Hogsmeade. Unless..._ "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade on Saturday?"

"You're going with Luna," Ginny said, frowning at him.

"No, we're going as friends," Harry hastened to say. "We could all go, spend some time together."

"Only if Luna's okay with it," Ginny said. "I'll talk to her in class." She picked up her book bag. "I'm going to be late." She made no move to leave.

Harry desperately wanted to touch her, get a little closer to her, but he made himself stay where he was. As much as she said she was fine with everything, he didn't want to push it, or scare her off. "I'm sorry I didn't think about diary, what it means," he said.

Ginny looked at him for such a long time that he wondered if he'd stepped over the line. "I don't think anybody does understand," she finally said. "How can they?"

"I never knew it bothered you. You seemed like you were fine with it, I never thought... I didn't think."

She squared her shoulders and closed the distance between them. Harry's heart started pounding as she touched his arm, the heat from her fingers burning through his robes. "There's a lot you don't know about me," she said shyly, then hurried away.

Harry stood stock still, wondering if his chest would burst open from happiness and shock. _She likes me!_ he thought, stunned. _She said she'd go to Hogsmeade with me!_

 _And Luna._ Harry's good mood popped like an overfull balloon. _What's Luna going to say when I tell her? Is she going to think I'm trying to set her up with Ginny?_ Another thought occurred to Harry. What if Ginny liked Luna in that way too? Would he be able to stand off to the side, while Luna and Ginny...

A million inappropriate images in his head, Harry blushed as red as the Gryffindor crest. He couldn't even make himself be upset by the idea that he might be left on the sidelines, if that meant Ginny and Luna would... _Stop being such a pervert!_ he screamed at himself as he gathered up his book bag and headed for the hall. It was completely unfair that the idea of two girls kissing each other, especially those two girls in particular, would make him act like this.

The halls were full of students, jostling to get to their Monday morning classes. Harry went with the flow toward the tower staircase. As the euphoria of Ginny's interest in him wore off, the depressing reality of the rest of his life set in.

 _Hermione's freaked out that I'm... that I'm what? Partly a werewolf? That I killed someone? That I disarmed two Aurors? That beating Voldemort's going to be so very difficult? Or that I didn't tell her all this in the first place?_ He didn't even know if he could ask her straight out. Maybe he'd ask Ron.

 _They said they'd help me,_ Harry thought, dragging something positive out of the mess. _Ron and Hermione and Ginny. It's got to be better than going at it on my own._

Still, Harry couldn't shake the idea that he'd made a very big mistake in telling them almost everything. He hadn't told them about becoming an Animagus, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.

 _Maybe soon,_ he decided. _I'll just pretend I needed more time to become one. What can it hurt, them not knowing for a little longer?_


	57. Sweeter Than Candy

* * *

"Come," the silky voice breathed through his head. Obligingly, Harry sat up, and his lips were soon captured in a kiss.

Another set of hands came up to rest on his shoulders. He had a brief glimpse of golden hair, mixed with black curls, before he pulled himself out of the dream, out of sleep, and all the way out of his bed before he came fully awake.

 _What the fuck was that?_ Harry stood on the stone floor of the darkened boy's dorm, panting as if he'd just run a marathon. _There is no way I'm dreaming about Asher and Jean-Claude both! Not like that!_

Harry grabbed his wand and stumbled down the stairs to the common room. He needed to move, to figure this out. The last thing he wanted to do was wake anyone up, especially Ron.

 _What a brilliant conversation that would be!_ Harry tried to imagine talking to Ron about his problem. _See, it started by me having sex dreams about Nathaniel, that nice wereleopard boyfriend of Anita's, then it progressed to me having sex dreams about Anita's other boyfriends!_

Harry paced across the common room, stepping in and out of patches of faint moonlight streaming through the windows. _I could understand Nathaniel, and maybe, maybe even Jean-Claude, but Asher? I hate him! He hates me! I mean, the only thing we have in common is--_

"Anita!" Harry stopped. He must have been dreaming what she was doing! She'd been in his dreams before, that was the only explanation! 

Euphoria at discovering the root of his dreams slowly faded into horrified embarrassment. All those things he'd dreamed had been Anita having sex! With Nathaniel, all those times, and Jean-Claude and Asher!

"I'm going to kill her!" Harry swore, his face so red he thought his head might burst into flames.

"Why?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, letting out a surprised yelp and raising his wand. Ginny, who had been sitting unnoticed in the shadows on one of the couches, scrambled back.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, kicking off her blanket.

"You tell me!" Harry said, lowering his wand instantly. "You snuck up on me!"

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "I was sitting right here, you git! You walked past me twice! What put you in such a right state?"

Harry pushed his hair out of his face, only then realizing that he'd forgotten his glasses up in the dorm. "Just bad dreams."

"What kind of bad dreams?" Ginny asked, sliding back to the couch cushions. "Not real bad dreams? Like with Dad and the snake?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. "Not like that, no. Well, it was real, and kind of bad, but not like, you know, bad."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "You want to talk about it?"

"Absolutely not," Harry said with feeling. "In fact, let's never discuss it again." 

"Well, if we're not going to talk about it, you may as well come sit down," Ginny said, rearranging the blanket over her shoulders. "That floor's rather cold."

His head still spinning, Harry obliged. He sat beside Ginny on the couch and let her put the corner of her blanket over his shoulders. Her hand brushed his knee, and he sucked in a hiss of pain.

"What?" Ginny demanded, keeping her voice low in the silent common room.

Harry rubbed his leg gently. "Nothing," he muttered. "Just a mistake in Defence Against the Dark Arts today."

"Yesterday," Ginny said. "It's four in the morning. And what do you mean?"

Harry pulled the blanket around his shoulder a bit tighter. His pajama top was too thin for the air in the common room, although on his other side he could feel the heat from Ginny's body all along his body. "Snape used me for another demonstration in class," he muttered. "I liked it a lot better when he was ignoring me."

"What did he do?" Ginny asked, carefully arranging the blanket over Harry's legs.

Harry shook his head. "It was so stupid. He was demonstrating how a summoning curse like Accio can be used in a fight. He kept summoning objects, and I was conveniently in the path of each and every one."

"I thought the summoning charm was supposed to go around any barrier," Ginny said with a frown.

"That's what I thought too," Harry grumbled. "I got knocked in the head twice. Then he summoned all the books in the room and I couldn't shield them all."

"That's horrible!" Ginny exclaimed. "You should tell McGonagall!"

"Why?" Harry asked tiredly. "If I couldn't block a bunch of bloody books in a room with Snape of all people, then I don't know enough. What it I was in a fight with someone near a bunch of knives? If one of those got summoned toward me, it'd be even more dangerous than a bunch of books." 

"So what are you going to do?"

Harry twitched his shoulder, playing with a worn edge of the blanket. "Figure out how to block something like that. Same as with everything else Snape throws at me. Only, maybe for once, I can figure it out _before_ he throws it at me."

"That's a stupid plan."

"Thanks, Ginny, that makes me feel loads better."

"I didn't say you were stupid," Ginny contradicted. "I said you need a better plan."

"I never said it was a good plan," Harry defended himself. "Unless I can break into Snape's office and steal his lesson plan, I'll have... to..." 

His voice trailed off as he thought about doing just that. They'd broken into Snape's office before, although he didn't see how he could talk Ron and Hermione into it again, seeing as how Hermione was still twitchy around him.

"You are not going to break into Snape's office!" Ginny said. "At least not today. We're going to Hogsmeade, and I don't fancy having to tell Luna that you've gone and gotten yourself killed by Snape."

"Do you have a better idea?" Harry asked, turning to look at her. His heart leaped in his chest as he realized exactly how close she was to him.

She looked back at him rather uncertainly. "I, um, not really. Maybe we could figure out a way to make you curse-proof."

"I would love that," Harry said. He gave her a weak smile and settled back on the couch, trying to figure out what she had been doing before he came down. There weren't any books in sight, and the fire was out. "So why are you down here?"

Ginny was quiet for so long that Harry wondered if he should ask her again. Finally, she said, "It was easier than waking up everyone else."

"What do you mean?"

Ginny pulled her knees up to her chest, staring off into the distance. "I had a feeling it was going to be another one of those nights."

"Another one of what nights?" Harry pressed. "The kind where you can't sleep?"

"Sort of." Ginny picked at a loose thread on a patch on her pajamas. "More the kind where I start talking in my sleep and waking everyone up."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." She tugged on the thread until the patch began to unravel. "Reading all that stuff this week in the library, looking for information on the Horcruxes, just made my head spin. That's all."

"I'm sorry," Harry said tentatively.

Ginny shook her head. "It's not your fault. It's _his_ fault. And reading about all those curses and magical instruments and the bad things they can do... Why can't we ever have to research unicorns to save the world?" She laughed, but it was mixed with the sound of tears.

"I dunno," Harry said, feeling terribly uncomfortable. Was he supposed to ask her what was wrong, or just pretend he didn't see how upset she was? If she'd been a guy, he'd have ignored it; but she wasn't a guy, and he didn't know what to do.

"They never came near me, you know," Ginny whispered.

Harry frowned. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"The unicorns. In fourth year. All the other girls in class were fawning over the unicorns and the foals, but they wouldn't come near me."

"That doesn't mean anything," Harry said quickly. "In my classes, the girls just rushed them and the unicorns didn't move. If you were hanging back--"

"So it's my fault?" Ginny struggled out from under the blanket and stalked over to the cold fireplace. She knelt down and used her wand to ignite the coals. "It's my fault that the unicorns didn't want to touch me?"

"That's not what I said!" Harry exclaimed quietly. "I meant that maybe something else was happening, and it wasn't you!" He sat on the edge of the couch, taking in the stiff set of Ginny's shoulders, the way her messy hair spilled down her back. "Not you and not Voldemort."

Ginny didn't move. Harry groaned and stood up, crossing the floor to carefully drape the blanket around her.

"Why are you going to kill Anita?" Ginny asked once Harry was once again huddled on the couch.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, startled.

"You said you were going to kill Anita, when you first came down," Ginny reminded him. "Is there a reason?"

Harry pulled his feet up onto the cushions and curled up into a ball to keep warm. "I was just upset," he said in a hurry. "It wasn't anything."

"Right."

Harry stared up at the ceiling. He'd managed to forget about the dream he'd had, in his discussion with Ginny. Now, though, it all came rushing back.

In the last several days, he'd had more dreams about Nathaniel. They weren't bad, just sort of hazy and undefined. Harry knew what the dreams were _about_ , but the details weren't specific. _Which makes sense, seeing as how I'm a boy and Anita, well, isn't._

The dreams with Nathaniel hadn't been too bad. Harry had actually talked himself into accepting them as strange figments of his mind, not really meaning that he liked Nathaniel like that. After all, Harry didn't think he was gay. _Even if the dreams weren't that bad._

What was he going to do about it? Harry had spent most of Friday afternoon nursing his bruises from Defence class and writing letters to the people back in St. Louis. He was going to go to the post owl office in Hogsmeade and see if he could send the letters to North America. Should he add a note to Anita's letter? Harry closed his eyes. _What a riot that would be! "Also, Anita, can you possibly not have sex between the hours of ten at night and six in the morning, Hogwarts time? I'm having a hard time sleeping as you keep sending me your dreams about sex!"_

There wasn't any way he could possibly ask that! For all he knew, it was his fault he kept having the dreams. If he really wanted to stop the dreams, he should use his Occlumency, like he was supposed to in order to stop Voldemort from getting into his head.

 _If Anita knew I was dreaming about her like that, she'd kill me,_ Harry thought miserably. _And she'd have good reason. What kind of pervert sneaks into other people's dreams?_

Harry pressed his hands against his face. Now that he knew the real reason behind his dreams, he felt uncomfortable and dirty.

"Are you going to stay down here until the sun comes up?" Ginny's soft voice interrupted his thoughts.

He lowered his hands. "I don't know." He didn't want to be around anyone right then, especially Ginny, but going back up to the dorm room would put him next to Ron, who'd been waking up at strange hours recently.

In Harry's head, he knew that staying down here wouldn't mean anything, that Ginny couldn't read thoughts, but emotionally he wanted to curl up into a ball somewhere in private and wish he'd never started having those strange dreams.

"I've... I've been thinking about the Horcruxes," Ginny said softly, her voice barely louder than the gentle crackling of the fire.

Harry roused himself and looked over at her. She hadn't pulled the blanket closer, but she had her wand out and aimed at the fireplace, making strange flashes of coloured light pass across her face. "What about them?"

"About how to destroy them," Ginny said. "You said that Dumbledore was sure the diary was destroyed."

Harry had to think hard about that. What had Dumbledore said about the diary? "He said he wanted to know how I destroyed the diary, so we could figure out how to destroy the other Horcruxes. So I guess that's a yes." He dragged himself up into a sitting position, feeling sluggish and slow and like he needed a hot shower to clear his head. "Why?"

"What if the diary wasn't the Horcrux?"

"Of course it was, it all fits, Dumbledore said so." Harry slid off the couch and crawled over to the fireplace next to Ginny. She was changing the colours of the flames idly, from red to blue to green and every colour in between. "What are you talking about?"

Ginny turned the flames a dark green, and lowered her wand. She stared at the fire as emerald shadows and light played over her skin. "What if you didn't destroy the Horcrux, because it was already destroyed?"

"No, it couldn't be, because Tom Riddle was still standing there when I used the Basilisk fang to stab the diary," Harry protested, scooting close to Ginny. "He didn't vanish until after that."

Ginny finally lifted her head, giving Harry a sorrowful, pitying look that almost broke his heart. "That's not what I mean." She reached out to brush a lock of hair off his forehead, the feel of her ice-cold fingers on his skin making him shiver. "What if the part of Voldemort's soul had already moved? Tom said he was putting bits of his soul into me, what if--"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, shooting to his feet. "You are not the Horcrux, the diary was!" He tried to think over the frantic beating of his heart, imagining Ginny lying on the cold ground, just as he'd seen her so many years ago in the Chamber of Secrets, only this time it was real, and this time she was dead. "You're not the Horcrux, so stop thinking that!"

"It would explain a lot," Ginny went on, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "Like why my magic kept getting more powerful, and why I keep having these nightmares--"

"That's not it!" Harry repeated, dropping to his knees in front of her. He grabbed her shoulders, wishing he could just shake her but refusing to do anything more than touching her like she was made of porcelain. He didn't trust himself to remember his strength, not now. "Everyone's magic gets more powerful when you grow up, it's like a rule! The nightmares keep happening because it was a horrible thing that happened to you!"

Ginny was staring at him, eyes wide, but with more fire in her than at any other point since he'd come down those stairs. She clenched her jaw, and Harry suspected she was thinking of some way to contradict him.

"Oh!" he said, and let her go of her arms. " _Can you understand or speak Parseltounge?_ " he asked in the snake language.

Ginny jumped back onto the hearth, putting her hands behind herself to stop a fall. "Don't do that!" she said. "It's creepy!"

"But did you?"

"Did I what?" Ginny pulled herself back a bit and brushed her palms clean of ash.

"Understand me?"

"Of course not! What are you playing at?"

"You understood before with Voldemort, right? So you can't be the Horcrux, because you're not a Parselmouth!"

"Harry--"

"You're not the Horcrux, Ginny, so stop saying that!" He braced his hands on the stone, feeling a rough spot cut against his palm. "You're a girl, and you don't have a single part of Voldemort's soul in you."

"You don't know that," she protested faintly.

"I'm right," he said. "You know I am. Think about it!"

"Of course I want you to be right!" Ginny glared at him. "Do you think I want to have to die to make sure Voldemort is stopped?"

"You are not going to die," Harry said. "I'm not going to let you die."

The expression on Ginny's face softened for a moment, then grew hard again. "Don't go making promises you can't keep, Harry. You can't save everyone."

She climbed to her feet and swiftly left the common room, leaving Harry alone in front of the emerald flames. He let out a wavering sigh, then he straightened up.

He might not be able to save everyone, but he was going to try.

* * *

Breakfast was halfway over when Harry made it downstairs. The Great Hall was full of jubilant voices, excitement growing over the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.

Sitting by herself at the far end of the Gryffindor table, near the teachers' table, was Hermione.

 _This has gone on long enough._ Harry decided. He made his way down the room and slipped into the seat beside Hermione before she even noticed him.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, dropping her spoon into her cereal bowl with a clatter. "You startled me."

"I guess sitting next to a murderer can do that to you," he said under his breath, grabbing a slice of toast off the platter.

Hermione stared at him. "What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"Is there another reason you've been avoiding being around me all week?" Harry asked. He wasn't at all hungry, but he knew what would happen if he didn't eat, so he forced himself to take a bite of toast. It tasted like sawdust in his mouth.

Hermione glared down at her cereal bowl. "You're imagining things," she finally said.

Harry picked up a knife and unhappily spread jam on his toast. "Guess that's so. Just lucky then, that you don't have to spend the day with me. Have fun with Ron in Hogsmeade."

He tried to stand up, but Hermione grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded. Harry was surprised to see the beginnings of unshed tears shining in her eyes.

"I'm not the one doing it!" Harry said. "You have, ever since I told you about the--" He checked himself. "Since I told you about my summer!"

Without a word, Hermione got to her feet, abandoning her breakfast, and pulled Harry down the Hall. They got several odd looks, but Harry didn't care.

Only when they were outside into the courtyard did Hermione let go of his sleeve, turning on her heel to face him.

"Great." Harry had no idea what she was thinking. He only knew that they needed to deal with whatever issue there was between them now, before it became permanent. The thought of losing Hermione, who had always been on his side, hurt more than he wanted to admit. "Now what?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at his Quidditch captain button instead of looking him in the face. "Don't you understand anything?" she demanded.

Harry blinked at her. "Understand what? That you've been avoiding me since I told you I had to kill Bellatrix Lestrange? That every time I've spoken to you since Monday, you've had this holier-than-thou attitude about anything I do? I don't appreciate being made out to be the villain here, Hermione." He took a few steps back. "Fine! Dazzle me with your brilliance! Inform me exactly how I have fallen down in your eyes! Blame me however you want, just tell me!"

"I'm not blaming you!" Hermione shouted. "Why don't you understand?"

"Why don't you just tell me?" Harry demanded. He took a step toward her, but she backed away rapidly. He stopped. She was acting scared of him. Like he'd ever do anything to hurt her!

He stared at her, unable to find anything to say. Hermione had been one of his first friends. She's always believed him, always. He'd never do anything to hurt her, ever. She had to know that.

Right?

He put his hands up. Nothing he done this past week had made a difference. No explanation, no words, nothing. "Fine," he said, concentrating very hard on not letting his voice break. "Sorry I bothered you." He turned away.

He'd only made it four steps before Hermione grabbed his arm and clung tight to him. "Why can't this be simple?" she asked, her hands trembling. "Why can't you just know this so I don't have to say it?"

He extricated himself from her grip, transferring her hands to his. "What's wrong?" he asked again. "It can't be Bellatrix; you did the same thing I did, with Umbridge in fifth year, tricking her into the Forbidden Forest with the centaurs! You knew what they'd do to her! It was only Dumbledore's showing up by accident that saved her life."

"I know that!" Hermione burst out, gripping his hands so hard it hurt. "You did what you had to, Harry, there's no getting around that! You did the right thing!"

"Exactly!" As her words sunk in, Harry frowned. "What?"

Hermione let go of him and balled her hands up in the sleeves of her robes. "Do you know why we can't find any mention of Horcruxes in any books in the library?" she asked.

"No, we're not going to talk about the Horcruxes, we're talking about why you're acting this way," Harry said, not letting himself be distracted.

Hermione, however, was beginning to get that frustrated look Harry knew so well, when he wasn't looking hard enough to see the answer. It was strangely reassuring. "Listen to me. The reason we haven't been able to find anything on Horcruxes is that they're a type of deep magic that they never teach here at Hogwarts. Necromancy."

Harry frowned. "Are you sure?"

"It's the only explanation," Hermione said. "It's playing with souls, with death and murder and evil. It's necromancy, it has to be."

"But necromancy's not evil," Harry protested. "I told you, Anita's a necromancer and she's not evil at all. It's like any other magic; it can be used to help or to harm! Look at what Snape was doing yesterday with the summoning charm in class!"

"Well, then, we'll just look in those books about all the good necromancers for information on Horcruxes," Hermione snapped. "Oh, wait. There are none."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Is there a point to all this, besides insulting a friend of mine?"

"You know the point, Harry. You spent the summer with vampires and a necromancer. You saw her magic. Who's to say you might not try and use it yourself, if things get pushed too far?"

Comprehension finally hit Harry like a blow to the stomach. "You think I'm going to become evil," he breathed. "You think that one day I'm going to have to do something, and that's going to make me evil." He made himself meet her eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. Your faith in me is touching."

"No one ever sets out to become evil, Harry, but--"

"Except Voldemort," Harry interrupted. "Shouldn't forget about him. But since we're so much alike, it's obvious that I'll become like him." Barely contained hurt and pain bubbled up into anger. "God, Hermione, do you know me at all?"

"I know you, Harry, I do!" Hermione said desperately. "It's just that necromancy, more than any other Dark Art, corrupts the wizard, twists them. Some people say that the wizard doesn't use the magic; the magic uses the wizard. There hasn't been a record of any necromancer in the last thousand years who hasn't been corrupted like that!"

"Well, I've got one for you," Harry said flatly. "Anita Blake. She's not evil. She's never going to be evil, so all your books are wrong!"

Hermione let out a small scream of frustration. "What if it was Ron, doing these things?" she demanded. "If you saw him doing things that you worried about? Wouldn't you worry about him?"

"I'd worry, but I wouldn't avoid him and then accuse him of being evil!" Harry exclaimed. "Is _this_ what's been bothering you all week? Why didn't you just say something?"

"It's not all that!" Hermione shouted. Students were beginning to trickle down the steps, looking at them curiously, and she lowered her voice quickly. "It's just... we're not all going to make it."

Feeling as if Hermione has skipped part of the conversation, Harry said, "Make it where?"

Hermione shook her head. "This fight that's coming, with V-Voldemort. Some people are going to die."

"Is that why..." Harry carefully put out his hand, and when she didn't flinch away from his touch, slid his arm around her back. "You're scared you're going to die?"

"Thanks for putting it so bluntly, Harry." In contrast with her tone, Hermione leaned into Harry's chest. "It's not that. Not only that."

"You're worried that Ron's going to get hurt?" Harry guessed.

Hermione sniffled. "Or you. Or so many people."

"Hey." Harry patted her arm. "That's the whole point of the finding out about the Horcruxes, to be able to stop Voldemort, isn't it?"

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes tinged with red. "What if it's not enough?"

"We'll make it be enough." He tried to smile. "We'll find the Horcruxes, I won't go evil, and no one's going to die." 

They walked back into the castle, Harry with his arm still around Hermione. They didn't speak, which was just as well, because Harry wasn't exactly sure what to say. He'd spent the week, researching and going to classes, thinking that Hermione was freaked out because he had to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. _Not that I might become evil because I tried to raise a zombie once with Anita!_

The more he thought about it, as they made their silent way toward the tower, the less sense it made to him. With that frustration and lack of understanding came irritation and something that felt a little too much like anger.

Halfway up the last staircase, passing a steady stream of lower year students pounding down the steps, Harry stopped walking. Hermione's momentum carried her up another step before she realized that Harry was no longer with her.

"What I don't understand," Harry said, as if continuing a conversation, "is why."

Hermione blinked at him. "Why what?"

Harry leaned against the banister, watching Hermione closely. "Why you and Ron don't trust me anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione demanded, retracing her steps until she was close enough to Harry to whisper.

Harry rubbed his forehead, starting to feel the beginning of a headache. He tried to think of the right way to say this, something to appeal to her intelligence and sense of logic, then chucked all that aside and just opened his mouth. "It's this. You and Ron either trust me, or you don't. If you do, then I have to wonder why he keeps wondering if I'm going to be attacking Ginny at any given moment, or why you're so convinced I'm going to turn evil at the drop of a hat."

Hermione turned ashen and her mouth opened, as if she was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Harry waited for a moment, before sighing.

"Look, I'm sorry, but that's how what it looks like to me right now," Harry said after a minute. "I'm sorry." 

With that, he walked around Hermione, carefully not to bump into her, and up to the Gryffindor tower, feeling once again as if he'd just lost his best friend. Only this time, it was his fault.

* * *

Harry made his way through the hallways toward the courtyard. One of Ginny's roommates had told him that Ginny would meet him there, after she went to get Luna. _I could have picked her up,_ Harry thought, slightly flustered. The last time he'd gone to Hogsmeade with a girl, things hadn't gone well at all.

_But this isn't like that. I know Ginny and Luna pretty well, and we're going as friends. They know what a dork I can be, so I probably don't need to worry about that._

For the third time, Harry patted the inside of his cloak. His letters for Anita and Jason and everyone back in St. Louis were bundled up and tucked into the pocket of the cloak Elsa had given him in London. It was the only decent covering he had, and the weather hung in a gathering gloom outside, threatening to burst into rain at any moment.

 _And even Neville said the cloak looked nice,_ Harry thought. He wanted to look good for the girls, but not as if he was trying to look good.

Two small figured barreled into Harry, and he had to brace himself to avoid falling over. He grabbed two handfuls of robes, and pulled the two away from him.

"Hi Harry!" Reece said sheepishly, almost dangling from Harry's fist. The other boy, a short Hufflepuff with brown hair and scared blue eyes, let out a small "meep" and tried to shrink into nothingness.

Harry let the boys go. "If Filch catches you running in here, he'll have you in detention," he warned.

"We won't run," the other boy said quickly.

Harry grinned at the boys. "No, I mean you need to run faster, so as he can't catch you."

Reece burst into laughter. "Are you going out?" he asked. "My mom has a coat like that for the theatre."

Harry frowned dramatically, while the other little Hufflepuff friend stared, scandalized. "Reece!" the boy said.

"What, John? He does!"

"I'm taking some girls to Hogsmeade," Harry said, interrupting their banter.

"Ooh, girls," Reece teased. John seemed mortified by the whole thing, edging closer to his friend and trying to grab his sleeve to pull him away.

"Keep this up and I'll throw you in detention myself," Harry threatened. Reece just rolled his eyes, and finally let John pull him away. "Little brat," Harry muttered fondly under his breath. Was he that bad when he was eleven?

Resuming his trek out of the castle, Harry undid his cloak to make sure the Hufflepuff impact hadn't jarred his Invisibility cloak from its moorings. He knew he needed to bring it, just in case of emergency. Luckily, the thing rolled up neatly and didn't make too noticeable a bulge when the grey cloak was done up.

 _Hopefully I won't need it,_ Harry thought grimly as he clattered down the stone steps. All the students who were going to Hogsmeade were milling about, waiting for McGonagall and Filch to let them out of the gates. In the meantime, the wind had picked up, blowing a few dead leaves around the courtyard.

 _Where are they?_ Harry craned his neck to see if he could find Ginny and Luna. He walked past several groups of students, huddled together against the wind in their non-descript cloaks. Several people glanced his way, but then looked away just as quickly. _I hope I don't have anything on my face._

"Harry!" Ginny called. Harry turned around to see her standing against the wall, waving at him. He smiled widely and waved back, then hurried over. "What took you so long?" she asked when he was at her side.

"I had to find Anita's address," Harry said, breathless. "Where's Luna?"

"Here," came Luna's voice. She joined them, doing up her cloak with trembling fingers as she avoided looking at them.

Ginny frowned. "Is everyone okay?" Harry asked, stepping closer to Luna.

Luna nodded. "I just had to talk to Michael about something. It's all settled now."

The note of cautiously optimistic finality in her voice made Harry wonder. He looked around, finally spotting Michael Corner in a group of boys, staring at the ground and looking rather put-out.

Harry turned to Luna, a question on the tip of his tongue, but the uncharacteristically fierce look in her eyes stopped him. She slipped her arm through his, and he could feel her trembling slightly.

He laid his hand over her arm, then, unable to help himself, bent over and quickly kissed the top of her head. "Good for you," he murmured.

Ginny was watching them both curiously, but instead of asking questions, went around to Luna's other side and draped her arm over the other girl's shoulders. "So, what are we going to do today?" she asked brightly. She caught Harry's eye and smiled at him over Luna's head, making his heart skip a beat. That look... what did she know about what was bothering Luna?

"We could go to Madame Puddifoot's tea room," Luna said.

"No way!" Harry exclaimed before he realized that Luna was laughing at him. "No 'romantic' teas. I'd rather go to the Three Broomsticks."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I've been to one of those tea things," she said with a shudder, as the horde of students slowly queued to leave. "Maybe it's growing up with six brothers, but the whole things just seems so..."

"Girly? Pink?" Harry supplied.

"I was going to suggest contrived," Ginny said.

Luna smiled softly. "I've just never been there. I was always curious. Although Cho Chang was quite unimpressed when you took her there, Harry"

Harry licked his lips, extremely uncomfortable to be talking about Cho now. "I was only fifteen," he protested. "I couldn't read minds. Not hers, anyway. And it's not a romantic place. Any place can be romantic if you're with the right person."

"Just like a place can't be romantic if you're with the wrong person," Ginny said smugly.

"What do you think is romantic?" Luna asked Ginny. The red-heard blushed, refusing to look at Harry, and Harry felt his own face grow a little warm.

"What, Potter, couldn't find anyone to go to Hogsmeade with?" Draco Malfoy's sneering voice came from behind them. Harry spun around. The blond Slytherin, flanked by his cronies Crabbe and Goyle, sneered at Luna and Ginny. "Needing to tag along with the little girls?"

Harry felt himself smiling widely, showing his teeth. His beast came instantly alert, ready and relished the idea of a fight. "I think I'll much prefer the company of my young ladies to yours," he said, nodding at Crabbe and Goyle.

Malfoy flushed in anger at the implication, and he started toward Harry. "You--"

"Wotcher, Harry!" Out of nowhere, someone wearing Auror's robes appeared at Harry's side, stopping Malfoy in his tracks. Tonks gave the boy a vacant smile, but her eyes were alert and bright. "And you, cousin."

Thwarted, Malfoy turned his sneering attention to Tonks. "You're no cousin of mine, Tonks," he spat.

Tonks set her jaw in an expression reminiscent of Sirius Black. "That's Auror Tonks, Malfoy," she said. "Now, run along."

She watched as Malfoy stormed off, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, to butt into the line between some third-year Slytherins. Only then did she turn back to Harry, one dark eyebrow raised under her messy purple hair.

"Hi," Harry said nervously.

"Hi, Tonks," Ginny said sunnily. "What are you doing here?"

The Auror shrugged expressively, almost bumping into a passing Ravenclaw boy. "It's my turn on rotation here at Hogwarts, Auror protection and all that." She spotted Luna watching her from beside Ginny. "Hullo."

"Oh! Tonks, this is Luna Lovegood," Ginny said quickly.

"Lovegood? Your dad have anything to do with the Quibbler?" Tonks asked.

Luna nodded. "He's the editor."

"Right good read, that is," Tonks said. "Now, Harry..."

"What?" Harry said stiffly. "Even if Malfoy is your cousin, I'm not going to--"

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Look, all I was going to say was that if you're going to pick a fight with him, at least have your bleeding wand at hand, all right?" She stepped back. "See you lot in Hogsmeade," she called as she left.

Ginny waved, but once Tonks was out of sights, she turned around to glare at Harry. "Why do you need to pick a fight with Malfoy?"

"Because he's Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed. "I wasn't going to stand around and let him--"

"Oh, stop!" Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder, stepping next to Luna, who was watching them argue. "I'd do the same thing to him, but it's a bit much. You do know he's not going to forget that."

"Who bloody well cares?" Harry demanded. "And really, if he thinks that little insult was more important than, oh, I don't know, getting his father thrown in Azkaban, he's stupider than I thought."

"I didn't know that he had any Aurors in the family," Luna said, staring off in the direction Tonks had gone. "Seems rather poetic."

"Tonks' mum married a muggle-born wizard, and the family kicked her out," Ginny explained as the line finally started moving again. "Malfoy's mother and Tonks' mum are sisters."

"Oh," Luna said. "So that's why she doesn't trust him."

Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"

Luna blinked up at him. "That Auror, she doesn't trust Draco Malfoy at all. She was watching him very closely."

Harry didn't know what to think. He looked around to where Tonks was chatting with another Auror in the corner of the courtyard. Was it his imagination, or did she glance away as he moved his head? 

_Something's going on,_ Harry mused, wondering what he had missed. Something to do with Malfoy, and the Aurors? Or just something Tonks knew about Draco in particular?

His mind racing, Harry didn't really notice as the girls got past Filch and they started out on the road to the wizarding village, until Luna came up next to him and nudged his arm. "Knut for your thoughts."

"Hrm? Oh, sorry." Harry shook his head. "Just thinking."

"We think all week in class," Luna said. "You're supposed to stop thinking now."

"Don't know if I can." He shifted his cloak around so he could take her hand as they walked down the road.

"What are you thinking about?" Luna asked, squeezing her hand tight. "Romantic dinners?" Her eyes strayed to Ginny, who had fallen behind them as she slowed to wrap her scarf more tightly around her neck.

"No way," Harry said with feeling. "I'm here and I'm enjoying this, right now." 

Luna gave him a tiny smile, so sweet and _real_ that he was very glad he'd decided to spend the day with Ginny and Luna both. "So am I."

"Good. How did your talk with Michael go?" he asked quietly, making sure Ginny was still behind them. "What did he say?"

"He didn't say much of anything," Luna said, staring down the road. "But I guess that's over, now."

"It is," Harry reassured her. "He won't bother you again."

"What are you two talking about?" Ginny called, running to catch up. She took Luna's other arm and leaned in against her friend. "Talking about me?"

"You wish," Harry said without thinking. Luckily, Ginny started laughing. "You know what I mean."

"What are we going to do today?" Luna asked.

"Let's go for a long walk," Ginny suggested. "I need to walk somewhere with no bloody stairs for a bit!"

A grin slowly spread across Harry's face, and he turned eagerly to the girls. "I've got just the place."

* * *

"Harry?" 

Harry closed his eyes momentarily when he heard Hermione's voice. He composed himself and turned away from the display of ice mice in the back of Honeydukes sweet shop. "Hi, Hermione." He looked around. "Where's Ron?"

"Over at the Three Broomsticks," Hermione said awkwardly. "I told him I wanted to get more quills and he decided to go for a drink." She frowned slightly as she took in the state of Harry's cloak. "What happened to you?"

Harry looked down at the mud stain on the hem of the cloak. "Oh, that." He rubbed his neck, embarrassed. "Ginny and Luna and me went over to the Shrieking Shack, and Luna distracted me while Ginny transfigured some branches into a dancing puppet man and they startled me and I sort of fell over," he said in a rush.

Hermione's lips twitched. "I see," she said.

"And I tried to magic the dirt off, but it didn't work," Harry continued. "I'll deal with it when I get back to school."

"Where are Luna and Ginny?" Hermione asked, stepping out of the way of a passing group of hyperactive third-years.

"Oh, at the Three Broomsticks too," Harry said, picking up a handful of candies. "I had to go to the post office and thought I'd come in here and get some candy for Reece." He moved over to the Fizzing Whizbees and picked up a package.

"That's... nice," Hermione said doubtfully. "Why?"

"Because he's in first year and can't leave the school," Harry explained, distracted as he tried to balance his handfuls of candy.

"Right." Exasperated, Hermione took some of the candy from Harry. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Harry bit his lip as he concentrated very hard on a display of blood-flavored lollipops. "About what?"

"About this morning." Hermione took a deep breath. "What you said..."

"What about it?" Harry asked as he picked up three Blood-Pops.

Hermione fiddled with a candy, not looking at Harry. "I do trust you."

"Oh." Harry slowly picked up another lollipop and laid it on his stack of candy. "Okay."

"So does Ron. He won't say it, but he does. I know it."

Harry swallowed hard. "That means a lot," he said quietly. "Thanks.... for telling me." He took a deep breath. "And about today, I'm sorry I was, you know, like that."

Hermione gave him a shaky smile. "We've got a lot on our minds," she said. "I only worry about you because I care, you know."

"I know." Harry caught a distantly familiar scent, something that reminded him of Anita, and he frowned, trying to figure out what it was. "You know I care about you too, right?"

Hermione nodded. Something about that scent, now gone, sparked a deep anxiety in Harry. He scooped up his candy and started shoving his way through the crowd to the front counter, Hermione on his heels.

Harry dumped the candy on the counter and waited impatiently as a nervous-looking Slytherin girl carefully paid for a Licorice Wand. The older man behind the counter gave the girl her change, then turned to Harry.

"Harry Potter!" the man exclaimed in a voice so loud that Harry winced. Everyone in the shop staring their way now, the man continued happily, "I was hoping you'd be coming in today! The newest member of the Chocolate Frog card family!"

 _Fuck!_ Harry had managed to forget that he'd been put on the trading cards during the summer. The last thing he needed now, just when things were getting strange, was to have this attention focused on him! He plastered a smile on his face and made himself stand up straight.

"I do hope you'll let me present you with this token of our congratulations!" the man said, bringing up a large basket packed with all kinds of candy.

"No, I can't--" Harry tried to say.

"Of course you can! It's quite an honour, being put on the cards." He shoved the basket toward Harry, casting a proprietary eye at the crowd behind Harry. Harry snuck a glance to see several Hogwarts students edging toward the large Chocolate Frog display. As they moved, the rest of the shop seemed to clear, and Harry caught a glimpse of a little girl who had previously been hidden, standing by the Acid Pops.

Adrenaline exploded in Harry's body as he locked eyes with the girl. _What is Elsa doing here?_ Harry thought.

Elsa blinked at him, then slowly pushed herself away from the wall and sauntered to the door.

"Shall I just ring these up for you, Mr. Potter?" the clerk asked, drawing Harry's attention back.

"What? Oh sure," Harry said, bringing his attention back to the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elsa walk past the front window and around the side of the building. _I need to know why she's here! What if something's wrong, or something's happened to Anita or Damian?_

He swiftly paid the man, not letting himself seem as if he was in any kind of hurry. He dropped his wrapped purchases on top of the large basket, and picked it up with his left hand, just in case he needed to go for his wand with his right. He made his way past the shoppers, now waiting to buy Chocolate Frogs, and was out the door of the shop before he realized that Hermione was still at his elbow. She was looking at him very closely.

 _Careful, she'll think something's up._ "Why don't you head over to the pub?" he suggested lightly. "I just remembered I needed to grab something at Zonko's."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You were in an awful hurry to get out of there," she pointed out. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Aw, Hermione, you know how much I hate having a fuss made over me, especially something as dumb as those cards." He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter. "Go on, the wind's picking up. I'll be there in a little bit."

"Okay," Hermione said, hunching down against the wind. "Don't be long." She held her hand out for the candy basket.

"Thanks, I won't be," Harry promised. He watched for a moment as Hermione made her way down the street, before he turned and headed in the direction Elsa had gone.

 _Maybe she's in the alley?_ Harry thought, slipping his wand into his hand. _Why is she here? I know she went into Diagon Alley with me and Anita, but why--_

Harry's speculation was cut off when he felt a sharp pointy object poke itself into his ribs. Concentrating, he could barely make out a small figure in front of him in the shadows.

"You seem to be venturing into dark corners all alone, little boy," Elsa's mocking voice filled his ears as she stepped into the dim daylight. "You're either brave or very, very stupid."

"I'm going to go with brave," Harry said, stepping around her to avoid her wand.

"I'm not," she snapped. "Come, we need to talk."

She held out her hand, but Harry shook his head. "We can talk here."

"Where anyone can see?" Elsa asked mockingly. "What would people say, you dallying with such a child?"

"Stop it!" Harry exclaimed, grossed out by her implication. "We'll talk right here." He pulled out his Invisibility cloak and threw it over his shoulders before stepping against the wall. "Now no one's going to see me with you, happy?"

Elsa hopped up on a box next to Harry and pulled a Blood-Pop out of her pocket. "At least you can use your head at some point." She unwrapped the candy. "Although if I'd wanted to kill you, I'd have done it in the sweet shop and no one would know it was me."

"Right, because little witches always duel in candy stores," Harry snapped. "Why are you here? Is it because of me?"

Elsa drew the lollipop over her tongue with a look of bliss on her face, making Harry feel slightly ill. "Of course it was," she said after a moment. "I wanted to make sure my investment was safe. At least you're wearing that cloak."

"Investment?" Harry demanded. "And what about this cloak?"

The diminutive witch cast her gaze to the sky. "That cloak that I gave you in London, it repels magic," she explained slowly, as if to a slow child. "Such as curses. You're safer when you wear it." 

Harry glared at her, although she couldn't see it. "Why are you telling me this _now_? Wouldn't it have been a slight bit better to know _before_ I left for school?"

Elsa ignored him. "Jean-Claude has been very careful about you, you know. He's made Christoff a handsome offer, in exchange for his protection of you and his little death maker. I am simply here to ensure that you don't get attacked by those revolting Death Eaters on your day out."

"We have Aurors around for that," Harry said, wondering what kind of deal Jean-Claude had made with Christoff, Elsa's vampire master and Master of London.

The girl made a dismissive motion with her hand. "The English Aurors are useless. We had them in the battle against Grindewald and what did they do? Die."

"Battle against Grindewald?" Harry repeated. "Hey, Dumbledore was in that too. Did you know him? Albus Dumbledore?"

Elsa turned her head to look at Harry, her eyes ancient in her forever-young face. "I know Albus Dumbledore," she said in a flat voice, all hint of her previous merriment gone. "Which is another reason why I'm here."

"To see him?" Harry asked.

Elsa sighed. "No. Not to see him." She waved her hand again. "Go, child, go eat your sweets and have your innocent fun with your friends." She examined her lollipop, sticking her lower lip out in a pout. "It never lasts."

"So nothing's wrong?" Harry asked again. "Everyone's safe in St. Louis? And in London?"

"Yes, everyone is safe," Elsa snapped. "In the spirit of co-operation, Christoff sent several of his wererats to America, a show of security. I expect that your succubus is quite safe."

It took an extreme effort, but Harry managed to not respond to the slight against Anita. "Good." His mind raced back to a subject never far away these days, and he blurted out, "Do you know anything about Horcruxes?"

Elsa started up off her box. " _What_ did you say?"

"Do you know anything about Horcruxes?" Harry repeated. "There's this thing...."

As he spoke, the look of horror on Elsa's face changed into a slowly spreading, gleeful smile. "Oh, your Voldemort has been using Horcruxes," she breathed. "What a bad boy."

"Hey, I didn't say--"

"Of course not," Elsa said. "Oh, how deliciously _evil_!" She giggled. "That explains so much!"

Harry was now kicking himself. "I shouldn't have mentioned it. Never mind, okay?"

Elsa kept laughing. "Oh, boy, you're so completely hopeless." She slid off her crate to the ground. "What is that American phrase? Never try to play a player?" She shook her head and wandered down the alley. "You're doomed!" she called before she vanished around the side of the house.

"Bloody brilliant, Potter, Harry muttered, watching her go. "Dumbledore's going to kill me." _As well he should!_

Harry trudged down the narrow passage, pulling off his Invisibility cloak as he went. He'd just stowed it in his pocket when a hand came out of nowhere and pushed him back against the wall. He was already going for his wand when he realized that the person who'd grabbed him was Tonks.

She stared steadily at him, no hint of amusement on her face now. Harry stared back for a moment before wrenching himself away from her. He waited for her to speak, to say something, demand something, like everyone tended to do these days, but she was silent.

Finally, he spoke. "I'm meeting Ginny and Luna at the Three Broomsticks. Care to join us?"

Tonks shook her head, changing her hair from purple to dark blue. "I'm still on patrol, until everyone heads back."

Keeping his face as blank as he could make it, Harry stepped back and gave a tiny bow, like he'd done to Christoff in London those weeks ago. "Then I'll see you at the castle," he said, before turning and walking down the street.

 _Did Tonks see me with Elsa?_ Harry wondered as he squeezed into the crowded Three Broomsticks pub. _So what if she did? It's just another kid, who can tell the difference with a school full of students here today?_

Ginny and Luna were sitting with Ron and Hermione by the far wall. Ron hastily brushed some empty sweet wrappers off the table as Harry sat down. "What did you get?" he asked.

Harry glanced at the sweets basket, not surprised to see some gaps in the collection. "Get where?"

"At Zonko's," Hermione reminded him.

"Oh, I never got there," Harry said, pulling up a chair. "I met someone I knew, had a chat. What have you all been up to?"

"Luna was telling us about her trip to Sweden a year ago with her father to find the Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Ginny said with a mischievous grin.

Hermione pursed her lips at the mention of a creature she was convinced didn't exist, which made Ginny grin harder. Harry wondered what they'd been doing in his absence.

"I'd rather hear about how Harry got frightened by a bunch of sticks today?" Ron said, putting his arm around Hermione and grinning at Harry.

"Hey!" Harry protested, but it didn't stop Ginny from telling the story.

On the outside, everything looked and felt normal, just friends having a drink at the pub before heading back to school. Inside, though, nothing felt normal at all. Elsa's sudden intrusion into Harry's life at Hogwarts cast a severe pall over his mood. She hadn't just shown up to keep an eye on him. But what had she wanted?

Added to the mess with Hermione and Ron, what was going on with Tonks and Draco Malfoy? Harry really hadn't given Malfoy much thought since the beginning of the year; everything else had been so busy.

Harry listened to Ginny's story, laughing in all the right places, but inside he was cold and so very tired. _There's too much going on,_ he thought. _Too much magic and too much mystery, none of it simple. I wish..._ His mind stuttered to a halt while he tried to figure out exactly what he did want.

Ginny ended the story, to everyone else's great amusement. Harry realized he was staring at her when she smiled at him. He made himself smile back, but he didn't really mean it.

 _Maybe that's my problem,_ Harry thought. _I know what I want._

_I just don't know how I'm not going to die in the process._


	58. Where, Wolf?

* * *

"Quiet!" Snape snapped, moving the desks to the sides of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with a flick of his wand. The seventh-year students fell silent in a hurry. The professor stalked slowly down the centre of the room, staring down his nose at everyone. "What day this is?"

Harry, standing between Ron and Hermione at the back of the room, let out a tiny growl. _That son of a bitch knows it's the full moon!_ he fumed.

Snape whirled around. "Potter!" he barked.

"What?"

"What day is it?"

Gritting his teeth, Harry said, "It's the full moon tonight."

Snape twisted out a smirk before addressing the class. "What manner of dark creatures come out on a full moon?" 

Casting an apologetic look at Harry, Hermione raised her hand. As usual, Snape ignored her. "Potter!"

"What?"

"Answer the question!"

Harry drew himself up to his full height as he glared at Snape. "Lycanthropes of all kinds. Werewolves. Wereleopards. Wererats, wereswans, werefoxes, werehyenas--"

"Enough!" Snape cut Harry off. "What can be used to kill an attacking werewolf?"

"Besides talking it to death?" Harry snapped.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Potter. Now answer!"

Harry made himself unclench his hands. "Silver bullets usually," he said, trying to drag up any information on Anita's muggle methods of killing lycanthropes, and therefore useless to wizards.

"I'll take that as ignorance," Snape said, whirling away. "There is, however, a curse that can be used to injure werewolves but will not affect normal wizards, making it useful when you are faced with a werewolf in a crowded area."

Harry listened to Snape with growing incredulity. _He's talking about that curse he used on me in the first class! What the hell is he doing?_

"Pair up!" Snape moved through the room, pulling apart groups of students and rearranging them. "No, Weasley, you pair with Longbottom, let Potter show off to the Head Girl today," Snape said as he walked to the front of the room. "Everyone, pay attention!"

Harry stood beside Hermione while Snape demonstrated the wand movement for the curse. _How can I ask her not to hit me with the curse?_ he thought frantically. _I told them I'm not a werewolf, she's going to think it's safe to hit me with this curse! And it's Hermione; she never misses._

He was so deep in his thoughts, he almost missed hearing Snape say, "The incantation is 'Bolverk', with emphasis on the final consonant sound."

Harry's jaw dropped open. _Bolverk? **Bolverk**? Snape just made this whole damned curse up! That's not an incantation, it's the name of the werewolf pack's enforcer, like Anita! _

"Begin!" Snape said.

"Harry, you need to move over there," Hermione said.

"Right." He hesitated, then spoke in a whisper. "Do you remember how you said the other day that you trust me?"

Hermione blinked at him for a moment. _Come on, figure it out,_ Harry pleaded silently. He saw it in her eyes the moment the idea sparked. Her mouth opened for moment, then her gaze darkened.

"Yeah." He took his place across the room from Hermione, holding his wand out. "Do you want me to go first?"

"Yes," Hermione said shortly.

Harry raised his wand. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't afford to mess this up, not with Snape hovering so closely. Around him, all the other students had their wands up and were trying to cast the curse, but no one was getting it. Harry tuned them out and closed his eyes. He focused on the incantation. _Jason said that when Anita had to go do Bolverk's work, she was really scary._ Harry remembered how it felt when Anita was furious, a cold fury that promised pain and death to whoever or whatever stood in her way.

Harry's wand was moving before he even opened his eyes. "Bolverk," he said under his breath, pushing all the power he felt out through his wand. A great gust of wind slammed into Hermione, knocking her back into a desk. "Hermione!" Harry yelped. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, surprised and breathless. "I'm fine." 

Snape interrupted whatever else she was going to say. "Back to work, Potter, Granger," he said with a glower.

Harry had no choice but to go back to his spot across the room. Hermione raised her wand, and Harry made himself stand still. If Hermione hadn't understood him, or she chose to fling the curse at him anyway, this was going to hurt like hell.

"Bolverk!" Hermione cried, messing up the pronunciation. Nothing happened. She shook her head and tried again, this time saying the incantation correctly, but the hand movement, which had previously been perfect, was wrong.

Snape, still hovering nearby, pounced. Within a few minutes, his verbal diatribe had reduced Hermione to the edge of tears, and Harry was about ready to kill Snape and damn the consequences. Ron tried to come over to Hermione's side, but Snape blew up and ordered Ron and Neville to the far side of the room.

Snape took points from Gryffindor and questioned Hermione's intelligence for the remainder of the class, but she was the only person in the room who never successfully cast the curse.

* * *

Not surprisingly, Hermione was the first person out of the door when class ended. Ron shot after her, leaving Harry to gather up her things.

"Showing up the Head Girl, Potter?" Snape asked silkily, watching Harry's every move. "It's a pity, she never learned that curse."

Harry kept his mouth shut, so angry at Snape for the way he treated Hermione during class.

"It's the sort of ignorance that could get her hurt--" Snape started to say, but Harry whirled around so fast that Snape took a step back, then recovered himself.

"Don't you threaten her!" Harry said.

Snape, his face even paler than usual, moved forward, too close. "But I'm not the threat, am I, Potter?" he said silkily.

Harry balled his fist up, aching to hit Snape, hurt him, but he managed to stumbled back and out the door before he did anything that could get him expelled. _That's what Snape wants, me gone,_ Harry thought, anger pounding in his head. _That's why he's doing all this, trying to get me to do something so I'll be expelled._

There was laughter down the corridor, and Harry heard Seamus shout "Bolverk!", followed by Neville's protests.

 _It's starting already!_ Harry through. _People thinking it's a fun curse, it can't hurt, because no one's a werewolf, right? Only what if a real werewolf_ does _step in the path?_

Harry grabbed a passing fifth-year Gryffindor. "Clarence, did Snape show you any curses about werewolves in Defence class this week?" Harry demanded.

Surprised, the boy nodded. "He told us not to use it at all outside of class, though."

Harry let the boy go. _If the fifth years know the curse, then so the sixth years,_ Harry realized, a cold ball of fear growing in his stomach. _So what if Snape told them not to use it outside of class? Someone's going to use it anyway, they'll think it's funny, and Reece could get hurt! Hell, I could too. I How could I not notice that?_

Up ahead, Harry saw Hermione leaning against a wall, Ron hovering protectively over her. _She messed up that curse on purpose for over two hours. She's Hermione, she can cast it perfectly._ Harry swallowed. _She could cast it fine right now, if I needed her to._

Harry walked toward Hermione and Ron. "You forgot your things," was the first thing he said, even though it was completely unimportant.

Hermione didn't speak, only stared at Harry with some emotion he was afraid to name. Bracing his hand on the wall, Ron said, "What the bloody hell was that, today?" 

Harry shook his head. "I need to talk to you two, come on." 

He walked down the corridor, looking for a deserted classroom. He soon found an empty room and went in, not waiting to see if Ron and Hermione were behind him. He dropped his bag and Hermione's things on the ground by the wall.

As he started to undo his robe, the door to the classroom shut with a bang. "I believed you!" Hermione exclaimed, advancing on Harry. "You said you weren't a werewolf and I believed you!"

"Good," Harry said briefly, dropping his robe over his bag, and pulling his shirttails out of his trousers.

"Then what--" Hermione stared at him. "What are you _doing?_ "

Harry unbuttoned his shirt. "What I told you, about not being a werewolf, that's true, but something in me changed last month. I should have told you, I know, but I didn't and it's too late and I need your help!" Shirt hanging undone, he pulled off his glasses. "I need you to cast that curse on me now, for real."

"Harry, what is going on?" Ron demanded, nothing joking in his voice now. He put his hand on Hermione's back as they both stared at Harry.

Harry shoved his wand into his pocket. "Look, the curse today, that's what Snape threw at me on the first day of class, the one that got my shoulder. He taught it to all the upper-level students! Everyone's going to think it's a big joke, but if I get caught in the middle, I need to know how to heal myself!"

"You said you weren't a werewolf!" Hermione said again.

"I'm not!" Harry raked his hands through his hair in frustration. "At least not physically! But there's something in me... I can't explain, I don't know how, but it's real! Just as real as I'm standing here. I need to be able to teach--" Harry stopped himself before he said something he shouldn't. Putting his hands on his hips, he took a deep breath. "Hermione, please. I need to know what I'm dealing with, and how to heal myself. I know you messed up on purpose today, and I'm sorry, but I'm asking for your help."

Hermione momentarily buried her face in her hands. "Is there anything else you haven't told us?" she demanded, her voice thick. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because it didn't matter then!" Harry met her accusing eyes, because it was easier than trying to figure out what to say to Ron, who was remaining very quiet. "I didn't know that Snape was going to do this!"

"Is there anything else that happened that 'doesn't matter'?" Hermione asked. "Anything else that's going to come back and haunt us later?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "Look, we can talk about this later; I need to know how to heal myself before lunch ends."

"Why?" Ron said.

"I need to find someone, is all," Harry stuttered.

It was, however, useless. Hermione put her hands to her mouth, startled. "Oh!" She blinked hard. "Who is it?"

"Who's what?" Harry asked, his heart sinking.

"The other werewolf?" Hermione said. "It can't be anyone in the upper years, they'd have been hurt in class..." Comprehension was dawning on her face, and there was nothing Harry could do to stop it. "It's Reece!"

"That little kid?" Ron asked, confused. "You mean Dumbledore let that another werewolf in the school?"

"He's just a little boy, Ron!" Hermione said. "Harry, are you telling us that you need to know how to heal yourself, so you can teach Reece how to heal himself? That's OWL-level magic, he won't be able to get it."

Harry shook his head. "No, he'll get it. I'll also show him how to do a shield charm, but I first need to know I can even heal that curse with magic." He pulled his shirt off and threw it on top of his robes. "Okay, hit me."

Trembling with either emotion or fury, Hermione slowly drew out her wand. "Turn around."

"I'd rather you hit me in the front, so I can reach," Harry said.

Hermione walked over to Harry and grabbed his bare arm. Surprised, he let her spin him in place. He felt fingers on his back, where Richard had clawed him, and he craned over his shoulder to see what Hermione was doing.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, poking gently at the healed skin.

"Yes," Harry confessed. "But I was too afraid of dying to pay it too much mind at the time."

Hermione let him go. "Is there any way I can talk you out of this?" she asked. Harry shook his head. "Fine. Ron, go stand over there by him."

She walked across the room, making sure she had a clear shot. Harry tried to keep his breathing even, his hands loose at his sides and away from his wand. _This is going to hurt, but it's okay, it's just pain, nothing's going to be too injured._

"Do you have a particular body part you'd favour?" she asked, lifting her wand.

"Not the head, and away from my heart," Harry instructed. "And, you know, above the waist." He gave Ron a half-grin, but Ron was looking so grim that Harry's immature amusement vanished. _Right._ "I'm ready."

Hermione flowed into the wand movement, saying the curse quietly. It was as if the air itself screamed as the curse flew across the empty space and hit Harry on the right side.

Harry went down heavily, the agony preventing him from blocking his fall. Pain, sharp and burning, pulsed in his gut. He gritted his teeth, sure that if he cried out he won't be able to stop. It seemed like it took him an eternity to deal with the pain enough to get his hands under him and attempt to sit up.

His first try failed, and he collapsed back against the floor. He blinked and made himself roll onto his uninjured side, then push himself onto all fours. He let his head hang down as he tried to swallow the pain down, then opened his eyes, hoping he wouldn't see a huge gaping hole in his stomach.

Blood, his blood, dripped down from the wound. Harry's whole world narrowed down to watching his blood drip to the floor, the pain in his gut, and his complete inability to think.

Hands on his back made him draw a deep breath that didn't hurt as much he thought it would. "Come on, Harry, sit back," Ron said, pushing until Harry sat on his heels.

Hermione was kneeling in front of them. "Harry, I'm sorry..."

Harry managed to shake his head. "It's okay," he breathed around the pain. Fumbling for his wand, he continued weakly, "Snape wasn't so powerful, that's good, right?"

"You're a right idiot, you know that?" Ron said, angry.

"Heard that before," Harry said. He looked down to make sure he was pointing his wand at the right spot, then cast the healing charm. He gritted his teeth, not letting himself cry out as his skin knit itself together under the glow of a blue-green light. Then the pain of the curse and the pain of the cure were gone, and he was left gasping for air.

Those first pain-free breaths were like heaven, then the after-effects of what had just happened began to set in, making Harry keenly aware of the ache along his hip and back. He shifted his weight until his butt was on the floor, and he could just rest.

"How can you say you're not a werewolf?" Ron asked, still sounding angry. He got to his feet and walked around, his movements jerky and angry. "What the hell are you playing at?"

Harry looked up. He couldn't seem to get enough air, and Ron's anger wasn't helping. "This isn't a game," Harry said coldly. "If this is what happens to me like this, what's going to happen to Reece? He's short enough for a stray curse to hit him in the head, not the chest or back! It's not going to be a game when he's laying bleeding on the floor because of what Snape's done, is it?"

"Snape wouldn't actually _hurt_ anyone," Hermione said, but she sounded very uncertain. "Did he know you were a..."

"I'm not a werewolf," Harry repeated. "I can touch silver, I don't change shape, I don't want to eat human flesh. Sometimes I can feel something in my body, like a shadow of the wolf, but I'm not a werewolf!"

"There's nothing in the library on possible lycanthrope infections on children or grandchildren of vampires," Hermione said. "But that makes sense, if people like that, your mother, are viewed as pariahs."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Even Jean-Claude didn't know how or why I was like this, and he's a Master vampire." Too tired to move, Harry summoned his bag, and pulled out a handkerchief to mop up the blood on his skin.

"Did Snape know you were like you are?" Hermione pressed. "Was he trying to hurt you?"

Harry licked blood off his fingers before reaching for his glasses. "I don't think so," he said with extreme reluctance. "He was probably just showing off. 'Look at how smart I am! I can kill werewolves with a flick of my wand? Aren't I special?' "

"Harry--"

"I mean, what would happen if he cast that on Remus?" Harry continued, getting angry at Snape again. "And the Ministry wouldn't consider it that bad of a spell, because it only hurts werewolves. Don't they know anything?"

"I'm sure he'd never actually try to hurt Remus," Hermione said doubtfully. "Just like he'd never use it to hurt Reece."

"If he even knows the kid's a werewolf," Ron said. Both Harry and Hermione turned to look at him. "Have either of you listened to Ginny go on about Slughorn? He's a Potions Master. He's probably the one brewing the Wolfsbane potion now, not Snape. If Snape doesn't know about Reece, then why should he care about who knows a werewolf-specific curse?"

"Ron's right," Hermione said. "We have to do something."

"Like what?" Harry asked, getting dressed. "Tell the whole school that there's werewolf here? Reece'd be chased out before the rumor finished getting around."

"We could tell Dumbledore," Hermione suggested.

Harry shook his head. "He's not available. I asked McGonagall. I wanted to talk to him about the Horcruxes, but he's not around. She wouldn't tell me when he'd be back."

"I hate to interrupt this," Ron said. "But what's going to happen with Reece tonight?"

Harry shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey knows about Reece, so does Dumbledore. He'll be safe."

"What about the rest of us?" Ron put up his hand in a violent motion before Harry could protest. "So Reece isn't a threat normally, fine, but what about tonight? The night of the full moon?"

Harry glowered for another moment, then let himself slump down. He hated having to say it, feeling incredibly disloyal to Reece, but... "I can't see Dumbledore putting anyone at risk. I'm sure he's got a plan, a good one."

"Besides," Hermione said, "If he's taking the Wolfsbane potion, he'll be rather placid."

"Right," Ron muttered.

Harry sighed. "I have to go find Reece. And figure out how to teach him fifth-year magic in half an hour." He stiffly stood up, wobbling and light-headed.

"Do you want help?" Hermione asked. "I've got Arithmancy after lunch, but I can skip that."

"No," Harry said. "Reece doesn't know you, he might react badly. I'll figure it out."

Hermione and Ron exchange glances. "Are you feeling all right?" Ron asked.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "Really."

Hermione looked down at her hands. "I didn't believe you," she muttered.

"Huh?"

"I thought you were lying or something, I don't know." She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I was just so angry when I cursed you, but I never thought it would hurt you so much."

Harry blinked. "But I asked you to do it."

"But not that hard!" Hermione burst out. "Why aren't you listening?"

Helplessly, Harry looked at Ron. "She's trying to apologize for hurting you," the red-head explained.

"Oh." Harry tentatively touched Hermione's arm. "I asked you to do it, remember?"

"Why?" Hermione asked. "Why me and not Ron? He actually got the curse in class."

"I know." Harry searched around for an explanation. "It's just..." _I knew you'd be able to hurt me, if it was necessary. Ron wouldn't have been able to go through with it._ "If something bad happened, they were less likely to expel you than Ron. Plus, can you imagine what his mum would have done to him if he'd maimed me?" He tried to soften his harsh explanation with a wry grin. Hermione's expression didn't change.

"Come on," Ron said. "We should get moving. Lunch'll be over soon, and you need to get to Reece." He picked up his bag. "I wonder why the Sorting Hat put him in Hufflepuff?"

"Pack loyalty and all that," Harry said carelessly. "Remus never had a pack."

"You could have had a pack, if you stayed in St. Louis," Hermione said suddenly. "Were you going to stay, if you'd changed into a werewolf on the full moon?"

"Hermione--"

"No, Ron, I need to know!" Hermione glared at Harry. "If you'd been a real werewolf, would you have come back here?"

Harry had no idea what she wanted him to say, but some edge of her anger was rubbing off on him. "Yes, I was always coming back," he snapped. "I've got a job to do, remember? Find the Horcruxes and kill Voldemort?"

"Is that all we are to you? A way for you for kill Voldemort?" Hermione demanded.

"What?" Harry shouted, astonished. "Of course not! You're my friends! You're about the only family I've had for the last six years!"

"And then Anita Blake swoops in and we're not your family anymore?"

Harry gaped at her. "How is Anita suddenly part of this conversation?"

"You come back and it's Anita this, Anita that," Hermione said hotly. "It's like she's brainwashed you into not seeing--"

"Stop it!" Harry exclaimed. "Anita hasn't brainwashed me. She has nothing to do with any of this!"

"Hermione, don't you think you're overreacting just a little?" Ron said. "Yeah, she's a necromancer, but--"

"Ron--"

"Hermione, we talked about this," Ron said firmly. "About how we trust Harry? And about how Dumbledore would have brought him home in August if there was any danger?" He took hold of her shoulders and made her look up at him. "I know how you feel about necromancers, but we know Harry, and we don't know a thing about Anita Blake."

Harry stepped back, insides roiling. "I'll just leave the two of you alone," he said sarcastically. "Feel free to talk about me behind my back, you seem to anyway."

Ron let go of Hermione and glared at Harry. "Pull the bloody stick out of your arse, would you?" he demanded. "Yeah, we were worried about you! That's what family does! Don't you think it'd be easier if it wasn't? How Mum wouldn't spend every dinner at home very carefully _not_ looking at Percy's old chair?" He flung his hands out. "I don't bloody care what you think we should and shouldn't do around you! Even if you're being the biggest prat in the whole damned school, we're not going to stop worrying about you! Now go find Reece and teach him how to protect himself! I'm taking Hermione to class."

Harry couldn't think of a single thing to say to that, so he left.

* * *

Harry found Reece as the boy was walking out of the Great Hall after lunch. He caught the back of the boy's robes and whirled him around, giving him a tiny shove in the direction of the classrooms.

"I was going to play Gobstones before class," Reece protested.

So close, Harry could feel the boy's animal side near to the surface, sending a wave of spine-tingling energy over his skin. It helped him clear his head. "Too bad. I've got to show you something."

The boy scowled, but went with Harry. Halfway up a staircase, he said, "Thanks for the candy last weekend. My dormmates liked it."

"You're welcome. What was your favourite?"

"The ice mice," Reece said, grinning wolfishly. "Felt just like real mice in my tummy." 

Harry chose to let that one go.

"I didn't like those floaty ones, though," Reece continued, doing a tiny hop-skip. "I'm going to send my dad one of those blood suckers. They're neat. I ate one yesterday but had to stop."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously, ushering the boy into an empty classroom.

"It made me want to go hunting," Reece said. "Why are we here?"

Harry sighed. "Have you heard any new curses in the common room or the halls in the last few days?" Reece shook his head. "Right." Harry took a deep breath. "Snape taught the older students a curse today. On normal humans, it's like a burst of wind, but on a werewolf, it's designed to incapacitate. And it hurts."

Reece went still, his eyes huge in his face.

"So even though Snape told us not to use in the halls or anywhere except a fight, no one's going to listen. There's a very thin chance that you might be around some people when it's happening. I'm going to show you a way to shield yourself, and how to heal yourself if you do get hit. Do you understand?"

Reece nodded mutely.

"Okay." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the item he'd retrieved from his dorm, the Viking knife Damian had given him in St. Louis. "First things first, I'm going to show you how to heal with a charm. Get your wand out," Harry ordered as he unsheathed the dagger

Reece pulled out his wand warily, staying where he was.

"Oh, come over here, I'm not going to cut you," Harry said, sitting down. "I'll show you how to heal, then you'll try."

Reece nudged over as Harry pushed up his sleeve and nicked his own arm. A tiny trickle of blood ran down his skin. "Why did the professor show everyone a curse that can hurt me?" Reece whispered, staring at the blood. "I thought he liked me. He gave me a point in class on Monday."

Harry laid the dagger on the desk. How could he explain to the boy that Snape hated werewolves? "I'm not sure what he was thinking," Harry said, putting on a brave smile. "Come on, watch this so you can try next."

Hissing in pain as the cut healed under his wand, Harry almost missed the fear lurking in Reece's eyes.

* * *

Harry sat against the window in the Gryffindor common room, bathed in the light from the full moon, and raised his eyebrows at Ron and Hermione. "Better?" he asked. "I can undress and go outside if you want me to prove it more."

"No, I've seen you naked enough today," Hermione said. Neville, who was passing by and overheard her pronouncement, stumbled over his own feet, then hurried away.

Ron cracked a grin, leaning back into the couch. "How did things go with the kid?"

"Fine," Harry said with a shrug. "Took him about an hour to get the healing charm and the shield charm. He ended up having to hold my hand to get the shield."

Ron gave him a look.

"To feel the magic, you perv!" Harry exclaimed, throwing a roll of parchment at Ron. "But he had to go to class, then. I hope he's okay."

"He's probably fine," Hermione said encouraging. "How are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess." Harry hadn't been able to settle down to anything all afternoon. After he'd finished with Reece, he'd wandered around the grounds for a while. He'd seen Hagrid and poked around the greenhouses, all the while wanting to just be able to shift into his Animagus form and run, as hard and as fast as possible. But there had been too many people and there was nowhere for Harry to go.

 _I should tell Ron and Hermione about my wolf,_ Harry thought nervously, fingering the dagger in his pocket. He hadn't had the time to stash it up in the dorm before dinner. _I should have told them this afternoon, but I was so worried about Reece-- No, that's not it._ He looked at Hermione as she settled against Ron, a book already open on her lap. There were faint circles under her eyes. _I wanted to keep this to myself, my little secret. But maybe I can help them be Animagi as well. It would be dead useful._

He tried to compose a way to explain, but he was having a hard time sitting still and thinking. He bounced to his feet and walked to the windows on the far side of the tower, to look out on the darkened Hogwarts grounds. It was late, almost curfew, and the moon had been up for almost an hour. Some part of him wanted to find Ginny, to see what she was doing, but he shoved those thoughts down, mildly horrified as to the places his imagination was taking him. He thought instead about the moon, the night, and gradually his mind moved to what the werewolves and wereleopards would be doing back in St. Louis.

 _How's Reece doing?_ Harry wondered. _Is he just lying around? Did they give him something to do?_

The more he thought about Reece, the more obsessed he became. _He's muggle-born, so he's probably never had the Wolfsbane potion before. Remus said it tastes gross... Was Reece able to finish it all?_

"Harry?" Hermione said, appearing at his elbow. "Are you all right?"

Harry rubbed his hand over his face. "No," he said grudgingly. "I can't seem to shake this feeling, you know? Like something's happening."

Hermione appeared sympathetic. "Do you want to come sit down with us?" 

Harry shook his head. "What I want is to go see that Reece is okay," he said quietly. "It could have been me in there, you know?"

"Well then," Hermione said briskly. "You've got a headache."

"I do?"

"Of course you do. You'd better go see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione continued. "I'll go with you, or else you're bound to get into trouble."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, grinning widely. Impulsively, he leaned down and gave her a hug. She smelled warm and safe and familiar, and it was very reluctantly that he let her go.

She was smiling up at him, a little sad, but before he could ask her what was wrong, she was turning toward the portrait hole. "Come on, before I change my mind." 

Harry hurried.

The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet and dark, but Harry could sense the quiver of motion in the air. There were Aurors about, and probably professors roaming the halls, making sure that no one was out past curfew. The portraits moved slightly, not asleep quite yet.

"Why do the portraits sleep?" Harry asked Hermione. "They're just paint, right? Why does paint need to sleep?"

Hermione gave him a strange look. "You're full of the oddest questions."

Harry shrugged, turning to walk down the stairs backwards to keep her in view. "Everything's sort of odd tonight. It just feels like everything's vibrating, you know?"

"No, I don't." Hermione paused, trying to find the words for something. "You do know that you're hotter than usual?"

"Why, thank you," Harry said with a wolfish smile.

"Not that!" Hermione seemed flustered. "Your skin, it's hotter than it should be. Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

"Yes, Hermione. I told you, things changed with me after what Richard did, but not all the way. You should have been in St. Louis, to see the full show. I swear, Nathaniel got hot enough for me to--" 

A prickling sensation in the air permeated Harry's rambling, and he closed his mouth with a snap. He only just had time to step slightly in front of Hermione as a dark-robed figure rounded the corner up ahead.

The figure started back, as if surprised, then froze in the shadows for a moment. "Breaking curfew?" Snape said, tsking under his breath. "Why is it that you are so convinced the rules to not apply to you, Potter?

Harry let his hands fall to his sides. He and Hermione had stopped in a pool of moonlight, streaming in through the window in the castle wall, and where the light touched Harry's skin he felt energized, more alive. He breathed out through his nose, and waited for Snape to make the first move.

"It's not curfew yet, Professor," Hermione said nervously. "Harry's feeling ill. I was taking him to the infirmary."

Snape stepped into the light, staring down at Hermione with eyes black as ink. "Really, Miss Granger?" He looked from Hermione to Harry. "What I find interesting, Potter, is how you manage to convince your normally sensible friends to fall to such depths of stupidity at a mere nod from you."

Harry concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest, the air he breathed in, the stone floor hard under his shoes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Snape sneered. "Ever the Gryffindor," he said before brushing past Harry.

Harry watched the man until he was out of sight around a corner, and only then let himself relax.

"One of these days you're going to say something that's going to get you expelled," Hermione said.

"I don't trust him," Harry muttered. "He's up to something."

"He's patrolling the halls like he always does, Harry." Hermione caught his arm and tugged him along. "But he's right, it's almost curfew. We'll go to the infirmary and then go back to the common room. Do you want to start working on your essay tonight?"

"What essay?" Harry asked, trying to push the meeting with Snape out of his mind. "It's Friday night!"

"That's no excuse to slack off on our homework!" Hermione exclaimed. Harry let her lecture at him for a few minutes as they wove through the halls of Hogwarts, encountering only the Bloody Baron floating in an alcove.

"But you do have to admit that it's dirty pool for McGonagall to assign us an essay due on Monday morning," Harry interrupted as they drew closer to the infirmary. "We haven't got Transfiguration class until Thursday."

As Hermione rolled her eyes, the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up, his whole body stiffening. "I'm sure that there's a--" Harry's fingers on her lips cut Hermione off suddenly.

"Something's wrong," Harry said as softly as possible, pulling out his wand. "Be quiet."

He went up on the balls of his feet as he crept forward, moving slowly, every sense alert for what had set him off. As he drew closer to the infirmary door, he saw that it was slightly ajar. Another step, and he scented the copper-warm smell of blood.

 _Oh, fuck._ Harry raised his wand and peered around the edge of the door. What he saw made his heart skip a beat, and he only waited for a moment to make sure the room was clear before shoving the door all the way open and running as hard as he could to the other end of the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey lay on the floor by her desk, a pool of blood around her head. As Harry fell to his knees beside her, she opened her eyes, gasping.

"The boy--"

"What happened?" Harry asked, helping her to sit up. Blood stained the side of her face and shoulder, but he couldn't see any wounds.

"Something hit me, from behind," the matron said, her voice growing stronger with each word. "I hit my head... Where's the boy? Is he here?"

Hermione dropped to the floor beside them, a cloth in her hand. "Do you mean Reece?" she said, panic creeping into her tone as she pressed the cloth against Madam Pomfrey's head.

"Where is he?" Harry demanded, bounding to his feet. Madam Pomfrey glanced toward the back of the infirmary, at a door Harry had never paid attention to before.

Harry bolted, already registering that the door was open. He put his shoulder against the wall, wand at his side, as he looked in the room.

The air held a stillness that told Harry the room was empty. He stepped inside, praying that Reece was just playing, was hiding somewhere quietly in some kind of game.

There was a huge metal cage in the middle of the room, and its door was wide open. A rumpled pile of clothing just inside the grate was the only sign anyone had recently been here.

Wand ready, just in case, Harry bent down to touch the cloth. It hadn't been torn or ripped. _Reece must have undressed before he shifted,_ Harry thought. On the far side of the cage was a pool of clear liquid. Harry knew without touching it that it was the liquid that a shifting werewolf would give off as the change took him.

"Reece, where are you?" Harry whispered. There was no answer.

There was something wrong. It took Harry a moment to realize that the smell of the liquid wasn't as it should be. _It shouldn't smell like anything,_ Harry thought, going around the cage to the far side. _But it smells like someone threw up--_

"Lumos!" Harry cried, aiming his wand at the puddle. Under the film of the shifter liquid were tiny lumps. _He threw up,_ Harry thought, numb. _He threw up before he shifted, and they would have given him the Wolfsbane potion just before he shifted!_

Harry ran out of the room and back into the infirmary. "He's gone!" he said, skidding to a halt. "The cage is open and he's gone and I think he threw up the Wolfsbane potion!"

Madam Pomfrey tried to stand, but fell heavily against Hermione. Harry didn't have time for this.

"Hermione, get help!" he cried as he ran toward the infirmary door.

"Where are you going? Harry!" Hermione's scream followed him out the door, but he didn't stop. He wasn't able to find Reece's trail, not like this. There was no time to think or plan, just to react.

Harry shoved his wand into his sleeve and put his hands out in front of him, screaming in his mind the incantation to change into his Animagus form as he fell. Paws hit the ground, the world suddenly exploding with smells and sounds. Harry's nose went down, trying to find one scent out of a million.

The fresh smell of werewolf was heavy and thick on the floor. Harry bunched his legs under him and ran, following the smell silently. His only thought was to find Reece and stop him from hunting, for what else would a werewolf do on such a night?

The werewolf scent was interrupted by something, and Harry had to skid to a stop to make sure he knew what he was smelling. A tiny drop of blood marked the ground. Harry stuck out his tongue and tasted the blood: still warm.

 _Is it Reece's blood or someone else?_ Harry wondered. He smelled the carpet around the blood, but all he could smell was werewolf. Pointing his nose in the direction of the scent, Harry began to run again. The drops of blood came more frequently, thicker. Reece was hurt.

After a few minutes, Harry caught another scent. It was fainter than the werewolf smell, but thick enough that Harry knew whoever it was had been there recently. It was a smell that made Harry angry, although he didn't know why -- like herbs and sourness and darkness. Whoever it was, Reece was following it too.

Harry spilled into the darkened Entrance Hallway. At the foot of the stairs, he saw a person walking slowly in and out of the moonlight. Out of the corner of his eye, silent in the shadows, was a dark shape, too big and too wide to be human.

Putting all his energy into one last sprint, Harry tore down the stairs. The person must have heard him and turned, and the creature in the shadows took that distraction to leap.

Harry slammed into the werewolf mid-air, going down in a snarling pile of fur and claws. Sharp teeth descended towards Harry's throat, but he twisted around and sank his own teeth into fur and skin. The werewolf dropped to the side, crushing Harry against the ground, and Harry let go just as claws raked along his belly. Letting out an angry snarl, Harry kicked with his hind legs, gained leverage against the beast, then pulled himself on top of the wolf, putting his front paws on the wolf's shoulders and leaning forward to grasp the other creature's muzzle in his jaws, not quite breaking the skin. He growled low in his throat, a threat.

It was as if a switch had been thrown in the werewolf. He rolled onto his side and pulled his paws against his body, whimpering pitifully. Harry held the muzzle in his jaw long enough to ensure that the act of submission was genuine, before changing himself back into human form.

Harry straddled the shivering werewolf, one hand on the scruff of Reece's neck. Out of the corner of his now-human eyes he saw movement, and grabbed his wand out of his sleeve to aim at whoever was near.

Snape stood, wand pointed down at Harry and Reece, livid. "Move, Potter!" he shouted.

"Lower your wand!" Harry yelled, feeling Reece shrink back.

"Get away from that creature!"

"I'm not going to let you hurt him!"

The sound of running footsteps filled the hall, but Harry didn't move. His whole world had narrowed down to Snape threatening _his_ wolf. Reece had submitted to Harry; that meant Harry had to protect Reece.

"Harry, put down your wand," Dumbledore's voice commanded from somewhere up the stairs.

"Not until he does!" Harry exclaimed. His body screamed in pain and tension, but he wasn't going to put down his wand until Reece was safe.

"Severus will not harm either of you, now lower your wand!" Dumbledore came into view.

Slowly, Harry let his hand fall to his side as he blinked at Dumbledore. There was something in the Headmaster's hand. _The Marauders' Map,_ Harry thought dimly. They'd never figured out where it went, after the fake Professor Moody had been caught.

"What happened?" McGonagall asked from behind Dumbledore. How many people were there? Harry couldn't see them all and it was making him nervous. Reece shimmied out from under Harry and hunched beside him. He was as large as a small pony, but Harry leaned against him, and the werewolf whined and went still. "Goodness, Potter! What's going on?"

"An excellent question," Dumbledore said, his bright eyes watching Harry.

Above them, a scurry of feet, and Hermione came dashing down the stairs, Tonks on her heels. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed.

Reece's head went up, tail still, then he lunged in Hermione's direction. Amid the shouts, Harry barely had time to grab Reece by the scruff of the neck. "Stop it!" Harry shouted, pushing hard until Reece was lying with his belly flat on the floor, Harry crouched over him. The young werewolf only had eyes for Hermione.

 _Oh, hell._ "She's too old for you," Harry muttered into the wolf's ear. "I don't think Hermione should be here," he said, louder, to Dumbledore.

"Harry, you're bleeding," Hermione said, not moving.

"I'm fine," Harry said, concentrating on keeping Reece where he was. "Although leaving now would be good!"

Reece tried to crawl forward. Harry straddled the wolf's back and squeezed Reece's ribs with his knees. Harry knew that Reece was strong enough to stand up with Harry on his back, like a horse, but he was desperately hoping that the wolf was submissive enough not to try it.

"Tonks, please escort Miss Granger back to the Gryffindor common room," Dumbledore said over Hermione's protest. "We will take care of Mr. Potter."

Tonks took Hermione's arm when she didn't move, and began to pull her along. Hermione gave Harry one last wild look, then vanished up the stairs.

With the girls gone, the tension eased out of Reece's body, and he whimpered. "What now?" Harry said, climbing off the werewolf.

"Harry, how badly are you hurt?" Dumbledore asked, stashing the Map somewhere in his robes.

Harry glanced down. His robes were a tattered mess, and when he moved to undo them, pain screamed along his side. "You had to use the claws, didn't you?" he muttered to Reece, who looked as apologetic as possible. Pulling the robes off, Harry saw claw marks all down his chest. McGonagall gasped as Harry ripped his shirt open to examine the wounds. "Just scratches," Harry reported after a moment. "Most of them have stopped bleeding."

Reece butted his head against Harry's chest, then began to lick the blood away. Harry heard a flurry of motion, soft voices, but he tuned them out and focused on Reece.

"No more biting," Harry said, shoving Reece's head away. "Where are you bleeding?"

Harry had to use his wand for light, but he finally found Reece's wound. A tiny spiked metal object was lodged in the wolf's back hip, so small that there wasn't much blood. It was still bleeding, however, while the claw and teeth marks around it, where Reece had tried to gnaw it loose, had healed. Harry frowned. Reece should have healed by now, unless...

"It's silver," Harry breathed, horrified. "What sort of sick bastard would do that?" 

Quickly, he reached for his ruined robes and dug out his dagger. It was steel, but it was sharp enough for what he needed to do.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'm going to help Reece," Harry said grimly. "Madam Pomfrey's still hurt, right? This can't wait until morning, not with silver." He grabbed Reece's head and made the wolf look him in the eyes. "This is going to hurt, but I'm going to help you. Do you understand?"

The wolf stared back, then lowered his head and whimpered. Hoping that was a yes, Harry picked up the dagger with one hand and his wand with the other.

"You cannot be seriously thinking about allowing this, Dumbledore!" Snape said incredulously. "That monster will kill Potter in a second!"

Reece twisted around and growled at Snape, his lip curling up over his teeth.

"Reece won't be killing anyone tonight," Harry said distractedly. "Can one of you levitate some light over here?"

McGonagall protested, but Dumbledore said something to her that Harry couldn't make out, then a ball of warm light floated over to Harry. "Will this do?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, pulling Reece over to him and patting the wolf on the head. "Reece, no biting. I'll be done as soon as I can," he said before he stuck his wand between his teeth to free up his hand.

Harry focused on what he was doing, cutting carefully into Reece's skin to see the tiny spiked ball. His hands slick with blood, as the werewolf twitched and whimpered in pain, Harry had never been so relieved in his entire life as when he saw that the spikes weren't barbed and caught in Reece's flesh. He held the cut open with one hand and used the other to grasp his wand, to slowly levitate the metal ball up and away. Reece stopped twitching as soon as the metal left his body.

"Put that in here, Harry," Dumbledore said. Harry looked up to see a small cup floating in front of him, into which he gratefully deposited the ball. Giving the wound one last look, Harry put his knife down.

"I'm going to heal this up now, okay? Like I showed you this afternoon, just like magic." Harry quickly used the healing charm to close the wound, then let his hand slowly drop to rest on Reece's flank.

He was so tired, and everything in him hurt. But, as Reece knocked his nose against Harry's chin, Harry realized the night wasn't over yet.

"Harry, can you bring Mr. Trevelyan back up to the infirmary?" Dumbledore asked, cutting into Harry's daze.

"The cage was open," Harry said, pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. "Something hit Madam Pomfrey from behind, but she wasn't attacked by Reece. Someone did this!"

"I know," Dumbledore said. "For now, we need to get Mr. Trevelyan back to safety. Will he follow you?"

"Of course he will." Harry picked up the dagger and dragged himself to his feet. "Come on, Reece. Up."

The wolf rose to his feet, tail wagging slightly as he watched Harry's face.

"No, it's not play time yet," Harry said. "We'll go back upstairs, and we can play then, okay?" He wiped the bloody knife off on his ruined shirt, then slid it back into the sheath before putting the entire thing into his trousers pocket.

Reece nosed Harry's hand until he put his hand on the werewolf's shoulders.

"Harry, I will go first, and then you bring Mr. Trevelyan, do you understand?" Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, we get it," Harry muttered. He buried his fingers in Reece's fur and gave a gentle tug. "C'mon."

Harry went slowly, moving carefully out of respect for his wounds, and to keep a better eye on Reece. Luckily for him, the werewolf seemed to have no desire to bound off, but remained pressed against Harry's side as they walked past Snape toward the stairs.

It might have been a trick of the light, but Harry had never seen Snape look at him with such loathing as when Harry walked past, werewolf at his side.


	59. Before The Storm

* * *

Harry let his head fall back against the bars of the cage. He was so tired he thought was going to die. _Who'd have thought that playing with an adolescent werewolf all night would be so exhausting?_

Turning his head slight, Harry looked at Reece's sleeping form. The boy had shifted back to human as soon as the sun had risen, and had collapsed in a heap without so much as uttering a word.

Harry knew that he should probably call to whoever was in the infirmary, to let them out, but he took the stillness to rest. It was the first opportunity he'd had to relax since Dumbledore had closed the cage door on Harry and Reece. Harry had used every trick he knew to entertain Reece; turning his own shoes into rabbits, flying paper angels, anything to distract Reece from the fact that they were stuck in a magically reinforced cage that was really too small for a werewolf.

 _Next month, this is going to change, Wolfsbane portion or not,_ Harry promised.

The cold metal of the cage dug into Harry's bare back, impossible to ignore. He made himself sit forward, swearing quietly at the pain in his chest. The claw marks that ran down the length of his torso weren't healing as well as Harry had expected, and the movement split open one of more stubborn slashes.

"You'll live," Harry muttered to himself as he stood up. The blood rushed out of his head and he wobbled dangerously for a moment before the world evened out and he could walk across the floor of the cage. A quick "Alohomora" and the door swung open.

Harry staggered out along the edge of the cage to grab the boy's robe. He supposed he could have used magic to summon the covering, but after more than a day without sleep, Harry's memory on the magical incantation was a bit fuzzy.

 _Can't sleep yet. Got more work to do, find out who did this to Reece,_ Harry thought as he re-entered the cage. He cleaned up the shifter liquid with a flick of his wand, not sure if he used the spell to banish liquid or dry it up. Shaking out the robe, Harry took a moment to look at Reece's hip, where he'd been injured. An angry pink welt still marked the pale skin.

 _Only silver would leave a mark like that after he shifted back,_ Harry thought grimly, draping the black robe over the sleeping boy. _What kind of monster would shoot a little kid with a silver barb like that?_

Making sure his wand was stowed away neatly in his pocket, Harry picked up the child, his sleeping body an awkward dead weight. Somehow, Harry managed to avoid falling over or dropping Reece as he made his way out of the cage toward the slightly ajar door, behind which he could hear muffled voices.

The voices stopped when Harry pushed his way into the infirmary. Dumbledore, Snape and McGonagall huddled at the far end of the room, and they all looked over as Harry made a beeline for the beds.

"Is he all right?" Madam Pomfrey asked, hurrying over. She helped Harry lay Reece down on one of the beds, then pushed the boy's hair back from his worn face.

"Shifted back just fine," Harry said, wincing as a bit of the fabric from Reece's robe stuck against his chest. He peeled the cloth away as gently as he could. "The wound in his hip isn't healed completely, though."

"I'll take a look at it, then I'll deal with you," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, looking at Harry's chest with a professional eye. "I should have handled those for you last night."

"I had my hands full," Harry said, smiling wearily at her. "Are you okay? You looked bad last night."

Madam Pomfrey waved her hand abruptly. "Scalp wounds always bleed too much, look worse than they are," she said.

Harry stifled a yawn. "I'm going to go over there," he said, forestalling any comment from the matron as he stumbled toward an empty bed nearby. Reece was in good hands now, it was highly unlikely that anyone would hurt him for a bit, which meant that maybe, just maybe, Harry could rest for a while.

 _Or not,_ Harry thought, biting back an exclamation as he tried to lie down. The pain in his chest, along with the various bruises along his back and side, made standing seem like a much more attractive idea. _I suppose I can sleep standing up if I need to._

The sound of approaching footsteps penetrated the haze around Harry's head, making him blink hard and raise his head. Dumbledore stood in front of him, McGonagall at his side. Harry dimly wondered where Snape had gone, then decided that he didn't care.

"Mr. Potter, how are you feeling?" McGonagall asked briskly.

Harry managed to raise hand to give her the thumb's-up sign. "Ready for anything," Harry lied. Then he blinked. "Do we have Quidditch today? 'Cause I don't know if I can do Quidditch today."

"I'm sure that your house Quidditch practice can be postponed," Dumbledore said. "Minerva, would you please excuse us?"

Reluctantly, McGonagall gave Harry one last steely-eyed glare before leaving.

Dumbledore blinked down at Harry, looking strangely tired all of a sudden. "Do you have any injuries besides the visible?"

Harry glanced past Dumbledore to Reece's bed, where Madam Pomfrey was pulling the quilt up over the unconscious child. "Well no one's stabbed me with silver," Harry said. "Or gave me a potion that made me throw up, or set me loose on a school full of children, so all in all I think I'm pretty okay."

"So you are not injured."

Why was Dumbledore repeating the same questions? "I'll be fine! I can't say the same for Reece! Whoever did this to Reece knew there was a werewolf in here! Someone who let him out, who hurt him with silver! Do you know who it is yet?"

"No."

"Why not?" Harry asked, cold anger waking him up. "You've been out here all night. The infirmary is full of portraits, watching. Didn't anyone see who knocked out Madam Pomfrey or let Reece out?"

"They did not," Dumbledore told him. "Magic was used to darken the room before Madam Pomfrey was attacked. As for Mr. Trevelyan, we will have to wait for him to awaken before we can question what he saw."

Harry concentrated on breathing in and out through his nose, trying to calm himself. _Concentrate on Reece, don't let anger get in your way._ "Who knows Reece is a werewolf?" he asked when he could speak.

"Very few," Dumbledore said. "But I fear that it is not as simple as that." 

Harry waited.

"While the identity of Mr. Trevelyan may have been unknown, someone knew that Professor Snape was brewing a batch of the Wolfsbane potion. Certain of his ingredients have been contaminated, but only the ones involved in the potion."

Keeping his voice even, to avoid screaming, Harry said, "So whoever did this was trying to poison Reece? When that failed, they decided to go riddling him with silver?"

"We do not know that Mr. Trevelyan was the target."

Harry's eyebrows went up and he crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the stinging pain. "It looks pretty targeted. Poisoning the potion? Using silver shot to hurt him? Opening the cage and letting him loose?" Harry stopped himself mid-diatribe. "Wait, how did they open the cage and not get eaten?"

"There were traces of a time-delayed spell on the lock," Dumbledore said. "Whoever it was would have been able to get away before the cage opened."

Harry frowned. "Something's wrong. Even if the room was dark, Reece would have been able to track them, especially if they hurt like that. And why didn't he do anything to Madam Pomfrey?" The weary expression on Dumbledore's face alerted Harry. "What now?"

"Professor Slughorn has examined the school's potion stores, and he is missing ingredients to make a potion to mask a wizard's scent. It is an old potion, used in the days of dragon hunting, but it has not been taught at Hogwarts in many years."

Harry looked over at Reece. "So, the mystery attacker messes up the Wolfsbane potion, coats himself in a scent mask, makes the room dark, attacks Madam Pomfrey, hurts Reece, then unlocks the cage and leaves, not minding if Reece would stop to eat Madam Pomfrey on the way out of the room?"

 _Someone with lots of potion knowledge,_ Harry thought darkly. _Snape hates werewolves, maybe--_ Harry shook his head. _No, that's not it! Snape smelled like Snape the second I picked up his trail, why would he let out a werewolf that would then attack him?_

"What are you thinking, Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry focused on the Headmaster. "Can you wipe that scent thing off?" 

Although Dumbledore's expression didn't change, Harry suspected he wasn't fooled. "No. It is a draught, blocking the scent of the drinker until it leaves the bloodstream, lasting several hours."

"Oh." _Damn._ "If someone's trying to hurt Reece, he needs someone to watch him; when he's unconsciously like this he'll be dead to the world for hours. I can--"

"Madam Pomfrey will be quite capable of protecting Mr. Trevelyan," Dumbledore interrupted. "Additionally, Professor Flitwick will be examining the charm on the lock, to see if he recognizes the pattern."

Harry ran that over in his head. "That should be okay," he finally said.

Madam Pomfrey came over, carrying a tray of salves and bandages. "Can't this wait until after Mr. Potter has slept?" she asked Dumbledore, prodding Harry to lie down.

"It can," Dumbledore said. "Come to see me this evening, Harry. The password to my office is 'Thyme'." 

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Oh, sir!"

Dumbledore turned around. "Yes?"

"Who was supposed to be out patrolling the corridors last night?"

"Why do you ask?" Dumbledore asked with a frown.

"What if they saw something? How many Aurors are around?"

Dumbledore didn't answer. "I'll see you tonight, Harry," he said as he sped from the room.

"But... Ouch!" Harry exclaimed as Madam Pomfrey began to clean the slashes on his chest. "That hurts!"

Unimpressed, Madam Pomfrey handed Harry a vial of amber liquid. "Drink this."

"What is it?" Harry asked, uncapping the vial and giving it a sniff.

"A painkiller," she said. "Drink."

Harry tipped the vial down his throat, managing not to gag at the bitter taste. "You should add sugar," he said when he stopped making faces.

Madam Pomfrey plucked the vial from his fingers. "Hold still, then we'll get you a bed."

"No, I have to go back to the common room," Harry said, staring up at the ceiling as the matron worked. "People will start to talk and--" He bolted up. "Oh no, Hermione! She went back to the tower last night, I didn't tell her--"

Madam Pomfrey pushed Harry down. "Miss Granger will be fine," she said. "If you insist on going back to the tower, I cannot stop you."

"Good," Harry said, glowering.

"However, when you wake up, I want you to come back here so we can check on these wounds." She smoothed a bandage against his chest. "We will also have to discuss what's going to happen to you now."

"What do you mean?"

Madam Pomfrey busied herself in tidying up her tray. "You have another month, but some of the signs may begin to show sooner."

Harry stared at her. The exhaustion made it hard to think, to pull together what she was talking about, but he finally understood. "Wait, you think I'm going to be a werewolf?" he exclaimed, sitting up. "No, you don't understand--"

"The infection would have begun the second you received your injuries," Madam Pomfrey said. "There's no changing that now. All I ask is that if you choose to blame young Mr. Trevelyan, do not approach him, he has been through quite enough."

"I'm not going to blame Reece," Harry said, not sure how to explain it to her without spilling any of his many secrets. "I'm not going to be a werewolf!"

Madam Pomfrey handed him a clean shirt. "Go get some sleep, Mr. Potter," she said gently. "We will discuss this later."

 _I'm not going to be a werewolf!_ Harry thought indignantly. _And as if I'd blame Reece for it, anyway! I didn't blame Richard for what he did, and that hurt a hell of a lot more!_

Yanking the shirt over his head, Harry slipped off the bed and padded over to Reece's cot. The boy looked so tiny when he was asleep, almost frail, nothing like the enormous and powerful wolf the previous night.

"I bet you'll give Richard a run for his money when you're older," Harry muttered before turning away.

Leaving the infirmary sapped Harry's energy, and he stumbled along for a few feet before registering the black shape up ahead. He pulled himself to a stop, putting a hand against the wall to avoid tripping.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said in a voice full of barely contained anger. "Once again the hero."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded.

"Running all over the school in the dark, wrestling werewolves?" Snape slowly stalked toward Harry, black robes billowing in an overly dramatic manner. "You're going to come to a sticky end, one day, just like your father."

Harry drew himself up to his full height, and was startled to see he was almost on eye level with Snape. "If I do have to die, I'd rather go out like my father," Harry spat. "Is there something you wanted?"

"Is there something you wanted, Sir?"

"There's no one around, no need to call me sir," Harry said without thinking.

Snape advanced on Harry, loathing and hatred boiling just below the surface visible in his eyes. "You'll be singing a different tune in a month, boy," he hissed before whirling around and storming off.

Harry was tempted to call after Snape, to tell the man Harry was glad to have saved his life from the werewolf the previous night, but Harry held his tongue.

He didn't want Snape owing him a damn thing.

* * *

The Fat Lady gave him a strange look as she wordlessly opened the portrait to Gryffindor Tower. Harry's foot caught on the edge of the hole and he stumbled his way into the room. It was still rather early for a Saturday, and the common room looked empty. Harry had some vague idea about going up and falling into his bed, when someone popped up off a couch. "Harry?"

"Ron?" Harry said thickly. "Why're you down here?"

The redhead pushed his hair back out of his face, making it stick straight up. "Why do you think?" he said, bending over. "Hermione, wake up, he's here."

"What?" Hermione squeaked, sitting up. She caught sight of Harry, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh!"

Harry steeled himself for the lecture, the chastisements that he knew were coming, as Hermione jumped up off the couch, her school robes crumpled as if she'd slept in them, and dashed over to Harry to throw her arms around him in a tight hug.

"McGonagall said you were going to be okay, but she wouldn't tell me what happened!" Hermione said, her face buried against Harry's chest. "All I saw was the werewolf and you were bleeding and I didn't know--"

"Hey, it's okay, Hermione," Harry said, putting his arms around his trembling friend. "I'm fine, Reece is fine, Madam Pomfrey is up and around." Hermione squeezed him a little tighter. "No one got eaten, everything's fine."

He had meant the last bit to be a joke, but upon hearing it, Hermione burst into tears. Harry looked helplessly at Ron, who was hovering nearby. "How bad were you hurt?" Ron asked as he laid a steadying hand on Hermione's back.

"Reece got in a good swipe, but nothing that Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix this morning," Harry said awkwardly as Hermione sniffled. "I couldn't just let him run around the school! He'd have hurt someone, or someone might have hurt him! As it was, I only just stopped him from pouncing on Snape!"

Hermione lifted her head, her face blotchy from crying, and rubbed at her eyes impatiently. "How?"

"How what?"

"How did you stop a werewolf from attacking Snape?" Ron answered for Hermione, pulling her against him in a backwards hug. "Did you use that curse we learned yesterday?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, horrified. "How could I hurt Reece like that, he's my friend!"

"Then what did you do?" Hermione asked, clearly confused.

Harry took a deep breath. He had to tell them about his Animagus form, there was no way around it. He opened his mouth to speak, just as several first years pounded down the stairs, clearly heading for breakfast. "Not here," Harry said. "I have to show you, but not here."

"Why not?" Hermione demanded.

There was an intense expression on Ron's face. "All right, then show us," Ron said, letting Hermione go. "There's an empty study hall down a ways, come on."

Hermione let herself be dragged along as the trio left the common room and headed wordlessly to a deserted room. Once there, Ron closed the door behind him and turned to Harry, arms crossed over his chest.

"Right," Harry said nervously. "Okay, remember how I said yesterday there wasn't anything else, anything important, that I hadn't told you?"

"Oh, _Harry_!" Hermione exclaimed. "What now?"

"Just... watch." Harry made sure his wand was in his pocket, then took a deep breath and changed into his Animagus form.

Hermione let out a tiny scream and jumped back. Ron went as white as a sheet and had to grab a nearby desk. "Bloody hell!"

Harry yipped, wagging his tail a little. If he could have frowned, he would have. His head was nearly at the level of Hermione's chest, and while she was shorter than Harry or Ron, she wasn't that tiny. How big _was_ he?

"You're an Animagus!" Hermione said when she got her voice back. She waved her finger at him helplessly. "You're-- you're--"

"You're a bloody wolf!" Ron finished, stepping closer. "Is this how you stopped the werewolf? Being an Animagus like your dad and Sirius did with Remus?"

Harry tossed his head up and down. He'd known he was a dog-like animal, but he had never gotten around to looking at himself in a mirror. Whenever he changed into his Animagus form, what kind of animal he was seemed unimportant.

Hermione stepped closer. "Does it feel weird?" she asked, reaching out. She ran her hand over his head, and Harry was slightly disturbed at how good it felt to be petted. "Oh, how did you do it?"

"A good question," Ron said darkly.

Harry stopped wagging his tail and fixed Ron with a stare.

"Ron, he--"

"He's an Animagus!" Ron shouted. "It takes years and years of practice to become one, you're the one who's always going on about how long it took McGonagall to become an Animagus! Harry's suddenly one and he hasn't said a word to us?"

Harry shifted back to human form. "He's right here!" he said indignantly. Hermione snatched her hand back from Harry's hair as he shot to his feet. "You got something to ask me, then do so!"

"Fine!" Ron exclaimed. "How long have you been hiding this from us? The other stuff, I get, but this means you've been lying to us for years!"

"No, I have not!" Harry yelled. "Dumbledore gave me a book on Animagi on the first day of school, and I got it on my first time, that was only a few weeks ago. I haven't been lying to you to for years!"

"What?" Hermione asked. "Harry, no. You can't change into an Animagus in one try, it takes years and years to even be able to attempt the transformation!"

"Well, I did it in one," Harry snapped. "Dumbledore said it was just a matter of 'being one with your animal side' or some such rubbish. I just let..." He let his voice taper off, knowing how stupid this would sound. "I told you I had a bit of a wolf inside me, right? I just let that out."

Hermione's unblinking stare was starting to worry Harry. "Did you change into an Animagus last night?"

Harry nodded. "I had to track Reece, and I'd never be able to find his scent like this," he said, indicating his human body. "And it's good I did; I got to him just as he'd tracked Snape. I jumped Reece and made him submit."

"Made him submit," Hermione repeated, looking slightly ill. "Harry, he was the size of Buckbeak!"

"He wasn't that big," Harry rushed to say, not liking the alarm on Ron's face. "He's only as big as a pony. Just a little one."

Ron sat abruptly on a desk. "When Hermione came back and told me, you know, last night," he said, not looking at Harry, "I thought I'd never see you again, that this time you weren't coming back."

"I couldn't just not go out there!" Harry said. "Reece might be a big monster one night a month, but he's just a little kid! He thinks like a kid, needs someone to protect him! In a real werewolf pack, he'd be protected by all the other wolves until he was grown up, that's what he told me. He's all alone here, and the teachers said they were going to protect him but they _didn't_! Someone poisoned the Wolfsbane potion, someone knocked Madam Pomfrey down and let Reece out of his cage and then stabbed him with a silver barb! How is that protection?"

"They did all that?" Ron said, appalled. "To that little kid?"

Harry nodded, his vision wavering in the corners from exhaustion. "I had to go after him and help him, no matter what." He buried his face in his hands for a long moment. "What would you do if it was Ginny? Wouldn't you do anything to protect her, even if it was something really stupid?"

"Yeah, I would," Ron snapped. "But Reece isn't your brother!"

"But he's kind of like me," Harry said, begging Ron silently to understand. "I was about the only person in the school who could have saved Reece last night without any bloodshed. I'm not sorry I did."

Hermione drifted over to Harry's side. "If it means anything, I think you did the right thing," she said.

Harry smiled faintly. "Yeah, it means a lot, thanks."

"I'm not saying he did the wrong thing," Ron said hotly. "I'm just worried he could have gotten hurt!"

"I'm always about five minutes away from certain death!" Harry exclaimed. "I had to do this!"

"I know you did!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Hermione shook her head. "You two!" She caught Harry's arm. "You look horrible. Were you up all night?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "I should go get some breakfast, first. If I don't eat I think I'll die."

"We'll go with you," Hermione said, holding out a hand for Ron. "And then after breakfast you can give us the Animagus book."

"I couldn't tell you," Harry mumbled as Hermione and Ron pulled him from the room. "I mean, I could, but I didn't, and I just wanted it to be mine for a while, you know?"

Hermione patted his arm. "Because you were almost killed by a werewolf last night, I won't get mad at you, this time," she said. "Besides, since you already have done it, you can give us pointers."

"Yeah, it would be kind of cool, to be an Animagus," Ron said with a crooked grin. "Fred and George wouldn't know what hit them."

"Well, the first step is to read the incantation to change back, before you try to change in the first place," Harry said, the grumbling in his stomach chasing back the exhaustion slightly. "Paws can't turn pages."

"Oh, Harry!"

* * *

Harry ate platefuls of food, let Ron haul him back to their dorm, then collapsed into sleep for about five hours. He arose feeling like someone had used his body for bludger practice. After a shower, Harry slipped into some clean clothes and hurried to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey let him through the door, giving him a very close look. "How do you feel?" was the first question out of her mouth.

"I'll live," Harry muttered. "Nothing's bleeding."

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "You come back here if those cuts don't heal completely by tomorrow morning," she said.

"Okay. Where's Reece?" Harry asked, getting right to the point of his visit. "Back in Hufflepuff?"

Madam Pomfrey pointed over at one of the large windows. "He says he's not going back, maybe you can talk to him."

Harry followed her finger. Reece, wearing a bathrobe, was curled up on the deep windowsill, staring out at the grounds. "Yeah, thanks," Harry said distractedly, already heading toward the boy.

Reece didn't make any indication that he knew Harry was there, but there was a flurry of movement and a cat poked its head out of the crook of Reece's arm to glare at Harry.

"Hey, Reece," Harry said, hoisting himself up onto the other end of the windowsill. "It's a nice day." The boy remained silent. "Is that your cat? Freya?"

Slowly, Reece looked down at the animal in his lap. "Yes," he whispered.

"She's looking good," Harry said, at a total loss of what to say. "How long has she been your cat?"

Reece rubbed the top of Freya's head with a finger, making the cat squeeze her eyes shut in feline ecstasy. "Two years. My mum's got a shed in the garden, and the neighbour's cat had kittens in it one winter. All of them died but Freya, and I got to keep her. She was the tiniest one, like me, but she's strong."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" Harry asked, sensing Reece wasn't yet ready to talk about the previous night.

"No, but I've got lots of cousins, and they're all huge like you," Reece said.

"Hey, I wasn't always this tall," Harry told him. "I was little when I was your age. I think the food here made me grow."

A ghost of a smile passed over the boy's face. "I like the food here. Especially the meat. Mum wants me to eat too many vegetables, and also chicken." The expression on Reece's face told Harry exactly what the boy thought about those foods.

Harry asked Reece what else he liked about school, drawing the boy into a conversation about Quidditch and classes. After a while, Freya twisted up off Reece's lap and stepped delicately across the windowsill to investigate Harry's robes.

Reece fell silent, watching his cat. "Am... Am I going to have to go home?" he finally asked in a tiny voice.

"What? No!" Harry exclaimed. "Who told you that?"

"No one," Reece said. His hands were clenched in the folds of his bathrobe. "They said I had to go in the cage so I wouldn't hurt anyone, but I got out."

"That's not it at all," Harry said vehemently. "Listen to me. Someone came in here and knocked out Madam Pomfrey and then stabbed you with that silver thing, do you remember that?"

Reece nodded. "It got all dark and I couldn't smell anyone, and then it hurt, then the cage door went open and I ran out to try and find them but all I could smell was Madam Pomfrey and the blood. It was light in the corridor, though, so I went there."

"You smelled that Madam Pomfrey was hurt?" Harry asked, confused. "How... why...."

"I'd never hurt her!" Reece exclaimed, looking very upset. "She's always nice to me and helps me, I'd never eat her!"

"Hey, I know that, I was just a bit mixed up," Harry said, putting his hand on Reece's thin shoulders. "The person who hurt Madam Pomfrey and you, he used a potion that can mask his scent. I couldn't smell him either when we got here." He waited until Reece calmed down. "I found you downstairs, do you remember that?"

"Uh huh." Reece subsided back into a miserable silence.

 _Why can't talking to children be like talking to adults?_ Harry thought in despair. "Do you remember tracking Professor Snape?" Another tiny nod. "Do you know why you did that?"

Reece licked his lips and pulled Freya back onto his lap. "You said he was teaching everyone a curse to hurt me," he whispered. "And he made me drink that icky potion that made me so sick. When I found him, I... I don't know. The potion and the silver made my head funny."

"It's okay," Harry said. "He's fine, you're fine, it's all over."

Reece sniffled loudly. "How did you do that?" he asked, looking up.

"Do what? Be like a wolf?" Harry asked.

"Yeah." Reece narrowed his eyes. "Is it one of those secret things I'll learn when I'm older? Dad and my Ulfric do that all the time. It's dumb."

Harry grinned at the obvious annoyance. "I can't tell you right yet, but I promise you, it's all safe."

"Okay," Reece said, sounding as if it was anything but. "I, um, I didn't do anything else weird last night?"

"Nope," Harry said. "Well, you started looking at Hermione like she'd be good to eat, but luckily you stayed put."

Reece swung around, confused. "Hermione? Your friend, the Head Girl? It wasn't her."

Harry frowned. "What?"

"It was the lady behind her," Reece said, then blushed. "She smelled like she'd be tasty. At least, I think I was hungry."

Harry felt his mouth drop open. "You mean Tonks?" _Oh my god! Tonks is.... Wait, she's Remus's girlfriend! Maybe Reece smelled Remus... okay, that's beyond weird!_ "She's an Auror, she's very good at protecting herself from being eaten," Harry cautioned. "Best steer clear."

"Okay," Reece muttered, relieved 

"Boys?" Madam Pomfrey called from further down the infirmary. "Would you care to join me for tea?"

"Not hungry," Reece said quickly, going back to looking miserable.

"Not hungry?" Harry repeated, sliding off the ledge. "Man, I'm starving. Supper isn't for a few hours yet. Want to come keep me company?"

After a minute, Reece nodded slightly and climbed down, Freya rubbing up against his ankles. "So they're not going to make me go home?" Reece asked.

"No way," Harry said decisively. "You did a good job last night."

"I almost ate Professor Snape," Reece pointed out.

 _Exactly what I mean._ "But you didn't, and that's what counts, right?" Harry said out loud, a big smile on his face. Reece rolled his eyes.

* * *

Harry knocked on Dumbledore's office door, feeling slightly ill. He'd eaten well at his late tea with Madam Pomfrey and Reece, then managed to stuff so much food in his mouth at supper that Ron had told him to leave some for everyone else.

 _I really got to stop doing this to myself,_ Harry thought as the door swung open.

Dumbledore was seated behind his desk, frowning down at his desk. As Harry took a chair, he saw that Dumbledore was examining the Marauders' Map.

"See anything interesting?" Harry asked, wincing as his bruised hip hit the edge of the seat.

Dumbledore traced a pair of tiny dots on the map. "Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley appear to be sequestering themselves in an empty classroom."

Harry blanked his features and gave Dumbledore empty eyes. "You know how teenagers are," he said.

"Especially ones with Animagi books," Dumbledore said dryly.

"Them too." Harry leaned back in his chair. "Can we just skip all the fun stuff and get right to what happened last night?"

"If you wish." Dumbledore put the map to the side. "Madam Pomfrey tells me that Mr. Trevelyan is back in his dorm, after an afternoon talk with you."

"Yeah, he was pretty freaked out," Harry said. "He didn't see who shot him, or opened the cage. It was dark. But he did say that he smelled that Madam Pomfrey was hurt and he didn't go eat her."

"So it would seem," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers in front of his chin. "Yet he tracked Professor Snape."

"Only because Snape gave him that potion that made him sick," Harry interrupted. "But you don't know what Reece would have done in any case, I stopped him. No one got hurt."

"No one except you." Dumbledore's gaze was piercing. "How exactly did you do that?"

Harry stared. "You gave me that Animagus book, remember? I thought you wanted me to become an Animagus."

Dumbledore sat up, visibly startled. "Are you meaning to tell me that you have mastered the Animagus transformation?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "That's how I followed Reece like I did. Snape saw me. I thought Snape would have told you."

"No, he did not," Dumbledore said, sinking back into his chair. "Curious. Although," he said, regaining his humour, "Not as surprising as you mastering such highly advanced magic in less than a month."

"Yeah, well." Harry pulled one leg up onto the chair, to ease the pressure on his hip. "I know that Animagi are supposed to register with the Ministry, but... I mean, you're not going to make me?"

Dumbledore sighed. "As much as I dislike advocating a flagrant disregard for our laws, Harry, there are sometimes when decisions have to be made. At this point, you have an advantage that might help you in the long term."

Harry turned that over in his head. "So I don't have to register?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said, smiling tiredly. "Not yet."

"Okay." Harry looked around the office, at the portraits that were feigning disinterest in the conversation. "Hey, where's Fawkes?"

"He is off on one of his many flights," Dumbledore said, rising. "He enjoyed a good moonlight flight through the Forbidden Forest on occasion."

"Who wouldn't?" Harry said. When had he gotten into the habit of small talk with the Headmaster? Maybe when he needed a chance to regain his thoughts.

Dumbledore pulled a thin book off one of the many bookshelves in the room and returned to his desk. "Shall we return to the matter of last night?" 

Harry sat up straighter. "I don't suppose anyone else saw anything strange last night?" he asked. "Anyone running from the infirmary?"

"No. I have questioned all the portraits, the house elves, the ghosts... not a one saw a thing out of the ordinary."

"So maybe it wasn't out of the ordinary!" Harry exclaimed. "If they thought the person was supposed to be there, then it'd be normal, right? It happened before curfew, so there were probably a million people roaming the halls."

"But not a million people who could have substituted ingredients in Professor Snape's potion stores," Dumbledore said. "My enquiries continue."

"Who?" Harry asked immediately. "Who are you looking at?"

"I am afraid that I am unable to divulge that at this time."

"What?" Harry shot to his feet. "Reece may be in danger and you're just _sitting here_?"

"What would you do if I told you names?" Dumbledore asked mildly, as if Harry wasn't looming over his desk. "How would you determine the guilty party?"

"But this is Reece!" Harry shouted. "He's just a little kid and he needs someone to protect him!"

"Yes, he does," Dumbledore said quietly. "Please, Harry, sit down."

Fury writhing in his chest, Harry unclenched his fingers from the desk and forced himself to sit down. "So you think you know who did this?"

"I have suspicions that would narrow the field," Dumbledore corrected. "The method behind making the Wolfsbane potion is not common knowledge, nor is the potion that masks a hunter's scent. Combined with those who have access to Professor Snape's stores, the group is not large."

"Plus someone who can see in the dark," Harry said unhappily. "And someone who hates werewolves."

"Not necessarily." Dumbledore glanced back at the Marauders' Map. "There was something you said this morning, Harry, that made me wonder. If the purpose was to harm Mr. Trevelyan, then why injure him slightly then let him loose? Why not finish him off in the cage? What could be more dangerous than an injured and enraged werewolf?"

Harry stood up and paced around the office, anger boiling through him. "What are you talking about?"

"What if the intent was not to harm Mr. Trevelyan, but to harm another walking through Hogwarts' halls last night?"

"No," Harry said immediately. "What happened to Reece wasn't just collateral damage! He's not some kind of weapon, he's a child!"

"Nevertheless, it puts a very different spin on last night," Dumbledore said.

"Great!" Harry said sarcastically. "Just brilliant! That makes everything so much easier, doesn't it?" He knocked a small spindly instrument to the ground accidentally, and the tinkling sound as it broke was enough to pull him back. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry." 

As Harry bent to pick up the pieces, Dumbledore walked around the edge of the desk. "Never mind, it does not actually do anything," he said, pulling out his wand to repair the device. "I got it at a wizarding shop in Nepal, after an interesting vacation sightseeing the Yeti."

Harry propped his elbow up against a shelf and watched as Dumbledore used tiny flashes of magic to fix the knick-knack. "What are we going to do for Reece?" he asked quietly.

"We will keep doing what we have been," Dumbledore said, examining his handiwork. "And we will continue looking for who did serious injury to a student at this school and a member of its staff."

Harry looked up as the faint tendrils of phoenix song preceded Fawkes' flight. The glowing bird swooped down to the shelf beside Harry. Even the sight of the phoenix gave Harry strength.

"So, what are we going to do next moon?" Harry asked as he went back to his chair. "Is Reece going to go back into his cage? Or are you going to stick him out in the Shrieking Shack?"

"Considering what happened this month, I would not put Mr. Trevelyan so far away from assistance." Dumbledore placed the repaired object back in its place.

"I want to be involved in whatever you decide," Harry said suddenly. "Reece is going to need all the help he can get, he's pretty freaked out about what happened."

"Indeed." Dumbledore pointed his wand at a nearby cabinet. Moments later, a teapot and two cups floated out toward the desk. "Would you like tea?"

"Sure," Harry said. "Hey, are the Aurors asking any questions about last night? Did they hear anything odd?"

"They did not," Dumbledore said as he handed a teacup to Harry. "But that reminds me. Have you written to Remus Lupin about what happened to you in St. Louis?"

Harry froze, the teacup halfway to his lips. "No, I haven't," he said, then made himself take a sip. "I figured maybe when I saw him, you know, at Christmas."

"Why not before?"

Harry whirled his cup around, seeing the tiny tea leaf dregs move sluggishly. _Wonder what Trelawney would see in my future today?_ "Because I don't know how to tell him that I'm not a werewolf, that I'm..." Harry made a face and set his cup down. "That I'm sort of a wolf, that my mum had a vampire father? Or that I got myself in such a mess?"

"You do not give him as much credit as I believe he deserves," Dumbledore said. "However much respect I have for your wishes, I suspect your timeline has been turned on its head."

"Huh?" Harry asked, blinking owlishly.

"Auror Nymphadora Tonks," Dumbledore clarified.

 _Oh, shit!_ Harry dropped his head into his hands. "Tonks saw me hurt last night, with Reece... she's going to think I'm going to be a werewolf! She can't tell Remus that!"

"She is not able to contact Remus at this point, Harry," Dumbledore said. "He is in the middle of a very dangerous task for the Order of the Phoenix, with Voldemort's allies stirring as they are. I am afraid that no owl can reach him."

Harry slumped down in relief. "Oh, good."

"He needs to know," Dumbledore chided gently. "He deserves to hear it from you."

"Probably, but when have I ever done anything like that right?" Harry asked, not trying to mask the bitterness in his voice. He suddenly missed Sirius terribly. _He'd think this was funny, could make Remus understand._ "Can... do you think I can ask Tonks not to tell him?"

"You can ask her anything you like," Dumbledore said, rising. "Unless there is anything else, Harry, I will have to ask you to leave. There are things to which I must attend."

"Not unless you have anything else on the creeps who hurt Reece," Harry said, getting to his feet. "They can't do this again."

"They will not," Dumbledore said, power stirring in his eyes. "Not while Mr. Trevelyan is under the protection of this school."

Later, when Harry was standing back in the corridor, he remembered that Dumbledore's protection hadn't ever worked too well for Harry himself at Hogwarts. Then, before he depressed himself further, he headed back to Gryffindor to see how far Ron and Hermione had gotten on their Animagus work.

The question of why hadn't Snape mentioned to Dumbledore that Harry was an illegal Animagus plagued him all the way back to the tower.


	60. To Sleep, Perchance To Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence and gore in this chapter.

* * *

The sun was just beginning to rise over the river as I eased my jeep onto the freeway. I was tired but I felt great. I'd raised eight zombies tonight, and I had that kind of fading endorphin rush you get after a good run. It was times like this that I loved my job.

Of course, the lack of sleep was making me loopy. Added to that, I was still a little bit thrown from a phone call I'd gotten between zombie number three, Carl Solomon for a will review, and zombie number four, Melissa Dupont for some psychiatric junk.

Damian had a girlfriend.

Not only that, he'd wanted permission to stay over for the day with her at the Circus. That was fine, but him asking had creeped me out. The only saving grace was that he seemed as uncomfortable about asking as I was to be asked. Hopefully, we wouldn't have a repeat.

The lady in question was Elinor, one of the British vamps that came over about a year ago. She was all tiny and dainty and quiet, not at all like me. That was good, right?

I shook my head as I changed lanes and sped up, while glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure my shadow was still behind me. Sure enough, the little grey car had changed lanes as well.

The familiar annoyance clenched in my stomach. It had been almost two months since Edward called to warn me about Olaf, and so far, no one had seen hide nor hair of the psychopath. I still had around-the-clock wererat bodyguards, not that they'd had to do anything resembling guarding my body.

So often in the last couple of weeks, when Olaf didn't make a move, when Edward hadn't called, I'd thought about sending the bodyguards back to Rafael. Nothing was going to happen. It had only been a faintly disturbing call from Edward that set this off in the first place.

And yet... every time I picked up the phone to call Rafael, something stopped me from dialing the number. I wasn't psychic, never had any real flashes of insight, but there was a tiny prickling at the back of my head when I thought about Olaf. Call it woman's intuition or plain old paranoia; whatever it was, it meant I bit my tongue and accepted the bodyguards in uneasy silence.

I shook my head. I was almost home. Micah went to work a couple of hours ago and wouldn't be home until noon, which meant Nathaniel and I had the house all to ourselves. He was probably already asleep. I'd get the hell out of this skirt, to take a quick shower, climb into bed next to Nathaniel and get some well-earned cuddles.

I pulled into my driveway and parked my jeep. Undoing my seatbelt required more effort that usual; the sleepiness, I supposed. I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and managed to spill a mound of papers to the floor of the car.

"Fuck," I muttered. Piles of paperwork from the office now blanketed the bottom of my jeep, and on top lay that letter from Harry I'd been carrying around for the little while. Ignoring the paperwork, I leaned over to pick up Harry's letter, glancing at it again.

_Hi Anita. Thanks for your letters, it was good to hear from you all._

_Things are okay as can be expected here. That teacher I told you was no good? Snape? He's teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts this year instead of potions. We had class on the day that I got your letters. I got in trouble but the headmaster said it was okay, and he wasn't going to expel me._

_I don't know what I'm going to do at Christmas. I usually go to the Weasleys' house, but I don't know what's going to happen this year. If I can go back to St. Louis, I'll do that. I miss you guys._

_I'm going to mail this from Hogsmeade, the village near my school. We don't get to leave school grounds except on special occasions. I think you'd like the place. I know Jason would. It's not big like St. Louis, but there's a lot of forest around._

_Tell Damian I said hi. I told my friends that he's my grandfather. Ron had a problem, but I told him I don't care and that he was being an idiot. He says he's fine now, with me having a vampire relative. I mean, it's not like I slag on his family. Except Percy, who's a Ministry toady, but that doesn't count._

_Oh! I'm the house Quidditch captain. I know you probably won't care, but it's really neat. Our team will be really good this year, lots of new blood._

_I keep talking to Reece, he's the little guy we saw at the train station. He's from Wales, and he's muggleborn, and he's been like that since he was little. He likes it here. That's good; I was worried that he'd be like Remus, that friend I told you about. But I've been thinking. Remus didn't have a supportive pack and Reece does. He (Reece) said his mum's really nice, a teacher or something, and his dad's a mechanic._

_I'm bad at letters, too, so I'll stop now. I'll be careful. I promise._

_Harry._

I folded the letter up, smiling again. The letter felt like Harry had left something out, but I figured it was probably a girlfriend or something. I made a note to ask Nathaniel or Jason about that.

I put the letter back in my bag and got out of my jeep. Tony, last night's bodyguard, was standing in the door of his car. "Claudia should be here in a minute," he said in his oddly nasal voice. "Do you want me to come in?"

I hesitated before I answered. Claudia was coming in from farther out, she was probably stuck in traffic. "No, go on," I said, shutting my door. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

He nodded and slid back into his seat, driving away before I even locked the jeep's door.

I stood, my hand on the key still in the door. Tony wasn't usually so impatient to leave. He said very little, but then most of the bodyguards did that.

Nothing was wrong, I told myself. Just because a guy wanted to take off work early was not a big deal. He was probably tired.

But he was a bodyguard. Wererat bodyguards didn't leave early.

He was one of Rafael's men, I contradicted myself. Rafael was nothing if not professional, and expected all his rats to be the same. Breathing deep, I decided to call Rafael when I woke up and mention Tony skipping out. It was probably nothing.

I put my bag, with my zombie kit and my lunch bag, on the hood of the jeep to get my hands free, and looked around. Everything looked normal. Nathaniel's car was in the driveway like it should be, the lawn neat. There was nothing that should be sending these chilly shivers up my spine.

Nothing that made me put my keys in my pocket and pull my Browning out of its holster as I walked toward the front door.

My foot was on the first step when I saw the white box, brilliant in the sunlight, on the welcome mat. It was one of those gift boxes, with a lid on top, hiding the contents from view. My heart was pounding as I stared at that box.

No one should be leaving me presents on the front step, not with Nathaniel home. It could be a bomb or something equally horrible. I should get the hell out of there and call the police, just leave--

The wind shifted, and there was a wisp of movement around the box. Tiny strands blew in the breeze, caught between the box and the lid.

Tiny auburn strands, against the stark whiteness of the box.

A small sound escaped my throat as I stumbled up those steps, dropping all my mental shields and reaching out for Nathaniel. My mind touched the deadness of Jean-Claude and Damian, only minutes after sunrise. Richard's confused thoughts brushed mine; he was awake, but he wasn't the one I wanted.

I couldn't feel Nathaniel.

Logic deserted me as panic rose, screaming and clawing at me. I pulled the lid off the box in one jerky movement and let it fall to the porch from my suddenly nerveless fingers.

The box was full of auburn hair, Nathaniel's hair, long and loose and spilling over the sides in the sunlight. The world was going grey around the edges as I fought to keep breathing. The air I sucked in smelled like fur and vanilla and Nathaniel, and under it all the metallic scent of blood.

Not caring any more, I plunged my hand into that box and tried to pull the hair to the side. My fingers hit something solid under all that hair, and the world stopped.

I closed my hand around all that hair and pulled it out of the box. The sun shone bright and uncaring on me as I looked down into the bottom of that blood-soaked box, at Nathaniel's severed hand.

No sound came out of my mouth, but I screamed loud and long in my head, terror rising up until it threatened to choke me. Across the city, I felt Jean-Claude and Damian wake, Richard's panic, but it didn't matter. My hand was pushing the door open in a second, my whole world narrowing down to one thought: I had to find Nathaniel.

 _MA PETITE, NO--_ Jean-Claude's scream in my mind cut off abruptly as I stumbled across the threshold. I tried to raise my gun, but all my strength was falling away, falling like I was falling to the ground, my body going limp as I toppled onto the carpet.

I had to get to Nathaniel. I managed to roll onto my back, screaming at my body to work. I had to find Nathaniel. But I couldn't move, nothing was working and I didn't know _why_. The sun was shining through the windows onto the white walls, bouncing through the open front door onto the mirror and painting a bright spot on the stairs, and I could only lay there.

Footsteps, soft in the carpet, started toward me. I couldn't see who it was, what they were doing. The footsteps stopped, and there came the tiny click of the latch as the front door swung shut.

Someone knelt beside me; I could hear the breathing, but I couldn't turn my head to see. I had faced vampires and zombies and witches, but nothing in my life had terrified me as that anonymous breathing.

My gun was pulled away from my limp fingers. Large, blood-covered hands came into my line of sight, lowered to the sides of my head, sinking into my hair and gently moving my head around.

Olaf.

I tried to cry out, but I couldn't move. Olaf slowly let go of my head, a strand of my hair sticking to the thick red blood on his hand as he moved back. He looked just like I remembered from the last time I'd seen him; tall and muscular and bald, a strange sort of expression in his eyes.

Just like last time, he was covered in blood.

I tried to scream out for Jean-Claude or Richard, Damian or Nathaniel or anybody, but everything was silent.

Olaf brushed his fingers over my temple. His touch made me want to throw up, but my body wouldn't even respond enough for that.

"Anita," he said, his voice obscenely tender. "I've been waiting for you. For this." His fingers moved lower, down my face and throat, toward my shirt. "So very long."

He slid his arms under my body, lifted me carefully. I tried to fight, to kick or shift around to unbalance him, to no avail.

My head fell back over his arm, and I watched the hall wall give way to the living room. Flecks and splashes of bright red blood coated the cheerful yellow paint, the front of the television, the bookshelf. Olaf knelt to lay me down, my skirt bunching up my legs. As he pulled his arms out from under me, my head rolled to the side, and I finally caught sight of Nathaniel.

What was left of Nathaniel.

Then the ruined body moved slightly, a tiny twitch, but it told me something that couldn't possibly be true, not with that much damage.

Nathaniel was still alive.

This wasn't real, this could be real. Olaf wasn't here, Nathaniel wasn't _like that_ , I wasn't here. It wasn't real.

I couldn't look away from Nathaniel as I felt Olaf's fingers on my wrists, bringing my arms up over my head. Then a hand balled in my hair and jerked my head around. "You're going to be looking at me," he said. There was a spark of something in his face now, but it didn't matter. I was going to kill him for what he'd done to Nathaniel, even if I couldn't move a muscle.

Olaf held something up, which I recognized as a voodoo fetish, a human hand bone with a single strand of dark hair tied to it by a red cord knotted around the bone several times . "This is why you cannot move," he said in a low tone. He fingered it, then untied the bottom knot.

Immediately, breathing was easier, and the stench of blood got thicker. I concentrated around my fear and panic, and felt my fingers begin to respond. Olaf stood up and moved out of sight. "I can't let you get away, Anita" he said. "Not yet."

I moved my hand one inch to the side before he was back, straddling my chest. His hands were full of something, but it wasn't until I saw the first flash of the silver spike that I got feeling back in my legs and tried to press my foot into the carpet. He reached up over my head, and drove the first spike into my palm.

I screamed.

* * *

Exhausted, Harry stood in front of McGonagall's desk, holding out a parchment. "Here."

McGonagall looked at the proffered roll. "What is this, Mr. Potter?"

"My essay," Harry said, waking up a little. "The one that was due on Monday morning? Like, now?"

"I am aware of what it is, Mr. Potter. I was under the impression that you were coming to ask for an extension, in light of Saturday's event."

Harry blinked. _Oh, right, the werewolf and full moon thing._ "You never said anything, I thought I had to have it done," Harry said thickly. "I stayed up all night."

McGonagall plucked the parchment from Harry's hand and began to skim the essay.

"So, uh, can I have an extension?" Harry asked, plastering what he hoped was a winning smile on his face.

"There is no need," McGonagall said, rolling up the parchment and placing it in a pile on her desk. "It's perfectly acceptable."

"Okay," Harry said, although he wasn't sure he agreed. He'd spent all night on the essay, finishing ten minutes before the homework was due. Like most of his essays, the content was less governed by quality than the time limit. "Bye then."

Harry wandered out of the room, nearly being run over by McGonagall's next class. _Sleep,_ Harry thought wistfully. _I'm too tired even to eat. I'll go to sleep. Nice sleep. Should tell Neville to wake me before Astronomy at midnight._

Ron was in the dorm frowning down at a book when Harry stumbled over to his bed. "Hey, you hand in your essay?" Ron said.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, pulling off his robes and dropping it in a heap on the floor. "I'm going to sleep."

"Don't let me bother you."

Harry grunted something as he dropped his glasses on the bedside table and collapsed, fully clothed, on top of his bed. He was sleep before his head even hit the pillow.

And he dreamed.

He was in Anita's house, standing in the front entranceway. Sun was shining off every surface, the air muffled. Harry tried to call out, but the air was like thick cotton, and the noise was swallowed up.

His eyes drifted over the hall. Everything was white and shiny, everything except Anita's black gun lying on the carpet.

Sounds fought their way out of the living room, muffled and confused. Harry tried to walk into the room, but it was like moving through a wall of sand, hard and slow. The more he struggled, the less progress he made.

Somehow, he got to the living room door. If he could have screamed, he would have, at what he saw. A tall man, almost a giant, was picking up something from a box by the wall, his back to Harry. Harry's gaze fell to Anita, flopping weakly on the floor. His eyes couldn't understand what was beside Anita, something bleeding and meaty and not quite in the shape of a man.

Harry fell slowly to his knees, reaching for Anita, but he was held in place on the rug. He couldn't reach her.

In slow motion, the man across the room stood up.

Anita twisted and turned, her hands held above her head by large silver nails. Her eyes met Harry's, and she froze.

She saw him.

Harry reached harder, trying to push his hand that extra inch to reach Anita, just as the man across the room turned around. It was like trying to reach through a stone wall, impenetrable.

 _NO!_ Harry screamed. He strained to reach Anita, and she raised her hand, sliding up the nail embedded in her palm. Almost, almost...

The man knelt by Anita's side.

Harry's hand touched Anita's, and he gripped her palm so tightly the sharp edge of the nail bit deep into his flesh. All his rage and fear exploded as he held onto Anita for dear life, ignoring the screaming pain. Anita's cold power erupted like ice in Harry's chest, as cold as death in his body. "Impedimenta!" Harry screamed.

The man froze, knife poised midair.

The door behind Harry flew apart in an explosion of sound. Another large blast and the man's head exploded in a shower of brains and blood.

Another blast, and the falling body jerked as a hole appeared in the chest. Someone with black boots walked around the body, firing the gun again and again into the man's body.

Harry looked up from Anita to the newcomer. The man's pale blue eyes stared back at Harry. Even though Harry had never seen this man before, he knew who it was, just as Anita knew.

_Edward._

"Anita?" Edward said. He moved toward Anita, one hand outstretched, as the world began to swim in screaming colors and sounds, and Harry opened his eyes to see Ron leaning over him.

"Harry?" Ron said worriedly. "You were screaming."

Harry rolled and leaned over the side of his bed as all his panic and terror came up and he threw up all over the floor. Shaking, he wiped his mouth with his hand. Something red dripped to the floor, and he shakily turned his hand over.

The flesh of his palm had been sliced open, with a mark on it just like a large silver nail.


	61. Can't Stop Me

* * *

Harry was still yelling at Ron, fists clenched, when McGonagall stormed into the dorm room, Hermione on her heels.

"What is going on?" the professor demanded, drawing herself up. "Miss Granger interrupted my class--"

"I have to go!" Harry cut her off. "Anita's in trouble, she needs me!"

"He was having a nightmare," Ron said, rather subdued. "Screaming and all that."

"It wasn't a nightmare!" Harry shouted. "It was like with your dad and the snake two years ago!"

"Potter!" McGonagall said. "What are you talking about?"

"It was in St. Louis, Anita was attacked by this guy, Olaf, he's like a giant and he kills people, and he nailed her hands to the floor and--"

"Potter," McGonagall interrupted. "Stop."

"So I can go?" Harry demanded, clenching his injured right hand so tightly that blood squeezed to the floor.

"You had a nightmare," McGonagall said as gently as she could. "Nothing more. You are not leaving the school."

"But Ron's dad--"

"That is my final answer."

 _Which means that since it has nothing to do with the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort, you don't care,_ Harry thought bitterly, glaring at her.

McGonagall gave him one last glance before turning and sweeping out of the room. Hermione hovered in the doorway, an ink smudge on her cheek. "Harry..." she tried to say.

"Just leave me alone," Harry muttered, resting his forehead against the wooden post of his bed. His eyes moved around the room, trying to see everything he could, trying to block out those horrible images. _It wasn't a dream._

Ron went to the door and put his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Come on," he said quietly. The door closed behind them with a click.

Harry made himself take a deep breath. He uncurled his palm, to see blood pooling in the cut in his flesh.

_Just like Anita, only not all the way through._

Harry deliberately wiped his hand on the bedspread, smearing blood all over the cloth. Then he opened his trunk and began to pull things out.

 _I've got muggle money, it might be enough for a plane ticket to St. Louis,_ he thought, digging out the packet of money, his muggle passport and all those phone numbers Jason had slipped into his bag before leaving the States. _I can get to London on my broom, wearing my Invisibility cloak. Not sure how I'll get my broom on the plane. Maybe I can tell them it's a present._ His fingers closed on the shrunken muggle suitcase, and he enlarged it without thinking, then popped it open on the floor.

His sight blurred with tears as he yanked a shirt out of the trunk. It was one of the shirts that Jason had bought for Harry, that Anita said looked good.

 _No time to cry!_ Harry shouted at himself, wiping his eyes. _They all tell me I can't dream things in the future, so it had to have happened already. I can't stop it._

"Harry."

Harry's hands slowed when he heard Dumbledore's voice, but he didn't stop shoving things in his suitcase. "I'm not staying."

"Professor McGonagall told me what you dreamed."

Harry threw a belt back into the trunk, blood flying off his palm and spattering on the stone floor.

"What are you going to do?"

"Something!" Harry exclaimed, slamming the lid shut on his suitcase. He finally looked up at Dumbledore and was mildly surprised to see an unfamiliar man dressed in Auror robes standing behind the headmaster.

"Even if it is a false vision from Voldemort?"

Harry sat on the edge of the bed to tie up his trainers, fingers shaking on the laces. "If he put this together, then good for him. He's got me." Harry stood up, breathing heavily. "I'm seventeen. You can't make me stay here."

"No," Dumbledore said gravely. "I cannot."

Harry pulled on a muggle jacket. "Fine."

"Where will you go?"

"London. They have airplanes there." Harry was keeping his voice level, but he had never felt so alone. Anita might need his help, and all his teachers and friends wanted to do was delay him.

"Would you entertain another suggestion?" Dumbledore motioned the Auror forward. "Go with Tonks to a telephone, and call St. Louis. See what has happened."

Harry blinked at the Auror, confused, as the man standing there gave a little wave. "Wotcher, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "What if they need me?" he pressed. "You can't stop me from going."

"Harry, I'm not trying to stop you," Dumbledore said patiently. "I am trying to help."

 _Then let me have a Time Turner and let me go back to stop this!_ Harry thought angrily. "What good is that supposed to do?" 

"We can call, then if that doesn't work, we can go to the airport," Tonks said. "I can apparate us there faster than you can fly."

Hesitating for only a moment, Harry closed the suitcase and picked it up. "Fine. I call first."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will ask that you put on your Invisibility cloak to leave the school," he said.

Harry, tight-lipped, put the suitcase back on the bed and donned his Invisibility cloak. As he did so, he stretched out his injured right hand. Dumbledore quickly grabbed Harry's wrist and turned his hand over to expose the bleeding mark to the light.

"What happened?" Dumbledore demanded.

Harry jerked his hand back. "Olaf nailed Anita's hands to the ground," he said.

There was a flicker of something in Dumbledore's eyes, that in another man Harry might have called horror. "You'd best hurry," was all the headmaster said.

Harry shrunk his suitcase and stowed it in his pocket beside his money and passport, then flipped the hood of his cloak over his head. He walked out of the room between Dumbledore and Tonks, hissing as Tonks' foot landed on the cloak on the third step. "Watch it!" Harry hissed, feeling hysterical laughter bubble up in him. He squished that down. He had a feeling if he lost it now, there was no way he'd be able to function.

As Dumbledore crossed the common room, Ron and Hermione sprang up to intercept him. "Sir!" Hermione exclaimed. "Is Harry...?"

Dumbledore turned to Tonks and with a wave of his hand, indicated the Auror should continue. "Miss Granger, Harry will be fine," Dumbledore's voice followed Harry and Tonks out of the room.

A tiny part of Harry was curious as to what Dumbledore would say to his friends. Another tiny part didn't care. Most of him was just numb.

 _Why couldn't Anita move?_ he wondered as he trailed after the silent Tonks, down the stairs toward the main doors. _What was that blood thing next to her?_

At that point, his mind rebelled and skipped away, going instead to the blond man, Edward. _He killed Olaf, blew his head off and shot him over and over until he was dead._

_It was too quick._

Outside Hogwarts, the day was overcast and threatening rain. Tonks clattered down the steps, never looking back. They were halfway down the path to the gates when Tonks said under her breath, "You still with me?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, clenching his hand tight. It _hurt_ , but it was nothing like what Anita had gone through, what-- His mind moved sideways again.

"Dumbledore tells me you can't apparate?"

"No."

"Ever done slide-along apparation? I'll apparate and pull you along. Safe as houses."

Harry stared straight ahead. He didn't care how safe it was, only how fast they could get to a phone and an airport.

"Are you hurt? Besides your hand?" Tonks asked as they passed through the gate.

"No," Harry finally said. "I thought we were going to apparate."

"We are," Tonks said, coming to a stop beside the hedge. "Just grab my arm, and whatever you do, don't let go." She held out her arm.

Harry began to obey, but as his hands came up out of the folds of the Invisibility cloak, something tickled at the back of his mind. He only had Dumbledore's word that this was Tonks. It probably was, who would dare try and fool Dumbledore like that?

 _Barty Crouch Jr.,_ Harry's mind whispered. _Polyjuice for a year, and Dumbledore never knew._

"What's wrong?" the Auror asked. "Don't mind about the blood, we'll bandage your hand in Edinburgh."

Harry pulled the hood of his cloak back enough to look at the man. "Change something."

"What?"

"Your nose, or your hair or something," Harry demanded. "How can I know you're who you say you are?"

Steadily, the Auror met Harry's glare. The colour of the man's eyes changed from brown to bright green, the mouth changed shape, and the nose grew a little flatter. It was a different face, just a little bit like Sirius. "I'm Tonks."

Harry let out a breath. "Fine." He grabbed Tonks' arm.

Everything went black, with the whole world pressing in on him from all sides. He felt rather like he was being forced down a very long tube, one that was too small for him to fit. Then with a pop, they were in a dingy alley in a smoggy city. Harry coughed at the change in the air and rubbed at his ringing ears.

"Shove that cloak into a pocket and we'll go," Tonks said, her features flowing back into her normal face, her hair black. She tapped her wand on her Auror robes and they morphed into something vaguely muggle-looking. "Don't want to attract attention."

"Where are we?" Harry asked as he followed Tonks out of the alley.

"Edinburgh," Tonks said. "Closer to Hogwarts than London. Almost no witches or wizards live here, so it's better than London." She steered Harry down the graffitied street, past barred shop windows and rushing cars.

"How do you know all this stuff?" Harry asked. "Your dad was a wizard, wasn't he?"

"Yeah, but he had family up here, muggles all. We'd come up here for summers sometimes, although why anyone would want to come _to_ Edinburgh for a vacation is beyond me."

Harry stumbled along, not caring where they were going, as long as it had a phone. They crossed several busy roads before Tonks ducked into a tobacconists shop.

The grizzled man behind the counter looked up as they entered. "What can I get you?" he asked, teeth clenched around his pipe.

"My friend here needs to make a call to the States," Tonks said cheerily.

"You'll be needing a phone card, then." The man reached to the side, pulling over a small box. "Any particular one?"

Harry shook his head, fumbling in his pocket for his money. "Whichever."

The man was now staring at him carefully. "How many minutes?"

Harry dropped some crumbled pound notes on the glass countertop. "Doesn't matter, just any of them!"

Tonks grabbed Harry's arm, steadying him. "Family emergency," she said quickly as she gathered up the money. "How much do we own you?"

Never taking his eyes off Harry, the shopkeeper pushed a card over the counter and told Tonks the price. She peeled a note off the pile and then pocketed the rest. The man put the money in his till. "Phone's over there," he said with a nod.

Tonks pulled Harry over to the side wall, where the phone sat under several garish posters for travel offers, to India and Pakistan and Bangladesh and Australia. Harry looked them, trying to figure out what he had to do now.

"What number are you calling?" Tonks asked, lifting the handset. "Harry?"

"Right." Harry went back to his pocket and removed Jason's list of phone numbers. He started to recite Anita's phone number, but stopped on the second number.

She wasn't going to be answering any phones. She was hurt, she had to be in the hospital by now. She had to be.

 _Who do I call?_ Harry thought in a rising panic. _If Anita's hurt, Richard's not going to be home, he'll be with her! Same with Micah!_ Harry rapidly scanned down the list, becoming more frantic with each passing number. The names didn't mean anything to him at this point.

Tonks pulled the list from Harry's hand and pushed on his shoulders until he was on his butt on the floor. She crouched in front of him. "Harry. Harry!" He looked up at her, wondering why things were so fuzzy. "Am I calling Anita?"

Harry shook his head.

"Richard? Micah?" Tonks went through the list name by name, and Harry kept shaking his head. Finally, a name penetrated the haze.

"Wait, Jason." Harry grabbed at Tonks' sleeve. "Call Jason, he has to be there."

"Right." Tonks stood up and fiddled with the phone, while Harry braced his elbows on his knees and tried to remember how to breathe. _Jason has to be there. He's not attached to Anita, not like that. Maybe he's sleeping. Maybe he doesn't know--_

Tonks grabbed Harry's left hand and pressed the handset against his palm. "It's ringing," she said.

Swallowing his nausea, Harry put the receiver to his ear and listened to the hollow tone. Once, twice... the phone kept ringing, and Harry was about to start screaming when finally someone on the other end said, "Hello?"

"Jason?"

" _Harry_?" Jason said incredulously. "What-- Why are you calling now?"

"Is Anita dead?" Harry blurted out. "Did Olaf-- is he dead?"

"How do you know this?" Jason demanded. "No, Anita's not dead!"

Harry started to tremble. ""Really?"

"Fuck, no! I don't know how the fuck you knew about Olaf, but she's not dead! Richard's with her at the hospital, and Damian and Jean-Claude have been feeding for like hours, but she's not dead!"

Harry stared down at his right hand. The bleeding from the nail mark was beginning to stop. "Is she going to lose her hands?"

There was dead silence on the other end of the line. "How-- No, it doesn't matter. Richard told Jean-Claude that she's in surgery for a knife wound in the gut, and they're doing her hands too. She--" Jason's voice broke. "They're probably not going to have to amputate her hands."

The air in the tobacconists stop was suddenly too thick and cloyingly sweet. "What about..." Harry's voice trailed off as he realized who Jason hadn't mentioned. His mind flashed back to the house, of seeing that bloody shape next to Anita, not quite anonymous enough... "Nathaniel?" His voice broke.

Ragged breathing on the other end of the line was the only thing that told Harry that Jason was still there. "He's... I mean, they got him to shift into his leopard form," Jason said shakily. "He's, um... they don't know if he'll make it."

Harry closed his eyes.

"He probably will," Jason said quickly. "Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian aren't going to let him die, he has to live for Anita. He's at the hospital, everyone's there keeping him warm. He has to live."

"What if he dies?" Harry had to ask.

"Then Anita might die too. But Jean-Claude isn't going to let that happen." Jason coughed. "Harry, how did you know?"

Harry opened his eyes to see Tonks staring at him, not able to hide the worry on her face. "I had a dream, and I saw it. I saw it all." He blinked hard. "But Edward killed Olaf, right?"

"Right," Jason said. "All the way dead."

"How did this happen?" Harry demanded weakly. "I thought she had bodyguards and stuff!" 

"She did," Jason said. "We have no idea, but Rafael's in talking to Jean-Claude right now. I've seen Jean-Claude scary before, but never anything like this."

 _Rafael. Rats._ Harry quickly grabbed the phone list from Tonks and pulled the stub of a pencil out of his pocket. "Do you have Elsa's phone number?"

"Harry--"

"Do you have it? Let me talk to Requiem!"

"Requiem's dead still," Jason said. "Only Jean-Claude and Damian are up."

"Then ask Jean-Claude!"

"Are you kidding? Hold on!" The phone clicked and beeped, then Jason's voice came back on. "What are you going to do?"

"I can't very well call up the operator and ask for the Master of London, can I?" Harry demanded.

"Fine! I'm going to Jean-Claude's office."

There was a bit of background noise. "Uh, Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I help if I come home?"

Jason sighed. "I don't know." He cursed under his breath. "All right, here's the number." He rattled off a long list of digits. "I think it's like the Bat-phone, someone will answer it."

Harry had no idea what Jason was on about, but he didn't let it bother him. "Thanks."

"How can I call you if-- I mean, in case anything comes up?" Jason asked.

Harry stared down at the scrawled London number. "I don't know. I haven't got a phone at school."

Tonks pulled the paper out of Harry's hand and flipped it over to scribble something on the back. She gave it back to him. "Tell him to call this number and leave a message," she said.

Quickly, Harry gave Jason the number. "Will do," Jason said. "Harry..."

"Just tell Anita and everyone that I'm... yeah," Harry stuttered. "And you tell Nathaniel that I've got stuff to tell him, he has to get better!"

"Damned straight," Jason said with feeling. "Do you--" His voice froze. "Shit, I have to go, Jean-Claude's calling me."

The phone went dead. Harry stared at it blankly for a moment, then looked up at Tonks. He had never seen her look so grim,

"What now?" she asked, all business.

"I, uh, I need to call London." 

Quickly, Tonks got to her feet and went back to the counter. The listening shopkeeper already had another calling card out, and murmured something to Tonks. She shook her head, gave him a bill and pocketed the change.

Harry made himself ignore them, and instead tried to figure out what he was going to say when he called Elsa. _She said that she and Christoff sent some people to St. Louis to help, some wererats. If they had anything to do with this..._

He hauled himself to his feet as Tonks came back. "Do you want me to call?" she asked.

"No, I'll do it," Harry said. He'd never used a calling card before, but the instructions on the back made a tiny bit of sense, and soon he was listening to the phone ring.

"Yes?" an unfamiliar male voice answered.

"I need to speak with Elsa," Harry said. "Now."

"Who is this?"

"Harry Potter."

"One moment." 

Harry stared at the scuffed edge of the number pad, trying to think of something to say to Elsa. It probably wouldn't do to just accuse her men of letting Anita get hurt.

On the other end of the phone came a scuffling noise. "What do you want?" Elsa demanded, coming on the line. "Why are you calling?"

"Did your men have anything to do with what happened to Anita?" Harry asked.

"What are you talking about?" Elsa sounded angry, which was just fine. Harry was getting angry, too.

"Anita got hurt, bad! I thought you were sending people to help protect her, not let her get attacked by some psychopath!"

"Stop!" Elsa ordered. "Explain yourself, now!"

Harry rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. "Anita was attacked this morning. I thought you said--"

"Shut up!" Elsa said. "Is she alive?"

"Yes, but--"

Elsa swore in German. "Christoff will contact Jean-Claude directly on this. You... Where are you?"

"That's not important! What's important is that Anita's hurt! Badly!"

Harry heard the sound of something breaking on the other end of the line. "Yelling at me will not fix that," Elsa said. "Go back to your school, Harry. We will deal with this." 

"Wait--" Harry said, but it was too late. Elsa had hung up. "Damn it!"

Tonks took the phone from Harry and hung it up. "Any more calls?" she asked. Harry wordlessly shook his head. "Come on, then."

Harry let Tonks pull him out of the shop and down the road. _Anita's alive, and Nathaniel's alive, and Olaf's dead._ The words circled around in Harry's head, a mantra of utter relief. Anita and Nathaniel had been hurt, but they were still alive and sometimes that's all you could ask for.

Finally, Tonks gave Harry a shove into a small pub. The place wasn't very full, and no one looked up at their entrance. Taking an out-of-the-way table, Tonks waved over the waitress and said something to her. Harry didn't listen, only stared at his clenched hands.

_Anita's alive, and Nathaniel's alive, and Olaf's dead._

"Whose number did I give Jason?" Harry asked after several silent minutes.

"Huh?" Tonks said. "Oh, my dad. He's got a muggle phone in his office at home, for his work. He can send an owl along to you at Hogwarts. I'll just talk to him after I drop you at school."

"Oh."

The waitress came back, putting a mug with steaming black liquid in front of Tonks, and a short glass with about an inch of amber liquid in front of Harry. "Drink up," Tonks said. "Just knock it back."

Harry picked up the glass and sniffed it. "What's this?"

"Scotch."

Harry raised his eyebrows, then steeled himself and swallowed the stuff as quickly as he could. It burned on the way down, warming his stomach. "That's foul!" Harry exclaimed quietly. "Why did I do that?"

Tonks picked up her mug with both hands. "Old muggle cure for shock," she said. "You'll get some food in you soon."

"Not hungry," Harry muttered. His body was beginning to loosen up, warmth spreading to every limb.

"Yeah, I know." Tonks set her mug down and pulled her napkin off the table. She picked up Harry's injured hand and pressed the folded paper against the seeping cut. "I don't know what happened to you, or your friends, but you need to decide what you're going to do next."

Harry glared at her. "If you've got something to say, then say it."

Tonks seemed unimpressed. "Am I taking you to the airport?"

Harry stared down at the table, just as the waitress deposited a chicken sandwich in front of him. He really, really wanted to go to St. Louis and see that Anita and Nathaniel were really going to live.

But what would that solve?

He picked up the sandwich and nibbled at the edge of the bread. "Guess not," he said, and even saying the words hurt.

_Jason promised me they'd be okay. Maybe. They have to be._

"All right, then." 

Harry ate the sandwich in silence, listening to the normal conversation in the pub, the sound from the darts game nearby, the bartender softly singing a drinking song as he restocked the bar.

 _It's not fair!_ Harry thought, making himself swallow his mouthful. _Anita got hurt and Nathaniel got--_ His brain refused to deal with that, skipped away, and he couldn't make himself to back. _Bad things happen, and everyone acts like it's just the same._

_Sirius died, and things went on. Mum and Dad died, and things went on. It's just not fair!_

Harry finished his lunch, and ended up staring at the plate while Tonks paid. He didn't protest as she dragged him up and pulled him out of the pub and back into the street, then down a nearby alley.

As soon as they were out of sight of the road, Tonks pulled out her wand and transfigured her robes back to their proper shape. "Go on, then, get into your cloak," she said as she morphed back into the man she'd been earlier that day.

Harry slipped his Invisibility cloak back on, doing up the buttons. Something occurred to him as he reached out for Tonks' arm. "Hey, when you're like a guy, are you, you know, like a guy?"

Tonks gave him a look. "Wouldn't be much of a disguise if I wasn't," she said, then apparated them away.

* * *

Dumbledore was waiting for them in the Entrance Hall. Harry quickly pulled off his Invisibility cloak and shoved it in his pocket, then squarely met Dumbledore's questioning eyes.

"How are things?" Dumbledore asked.

"No one's dead," Harry said flatly. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to get ready for class."

He pivoted to head up the stairs, only to find his way blocked by Snape. "Going out on a school day?" Snape said mockingly. "What a nice... bending of the rules." His eyes burned as he glared at Harry.

"Severus, I allowed it," Dumbledore said.

Snape sneered. "How… fortunate."

Harry stared at Snape, the numbness in his head growing cold. He hated Snape, but that hatred was a distant thing, beyond the pain in his hand, the horror of seeing his friends hurt, dying... of seeing someone's head explode in front of him.

Snape moved first, walking past Harry, glowering. Harry turned his head to watch him go, only then realizing that Dumbledore was still standing in the hall.

"Tonks told me what occurred," Dumbledore said quietly.

Harry blinked. "Where is she?"

"She has gone to make a fire-call," Dumbledore said.

"Right," Harry muttered. Not really wanting to hear any of Dumbledore's reassurances, Harry climbed up the stairs and headed toward Gryffindor tower.

He'd only been gone for a few hours, but everything felt wrong, like decades had passed since he walked down these corridors. Hints of magic were everywhere, and it was all a giant lie.

 _Magic's not fun, it hurts,_ Harry thought, ignoring the looks from a group of passing girls. _It's fucking hard and painful, and it's never really enough._

He rubbed his injured palm. How had he been hurt? How had the dream, or whatever it was, hurt him physically? It wasn't possible. He hadn't gone anywhere; Ron would have said something.

 _But my magic, me and Anita, we stopped that man._

_But how?_

A hush swept over the Gryffindor common room as Harry stepped inside. Ron jumped up and dashed over as Harry walked resolutely to the dorm stairs. "Harry, what's going on?" Ron demanded. Harry ignored him and continued up the steps. Ron trailed along after him. "Harry?"

Neville and Dean were in their dorm room when Harry stormed through the door. Harry ignored them too, and went over to his still-open trunk. He dropped his Invisibility cloak into it, then emptied his pockets, letting the loose pound notes flutter down like snowflakes on top of his passport.

"Harry?" Ron said again. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Can you go away?"

"Dumbledore said you'd gone, but he wouldn't tell us why!" Ron said.

"Maybe because it's not any of your business," Harry pointed out, dropping his broom into the trunk and kicking the lid closed. "Doesn't matter, right? It's only a dream."

"Hey, Neville, why don't we..." Dean said, standing up.

"Yeah, there's that thing," Neville added awkwardly, hurrying out of the room after Dean.

Ron crossed his arms over his chest. "What did you expect me to believe?" he demanded as Harry stepped out of his shoes.

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just nothing." He pulled back the covers on his bed and sat down. The blood was still on his bedspread, a large rust-coloured stain. "I'm going to sleep."

"Dinner's in half an hour," Ron said. "Then we've got Astronomy at midnight, you can't go to sleep now."

Harry burst out laughing. He knew the sound was wild and painful, but he didn't know how to stop. "Good one, Ron," he said when he could speak again. Ron was looking at him as if he'd gone mad, and Harry wondered if that wasn't it. "Astronomy. Right."

He pulled off his glasses and lay down, fully clothed. He turned onto his side, facing away from the door and from Ron.

"Harry..." Ron tried again. After a minute, when Harry didn't respond, Ron left, closing the dorm door behind him.

The sun was setting, casting a muted glow on the walls. Harry stared straight ahead, unable to close his eyes, but unable to focus on anything.

_Anita's alive, and Nathaniel's alive, and Olaf's dead._

The images that his mind had been protecting him from all afternoon started to trickle back, in the stillness. The mess of... He took a deep breath, and wished he had more of that awful scotch to numb things.

The mess of Nathaniel's body.

_Jason told me that they made him shift back and he'd be okay. Maybe._

_He has to be okay._

And Olaf was dead. Harry had never seen what a bullet could do to a human body. He'd fired a gun, had seen Anita shoot, but never had he seen a bullet hit a human. Red blood, grey brains, yellow-white bone, exploding from a recognizable head to nothing but meat, after bullets hit Olaf's body.

 _I'm glad he's dead!_ Harry told himself, fingers digging into the mattress. _If I'd have been there, I'd have killed him myself!_

"But I was there," Harry whispered, feeling the pain in his hand again. _I was there and all I did was stop him, not kill him, not hurt him. He was hurting my friends, going to kill Anita and Nathaniel, and all I did was make him stop moving. Edward shot Olaf dead._

_I couldn't even help Anita the way she needed me._

A hard lump was forming in his chest, feeling like a tarry mass, threatening to grow and choke him with self-hatred and pain and rage. _I couldn't help Anita and Nathaniel when they needed me._

Hardly able to breathe, Harry stared at the darkening wall for a very long time.

* * *

The pain was a dull thing, fuzzy aching in my hand and my head and in my side, even with me lying flat on my back as I woke up. Opening my eyes didn't make the pain go away.

I blinked slowly, looking at the hospital ceiling. Everything was soft around the edges. The after-effects of drugs, probably.

Olaf hadn't used any drugs.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the shooting pain in my side. After Edward had burst into my house and blown Olaf's head off, I'd passed out. How I'd gotten to the hospital, I had no idea.

I was missing something. I thought hard, trying to think about what was missing. It wasn't something about me, it was--

Nathaniel.

I closed my eyes, prickles of tears under my eyelids. What happened to Nathaniel? Would Edward have helped him, called an ambulance? What could anyone do for Nathaniel?

A soft movement by my right side pulled me back. Slowly, I managed to turn my head to look, and what I saw stole my breath away.

Nathaniel, the way he was supposed to be, whole and unbloodied, was hunched over on the side of the bed, his head resting on the railing facing away from me. I stared at that auburn hair. Maybe it was a dream, a horrible dream I'd had...

No, that wasn't it. A dream wouldn't have given me all this pain; the blood wouldn't be so red in my memory. I could never image something so monstrous happening to Nathaniel in a dream.

I tried to move. My right hand twitched, sending sharp pains up my arm. My legs moved no problem, but when I tried to clench my left hand, the one I'd lifted up the nail to try and stop Olaf, I couldn't feel a thing below my elbow. I looked over, and all I saw was blanket covering my arm.

A tiny sound escaped my mouth. At the noise, Nathaniel stirred. I froze, watching as he sat up, then slowly lifted his head to look at me.

He was perfect. His skin was white as a sheet, dark circles under his eyes, and he looked like crap, but I'd never seen anything so perfect in my life.

"Anita?" he whispered, pushing one hand through his hair, which now only reached down to below his ears. His pain-filled violet eyes eased when he saw me awake. "Anita."

I tried to grab his hand, but my arm was strapped to an IV board. Nathaniel curled his fingers around mine, his other hand, the one I'd seen in that box, clenched into a tight fist on his lap. "Hi," I said roughly.

Nathaniel bent down and rested his forehead against a patch of bare skin on my arm. "Oh, thank God," he said, squeezing my fingers. "Thank God."

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I opened the marks between us and felt Nathaniel's emotions wash over me, so near, so precious. I also felt Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian, their mingling relief as they touched my mind in turn.

"How?" I asked, trying to sit up.

Nathaniel kissed my arm, then untangled his hand from my grip to push the little button on the side of the bed to lift my upper body. "Do you remember how you made Gregory shift into his wereleopard form to heal him?" he asked unsteadily.

I gave him a tiny nod.

"Micah said that Richard got into your mind and made you pull me across."

I blinked up at him. "But I was unconscious."

Nathaniel smiled a tiny, sad smile. "You were in and out of it. Richard wouldn't let you pass out totally until after I... well, Yeah."

Now I was frowning. "But I couldn't hear any of you guys, not in my head, once I got in the house." I swallowed a few times, my mouth dry. "How..."

"Edward snapped the magic bone."

"Edward?" I looked around the room, and was vaguely surprised when I didn't see him leaning up against a wall somewhere. "He... he shot Olaf."

Nathaniel ducked his head, the loose strands of his hair falling to hide his face. "I guess."

I closed my eyes. Olaf was dead. Nathaniel was alive, although weak as hell, I could feel that. I was going to live.

I tried once again to move my left hand, but nothing responded. The rising panic wasn't helping.

"What?" Nathaniel asked, turning his head. "You're freaking out. What's wrong?" He looked scared.

I took a deep breath. I was alive. Nathaniel was alive. I could deal with this. "Did they have to--" My voice cracked, and I had to start again. "Did they have to cut off my hand?"

Nathaniel's eyes grew huge in his pale face. "No, no," he said in a rush, leaning over the bed to pull back the covers. I could see a vaguely arm-shaped lump, wrapped in layers of bandages. "The nail went though a bone and stuff, but after surgery you started twitching. They think you have nerve damage, and they gave you medicine to calm the twitching, making your arm numb."

I let out a shaky breath. "I didn't lose my hand."

Nathaniel shook his head hard, hair flying. "You didn't lose your hand."

"And I didn't lose you."

He put a finger over my lips, shushing me. "Never."

The next moment, the heartbroken expression on Nathaniel's face was wiped away, and he was reaching for something beside my pillow that I couldn't see. His panic slid over me in a wave, making me twist my head toward the opening door.

When I saw Edward standing there, I wasn't all that reassured.

Edward only had eyes for Nathaniel. "Do you really think that you can stop me before I shoot you?" he said, letting the door swing closed behind him.

"No, but I can slow you down long enough for Anita to stop you," Nathaniel said quickly.

"Stop it, both of you!" I exclaimed. "No killing!" I sent reassuring thoughts to Nathaniel while I glared at Edward. "You almost didn't show up in time today. Were you waiting to make a grand entrance?"

He gave me cool eyes, nothing human looking back at me. "No."

"Then what happened?" I demanded. I felt Nathaniel's fingers slide back around mine. In spite of the pain, I held onto him as tight as I could.

Edward leaned against the wall, perfectly poised. There was a tightness around his mouth, however, that told me that he wasn't as calm as he was pretending. "I almost wasn't there at all."

"What are you talking about? Weren't you tracking Olaf?"

Edward shook his head once. No. "I got a phone call from your vampire boyfriend for help."

"Wait, Jean-Claude?" I said. "Why did he call you? Did he know you were in town?"

"No. I suspect that he was running out of options," Edward said. "I got here yesterday. Did you see the magic bone Olaf was using?"

It wasn't like Edward to jump around like this. I nodded. "It was a voodoo fetish, I've seen something sort of similar before, but had no idea what it was for." I coughed a little, wishing I had some water.

"There were a bunch around the house," Edward explained. "Apparently they were supposed to drain your power."

"Drain-- How do you know this?" 

Nathaniel leaned over to the floor. "John Burke and Larry were at the house this afternoon, Micah said. They found it," he said, sitting up with a bottle of water in his hand.

"But how did it affect me?" 

Nathaniel put the bottle between his knees and unscrewed it one-handed, his other hand still clenched in a fist. "There was a strand of your hair on it." He held the bottle to my lips, and I had no choice but to drink.

"Olaf doesn't use magic," I said when I was done. "Right?"

Edward was looking more and more unhappy. "It was a change in his pattern, yes. But he'd never targeted a victim who used magic before."

I just stared. None of this made any sense. "What does this have to do with why you were in town?"

Edward paced across the room, as if he was bored. "I heard about a voodoo priest being killed in Mississippi. It was the last place anyone had seen Olaf, and the coincidence...."

"Not a coincidence." I wanted to close my eyes and not deal with this. I could feel Nathaniel's exhaustion like a living thing, and the fuzzy edge around my own pain was beginning to sharpen as the drugs wore off.

"No."

"What about the rest? What about Tony?"

"Your bodyguard?" Edward leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the night. "Funny thing, that. According to Rafael, his stuff is gone and his bank account is substantially bigger."

"Rafael told you that?" I demanded, incredulous.

"No, he told Jean-Claude. I tapped the Circus's phone yesterday." Edward turned around. "Tony arranged for your next bodyguard to be a few hours late."

"Rafael's really..." Nathaniel shuddered. "I've never seen him like this. Ever."

"There's also the matter of what happened to him," Edward said, looking at Nathaniel.

"He's got a name," I said angrily, pain colouring my words. "He's Nathaniel and he almost died, so stop acting like that!"

Edward was unperturbed. "There was a high-powered tranquilizer gun, with several shots of a lycanthrope sedative, in the house. The drug is so new it's not even on the market, I've only ever seen the military use it."

"Then how do you know about it?" I demanded.

"I've used it a couple of times," Edward said. "It takes a very long time to be metabolized. Olaf knew who he was going to be taking down."

Nathaniel stroked his fingers up and down my arm, seeking comfort. "The bell rang, and I thought Micah forgot his key," he said in a whisper.

"Olaf planned this very carefully," Edward said before I could say anything to Nathaniel. "There was only one thing that wasn't according to his plan."

"What?" I asked.

"Damian," Nathaniel answered. "The police told Jean-Claude there was a box of, um, stuff at the basement steps. They think he was going to do things to Damian."

A wave of nausea swept over me, and I thought desperately about something else, anything else. Not what that psychopath would have done to Damian while Damian was dead to the world.

"That wasn't what I meant." Edward stopped at the end of the bed. "I'm talking about whatever magic you called up."

"What magic?" I asked. There was something in my head. Something about...

Oh God. Harry. I'd seen Harry, clear as day, that's how Olaf was stopped. Harry had been there and grabbed my hand and made Olaf stop in his tracks with a spell.

"The fuzzy dark shape by your head," Edward said. "You know me, Anita. I'm not magical, and even I saw something. Olaf was leaning over you, going to stab you again, but he was just frozen when I came through that door. Nothing freezes a man like Olaf, not like that."

Heart fluttering, I made eye contact with Edward. "That wasn't my magic," I said.

Edward narrowed his eyes. "But there was magic."

"I couldn't use my magic, remember? Magic bone?"

Edward shook his head. "You can tell me tomorrow," he said as he walked to the door. "I've got to go check a trap."

"What?"

"A rat trap."

"Edward, Rafael's going to find Tony before you are."

"We'll see." With that cryptic shot, Edward left.

Nathaniel let out a shaky breath. "Was there magic?" he asked.

I nodded, my head beginning to pound. "Yeah. Harry... I don't know how, but Harry was there." I had to take a deep breath. "He grabbed my hand and he used his magic to stop Olaf."

"But Harry's in Scotland. How could he help you?"

I turned my head to stare into Nathaniel's eyes. "I don't know."

He ducked his head to look at his hands in his lap. Slowly, he uncurled his clenched fist and stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. "Jean-Claude and Richard and Micah are all talking to the doctor," he said in a tired voice. "Micah wanted me to stay at the shifter hospital, where they took me after--" He swallowed and made himself continue. "But when I woke up I came here, to you."

"Nathaniel..."

"Richard and Micah got there just before the police," Nathaniel interrupted, talking very fast. "That's what Micah said. Then Richard came here with you and Micah drove me to the shifter hospital and Jean-Claude came when it got dark. Damian's still feeding."

"Nathaniel--" I tried again.

"Why didn't you know something was wrong?" 

I forgot what I was trying to say. "What?"

Nathaniel twisted his fingers tightly. "Why did you come in the house? Didn't you know something was wrong?"

"Nathaniel, I--"

"I couldn't hear you through the marks, why didn't you know you couldn't hear me and that something was wrong?" Nathaniel asked.

His demand hit me like a kick in the gut. I could only lie there, air knocked out of my lungs, as the door pushed open again and Micah, Richard and Jean-Claude entered the room.

Micah was the first one to me, kissing the top of my head. "Hi," he whispered, touching my cheek. It took me a minute to look at him, and what he saw on my face made his smile falter. He looked over at Nathaniel, who had turned away. "What's going on?"

"We saw Edward leave," Richard said, frowning. He was dressed in a blood -spattered dress shirt and slacks, school stuff. He must have been on his way to school when I started screaming this morning. "Was it him?"

"No," I whispered.

Jean-Claude sat on the edge of the bed and touched my face. "Ma petite," he said in a low voice. The words held all the thing he couldn't say, and I blinked back the tears in my eyes. "It is good to see you awake."

"Yeah."

Micah rounded the bed and tried to put his hand on Nathaniel's back, but the younger wereleopard shrugged it off and stood up shakily, walking over to the window.

I turned my head away.

Jean-Claude stroked my cheek and throat, as if he had seen nothing out of the ordinary. "The doctor will be along shortly, ma petite, to tell you what is happening. He said you will be fine."

"The police wanted to talk to you, but they'll come tomorrow," Richard said.

I glanced at him. "Police?"

"A man's head was blown off in your living room, ma petite," Jean-Claude said. "The police saw what happened to Nathaniel and yourself, which is why Edward is walking around free. They still wish to talk to you about it."

I tried to care, but the thin tendrils of Nathaniel's blame were stopping anything from sinking in.

"I can take you home tomorrow," Micah said. "Well, not home, we're still cleaning that up..." He cast a sideways glance at Nathaniel, who hadn't moved from the window. "But the Circus, for a little while."

The pain and the blame and the exhaustion were dragging at me, making it hard for me to pay attention. Jean-Claude leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, his breath cool on my skin. "Ma petite, I will leave you to get some rest. If you need anything, just call."

I blinked slowly. "Okay."

Richard came around the side of the bed and touched my cheek. "I'll go too, I've got stuff to do."

"Sure," I whispered. "Thanks." I had to stop and think about the words. "For Nathaniel."

"You're welcome," he said, giving one of those smiles I'd fallen in love with.

"Nathaniel, I'll take you--" Micah began to say.

"No, I'm staying here," Nathaniel said quickly, not turning around.

"Nathaniel--"

"No." Nathaniel pivoted, almost falling over, but with more power in him than I'd ever seen. "I'm staying with Anita."

Micah looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Okay." He looked down at me. "I'm going to go get some food, then I'll be back up here. Rafael's put two bodyguards on your door."

"Doesn't matter any more," I said drowsily, sleep dulling the pain I was feeling. "Don't know if I can stay up for the doctor."

"It'll be okay," Micah said.

I closed my eyes, just for a moment, and whispered, "Love you guys."

The bed dipped slightly as I heard soft male voices leaving, and the sound of the door shutting. I smelled Nathaniel's hair, warm and vanilla. Like the hair that had been in that box, this morning.

Why hadn't I known something was wrong before I walked up those steps?

Tears began to slide down my cheeks, as Nathaniel lifted my hand onto my stomach and curled up along my side. He pressed his cheek against mine, my tears wetting both our faces.

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel whispered, his breath hot against my neck. "I'm sorry."

I tried to say something, but I was just so tired.

"Harry called Jason, this afternoon," Nathaniel continued. "Harry told him that I had to get better, that we had stuff to do. How did Harry know? Was he really there?"

"I don't know. I saw him, but how could he have been?"

"I'm sorry," Nathaniel whispered again, putting his head on my shoulder. He was shaking, a fine trembling in his muscles. My mind couldn't even begin to grasp what Olaf had done to him before I'd gotten there this morning.

The door opened, too early to be Micah, and I opened my eyes. A nurse stood by the IV, a needle in her hand. "Just something for the pain," she said, eyes flicking to Nathaniel pressed up against me.

The rush of the morphine took away all the lingering pains, making me gasp. After the nurse had gone and I was drifting, Nathaniel raised his head and asked, "Was that morphine?"

I nodded.

"I remember how it feels," Nathaniel said, dropped his head back down. "It doesn't dull the pain for me anymore."

I wanted to say something, but knowing Nathaniel was alive and Olaf was dead seemed like enough right now, and I passed out again.

* * *

When the sun rose the next morning, Harry was sitting on Hogwarts' front steps. It was cold, and he was wrapped up in his grey cloak as he stared out at the misty forest.

Eventually, a large shape stumbled out of the distant hut, and started shambling in the direction of the school. Harry watched as Hagrid grew closer.

Harry had woken up hours before sunrise. He'd gotten dressed and pulled on his grey cloak, leaving the Invisibility cloak in his trunk, and wandered through the school blindly for a while. _Maybe they'll catch me, and expel me,_ he'd thought, half-hopeful.

But no one had seen him, and no one bothered him. Now, he sat on the steps, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Sitting here, not knowing if Nathaniel had survived the night, if the wereleopard had pulled Anita or Damian down into death... Harry shook his head, hunching down into his cloak. He had to believe they were all right. There was no other option.

_They have to be alive._

Hagrid caught sight of Harry sitting, half-hidden, on the steps, and jerked back in surprise. "Harry! Yer out early!"

"Yeah," Harry muttered, not moving.

Hagrid settled down on the steps, eying Harry. "Dumbledore said you had a family emergency," he said gruffly.

"Yeah."

"Not them muggles, though. Everyone all right?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, do I? Just been sitting here."

"I'm sure they're all righ'," Hagrid said with conviction.

_A ruined body, all blood and meat and nothing left of Nathaniel._

_Jason said Nathaniel was alive._

"Ron and Hermione came down yesterday," Hagrid continued. "They was worried about yuh."

Harry watched as a curl of mist snaked over Hagrid's hut, and disappeared into the morning sun. "Have you ever seen something bad, real bad?" he asked. "And you can't tell people because they won't understand?"

"Well... Harry..."

"I can't tell them what happened, they won't get it!" Harry tried to imagine explaining what had happened to Anita and Nathaniel to Hermione, and he felt a little ill, and very old. "I wouldn't know where to start."

Hagrid shrugged. "They're yer friends, Harry. They may not understand, but they do care."

Harry's stomach twisted over. "If they care or not isn't going to save Nathaniel," he said softly.

They lapsed into silence, and the minutes stretched out. After what felt like forever, Hagrid cleared his throat and pointed at the sky. "Mite bit early for an owl," he said.

Harry looked up, and his heart dropped. The owl wasn't heading for Dumbledore's office; it was heading straight for Harry.

The majestic bird swooped down and ruffled its wings back before holding out a thin roll of parchment to Harry, who just stared. Hagrid ended up having to take the roll from the bird. "Early for a letter," Hagrid said with false cheer.

Harry couldn't move his hand to take the letter.

"Do you want me to read it?" Hagrid asked after a minute. Mouth dry, Harry shook his head, and reached out to grasp the tiny roll of parchment. He smoothed out the roll, crimped a little from the owl's grasp, and read the spiky handwriting.

_Harry Potter,_

_My daughter Nymphadora informed me yesterday that you were expecting a call due to a family emergency in the United States. I received a telephone call from a man named Jason Schuler at approximately five this morning, with the following message:_

_**Anita's surgery was fine, she should have full use of her hands in a couple of weeks. Nathaniel is going to be perfectly fine. He got up and walked out of the hospital last night, right to Anita's side. They'll recover one hundred percent in a while.** _

_**Thank you for whatever you did, because otherwise things would have gone the other way.** _

_Ted Tonks._

Harry stared at the paper. He'd read the words, but they hadn't made any sense.

Nathaniel was going to be okay. He was alive and he was going to be okay. Anita was going to be okay.

A sob tore its way out of Harry's throat, then another. The parchment fluttered to the ground as he doubled over, burying his head against his knees, ragged sobs making his shoulders shake as he finally let out the bottled-up pain and terror and fear of losing his new family.


	62. Hard To Deal

* * *

Micah had to buckle up my seatbelt around my sling for me in the jeep the next morning. Sitting up hurt so bad, but I wasn't going to complain, not with Nathaniel hovering silently beside the car. He hadn't spoken a word all morning, and after I woke up, he hadn't touched me either.

The doctors hadn't wanted to let me go, but even they had to admit that I was almost healed. There was pain in my abdomen where Olaf's knife had cut across several layers of muscles, but it was manageable, provided I didn't try any sit-ups for a while. I was wearing my Firestar in an inner-belt holster, almost pressing on the edge of the stitches. It was almost too much to bear, but I wasn't going anywhere unarmed today.

They'd looked somber when I'd asked about my left hand. The silver spike had shattered bone, they said, and there was some tendon damage. I was already scheduled for an appointment with a reconstructive surgeon the next day.

As Micah opened the jeep's back door for Nathaniel, I stared down at my right hand. The doctors said it was a miracle that the spike had missed causing any real damage. I'd pulled off the bandages on the way over in the wheelchair. I'd been raised Catholic, and seeing the large angry scab, going all the way through my palm like this, was giving me the heebie-jeebies. The nuns had told us about stigmatics in Sunday school. I'd had nightmares for weeks about holes opening up in my hands, bleeding to death because God wanted to remind me he was watching.

"Anita?"

I jerked up at the sound of Micah's voice, my back hitting the seat painfully. "What?" I asked when I got my breath back.

Micah stared at me steadily. I almost didn't notice how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel. "I asked you where you want me to take you."

"Oh." I blinked a few times to clear the fog in my brain. The doctors had insisted on giving me one last painkiller before I left. It wasn't killing the pain much but it sure was making me dizzy. "Am I supposed to be anywhere?"

"The police want to talk to you," Micah said slowly. "And we can't go back home yet, it's... well, we can't go home yet."

I stared out the window at the brilliantly clear September day. "Where are we going to stay?"

"The Circus," Micah said promptly. "Jean-Claude said we could stay as long as we need, Damian's there and the whole pard promised they'd come by."

A tiny, distressed sound from Nathaniel in the backseat made me close my eyes. Yesterday, when his body was ripped to pieces on the floor of our living room, Nathaniel hadn't made a single sound. Now that I was safe in the car, the smell of that room came rushing back, the helplessness and horror and terror, and I curled my right hand into a ball, trying to keep breathing, my nails digging into my palm.

The jeep rocked, and I heard Micah's voice in the backseat, low and soothing. His words were a blend of sound that I couldn't make out, as I struggled to not start panicking. I had to be strong. Nathaniel needed me to be strong, everyone needed me to be strong.

Finally, I choked down my panic attack and opened my eyes. I didn't turn around, didn't want to see what was going on.

A little old lady in a walker inched her way slowly down the parking lot sidewalk. My eyes followed her, paying very close attention to her clothes, her hair, her stockings loose around her ankles. My head filled up with inconsequential details, shoving all the rest of it away to where I didn't have to deal with anything.

The little old lady had disappeared from view by the time Micah climbed back in the driver's seat. He put his hand on the key in the ignition, but didn't start the car. "What did you do?" he asked, reaching over and gently prying apart my clenched right hand, to reveal little bloody half-moon cuts on my palm.

I stared at my hand. It didn't hurt. It didn't feel like anything any more.

"Do you want to go get some rest?" Micah asked, wiping my palm with a tissue.

I shook my head. "We should go see the cops first, they may need something that can't wait."

"Anita--"

"No!" I exclaimed. "We're going to the police station!"

Micah started the car without another word.

* * *

Violent crimes was on a lower floor in the same building as RPIT. The officer in charge of the case was a Lt. Hanson. I'd never met him before, but since I spent most of my time as a federal marshal dealing with the preternatural, that wasn't surprising. What was a bit odd was that an officer as highly ranked as Hanson was actively working on the case.

He settled back in his chair in his office, giving me very serious eyes. "Marshal Blake--"

I held up my good hand. "Can we skip the formalities?" I asked. The painkiller had totally worn off and I felt like shit. Playing nice might just do me in. "Call me Anita and let's get on with it."

Hanson blinked at me, like I'd surprised him. God, what had he been thinking about me? "Fine. Anita." He opened a very large file on his desk. "We've gotten statements from almost everyone involved except for you and Mr. Graison." His eyes slid past me for a moment, to where Nathaniel was sitting against the wall. "Including the man who was supposed to be in charge of your bodyguards."

I let my face go blank, all the while I was thinking furiously. What had Rafael told them? Probably nothing about Tony's bank account. If Rafael found Tony, he wouldn't want the police to have any hint of the man's fate. I decided to tell the truth -- I didn't know enough about Tony to lie. Much, anyway.

"So you want a statement?" I asked.

"I want a statement," Hanson said. "If the two gentlemen would step outside--"

"No!" Nathaniel said quickly. He stood up and wrapped his arms around his stomach, his hair hiding his eyes.

Hanson looked down at his files. "Mr. Graison, under police regulations, victim statements cannot be given together."

I stood up, letting Micah help me, and went over to Nathaniel. "Nathaniel and I were together last night," I told Hanson, while I laid a gentle touch on Nathaniel's arm. "The statements are already potentially contaminated, so you may as well take them together."

Nathaniel trembled under my touch, almost frozen, but managed to slip one hand over mine. I gave him a gentle squeeze. If he couldn't do this now, the police would only make it harder later on. I was still half-tempted to send him out of the room with Micah, but I didn't want to wait to give my statement, and if Nathaniel wouldn't go without me, then we were stuck.

"Fine," Hanson said grudgingly. Nathaniel flinched at the word, and I almost turned and lashed out at Hanson for it. But I managed to smile encouragingly at Nathaniel, and pull him gently to the chair in front of the desk. Micah dragged over another chair for me to sit in.

"Anita, I'm going to go see Zerbrowski, okay?" Micah said. "I'll be back in a bit."

I nodded. Nathaniel didn't move as Micah closed the office door behind him. I looked at Hanson. "Do you want me to go first, or Nathaniel?"

Hanson had been staring at Nathaniel. "Why don't you go first, Marshal-- Anita," he said, pulling over a tape recorder and a pad of paper. "We'll see how far we get."

Something about his manner was setting me on edge. Maybe it was the way he kept looking at Nathaniel, like the wereleopard was something out of a horror movie. Whatever it was, I wanted to finish and get away from this place as fast as we could.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the pain, I explained how I'd gone down to New Mexico the previous year in the spring, to help Ted Forrester, a bounty hunter and a friend of mine, deal with a series of gruesome murders. Down there I'd met Otto Jefferies, a man who had dealing with the US Government. I hadn't realized that Otto had fixated on me until Ted called me in August of this year to warn me.

As I gave Hanson all the details and official names that had appeared on the Santa Fe police reports from last year, I wondered if they knew what Edward had told me about Olaf's serial rapes and killings. Did they have any evidence connecting him to those disappearances? Hell, I didn't even know what name Olaf had gone to jail under.

When I started telling Hanson the part of the story about yesterday morning, everything in me went cold and still. All emotion bled away as I described finding Nathaniel's hand in the box, how I'd lost my head and burst through the door. Then, the parts about my energy being sucked away, Olaf carrying me to the living room, seeing Nathaniel. It was like talking about something I'd seen in a movie, hardly real.

I ended on Edward bursting in and shooting Olaf, then my passing out. Once I closed my mouth, I realized that I was holding Nathaniel's hand in a death grip.

I met Hanson's cool cop eyes. "Anything else?"

Hanson shook his head. "Perhaps I'll take Mr. Graison's statement before I ask any questions."

"Fine." I turned my hand over in Nathaniel's grip and used my thumb to stroke the back of his hand. "Are you okay with this?"

Nathaniel breathed steadily, staring at the nameplate on Hanson's desk. "Yes."

Hanson changed tapes in his little recorder, then sat back. "Whenever you're ready. Tell me what happened yesterday."

The tape recorder hissed along in the silence. "I, um, I thought Micah forgot his keys," Nathaniel said. "I mean, I got home late from work, like four in the morning, and Micah was at work and so was Anita and Damian was going to stay at Elinor's, and the house was all quiet so I made popcorn and was going to watch a movie until Anita got home because I can't sleep when the house is quiet." He took another breath. "I watched a couple of movies by the time it was almost sunrise and then the doorbell rang and I thought it was Micah forgetting his keys because he did that once."

"What happened then?" Hanson asked when Nathaniel stopped talking.

Nathaniel's breathing was a little ragged as he slowly pulled his hand out of mine. "Can... Can Anita leave?"

I froze, my hand almost touching Nathaniel's shoulder. What?

"Would you prefer to continue your statement without Anita?" Hanson asked. Nathaniel nodded. The cop looked at me. "Marshal Blake? Would you mind stepping outside for a few minutes?"

"Um, sure," I said distantly. I stood up somehow, groping around the chair and making my way over to the door. It wasn't until I was on the other side of the oak and glass door that what had just happened sunk in.

Nathaniel didn't want me there. He'd clung to me all night, refused to leave my sight for hardly long enough for me to go to the bathroom, and now he was kicking me out?

_Why didn't you know something was wrong?_

Nathaniel's accusing words from the previous night came back to me like a punch to the gut. My fingers fluttered up to my side where my shirt hid the bandage over my fifteen stitches, which now felt like they were pressing against my chest like steel bands, making it harder and harder to breathe.

Why hadn't I known something was wrong?

Why hadn't Tony's sudden vanishing act tipped me off more? Instead of just pulling my gun, why hadn't I done something useful? Something to save Nathaniel, not to fall over and be dumped next to him on the living room carpet?

I curled my fingers into my shirt, everything threatening to come back up, to spill out my mouth in screams and terror. I wouldn't lose it here, in the cop shop. I couldn't fall apart right now, everyone needed me to be strong.

"Anita?"

I almost screamed when Micah touched my arm. "Fuck!" I exclaimed, heart pounding. "Don't sneak up on me!"

"I've been trying to get your attention for a minute," Micah said softly. "Where's Nathaniel?"

I jerked my head over my shoulder. "Talking to Hanson."

"Hanson's a good guy," said the man standing behind Micah. I blinked a couple of times before I could focus on Zerbrowski. "He may have been the jerk who dumped me on the monster squad, but he's a good guy."

I looked up at Zerbrowski. He was dressed in a rumpled suit, he needed a haircut, and under it all, he looked exhausted. "Hey, Zerbrowski."

"Hey yourself, Blake," Zerbrowski said, a big grin on his face. "You're looking... well, mobile."

I made myself smile, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Not nailed to a floor today," I said before I thought.

Micah looked away, while Zerbrowski just stared at me. "Always a good day when that happens," Zerbrowski said slowly. "Look, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Go on," Micah said. "I'll wait for Nathaniel."

I glanced back at Hanson's door, trying to calm my sudden spike of anxiety. Nathaniel was in there with a cop, for heaven's sake. Micah would be right out here. Nothing was going to happen to Nathaniel, he was perfectly safe. Safes as houses.

Only Nathaniel's house hadn't been safe at all.

I dug my fingers into my shirt again as I made myself nod. "Lead the way," I told Zerbrowski, letting him escort me through the forest of desks. The cops we passed tried to hide the fact that they were watching me. Their eyes made me feel claustrophobic, pressing in on me from all sides, so much so that walking out of the squad room into the empty corridor jarred me.

"How about in here?" Zerbrowski suggested, pulling open an interview room door. I gratefully took the nearest chair, shaking a bit as I sat down. I had to close my eyes to try to get myself back under control. Gradually, the pain and noise in my head receded enough for me to open my eyes.

Zerbrowski stayed perched on the table, watching me. "You want me to go back and get Callahan?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Nathaniel may need him more than I do. It's not that bad."

Zerbrowski let out a breath, almost a sigh. "Reynolds and Perry are working with Hanson's men on this one," he said. "Because of the magic. They're helping to make sure everything's going to be okay."

I shrugged. "He's dead, so really, it's already over," I said.

"Yeah." Zerbrowski rubbed his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. "Why didn't you tell us about this?"

I looked at him. "I had bodyguards, Zerbrowski. Usually, the cops need more than 'I think this crazy guy might come after me.' Like evidence."

"Jesus, Blake!" Zerbrowski exclaimed, standing up. "You know what we found when we ran this guy's prints?"

"Jail term for rape?"

"Well, yes," Zerbrowski stuttered, clearly surprised. "But they found a partial print that matched his at a murder scene in Oregon, a woman dismembered."

An image of Nathaniel's bleeding and destroyed body swam up in front of my eyes, and I had to grip the table hard with my good hand to stop from screaming. I concentrated on breathing, not shouting, not vomiting all over the floor.

"This isn't news to you," Zerbrowski said. "You knew this guy was capable of this and you didn't tell us?"

It took me a minute to remember how to talk. "I had bodyguards," I said again, almost pleading. "He wasn't supposed to go after anyone else. Only me. We didn't know he was coming."

Zerbrowski put his hands against the wall and leaned in, almost touching his forehead to the cold white paint. "I went out there, at your house, yesterday afternoon," he said, voice muffled. "After we heard you were going to be okay. I went out with Dolph."

I slowly removed my hand from the table. I'd dented the metal with my grip, and I didn't know how to make it right again.

"How much of the house did you see?" Zerbrowski asked.

"Not much. The hall looked fine, but--" I pressed my hand against my holster. "I wasn't able to move much, when we got to the living room."

"Lucky," Zerbrowski said. "It's bad. Most of the main floor's a wreck. The kitchen's a disaster zone, and the table-- Well, you're going to need to get a new one."

I'd bought that kitchen table after I moved into the house, and the pard kept coming over to eat. It was big and cheerful, could seat four comfortably. Just two days ago, Nathaniel and I had made sandwiches for dinner and ate them at that table, laughing the whole time about a movie we'd seen.

The jello and applesauce I'd eaten for breakfast felt like acid in my stomach as I raised my eyes to look at Zerbrowski. "You're telling me this why?"

Zerbrowski turned around, with his official cop face firmly in place. "Since Otto Jefferies actively used magic in an attempted murder of a federal marshal, his body is going to be cremated as soon as possible."

"He wasn't a witch!" I exclaimed. "That rule is only supposed to be used if the perp has a history of criminal magical use."

Zerbrowski raised his eyebrows. "Is there a reason you don't want the body cremated?"

I went still. I'd been too freaked out about Nathaniel and me to really give Olaf much serious thought, but the moment Zerbrowski said that, my mind went to the one place it shouldn't.

Olaf had died so quickly, too quickly, when Edward blew his head off with that shotgun. Olaf had tortured Nathaniel, ripped him up like a piece of meat, for no reason other than that it would hurt me. I'd told myself I'd kill Olaf for what he did, and Harry helped me stop him to Edward could kill him.

But Olaf hadn't suffered enough.

The low, simmering fury bubbled up and spilled over my skin, scalding. I liked to pretend my magic was good and kind, but I really knew better. Magic is only what you do with it. There were ways to bring back the dead, not just their bodies as zombies, but as something worse.

I couldn't raise a zombie for about three days after death; it usually took that long for the soul to realize what was going and move on to its final destination. Until then, the soul lingered around the body.

There were ways, dark, horrible, evil ways, to stuff a soul back into a corpse and then reanimate it. Senora Dominga, the Godmother of Voodoo in these parts, had been doing it before I killed her. When I'd seen what she'd done, I had thought it was the most horrible thing to do to someone: put their soul into a rotting dead body, capable of feeling fear and pain.

 _I could make Olaf suffer_.

I curled my hand around the buckle of my belt, digging the metal into my palm so hard it broke the skin.

"The coroner said the body can be released this morning, and the police chief is sending it right to the crematorium," Zerbrowski said, looking at me very steadily.

I breathed in, letting the air slide into my lungs, filling me up, before I responded. "What's the hurry?"

Zerbrowski dragged his hand across his forehead. "I talked to the cop who walked into your place while Callahan and Zeeman were trying to save Nathaniel, before he shifted back. He told me what happened to Nathaniel."

"And?" The noise that had been in the back of my head all morning was getting louder, gibbering and harsh. _I could make Olaf pay for what he did to Nathaniel._

"And I'm not letting you leave the station until the body's been destroyed."

Very slowly, I stood up. Tension screamed in every cell I had as I walked across that tiny room, getting in Zerbrowski's face. He didn't flinch. "Do you really think that you can stop me?" I asked, my voice as soft as ice.

Zerbrowski clenched his jaw. "Probably not," he said. "I'm pretty sure that you can do things we've never even heard about upstairs, and the only reason I'm okay with that is because I know you, Anita. I know you're a good person." He very carefully put his hands on my shoulders and moved a step back from me. "Hell, I'm a good person too, but if I could do what you do, and that had been Katie..." He let me go, but was still watching me as if I was a very dangerous person. "I'm not going to let you do that to yourself."

A very fine tremor was running through my body, making everything hurt so much more. The pain in my side moved into the centre of my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Come on, why don't you just sit down for a few minutes?" Zerbrowski said, pushing me back over to the table. I tried to fight him, but my body just let itself be put back in that chair. Zerbrowski sat me down, then knelt in front of me, watching me closely.

Everything was pushing in at me, the uncertain jumble at the hospital; Nathaniel's blaming me, refusing to speak to me; the pains all over my body, all mixed in with that horrible, sticky magical undertow that was telling me I needed to make Olaf pay, over and over again.

I could hear ragged breathing, just this side of tears, and didn't understand why Zerbrowski was looking at me so concerned. The lump in my chest moved up to my throat, choking me. I couldn't do this. I couldn't break down. Nathaniel needed me to be strong. Everyone needed me to be strong.

Zerbrowski sat with me until the pain in my throat lifted just enough to let me breathe again, all the while the stabbing shards of fury and shame dug themselves deep into my heart.

* * *

Harry stared down at the book in his lap, not seeing the words. Instead of black lettering on a white page, his mind burned with flashes of broken bodies, hands nailed to the floor, heads exploding.

Even though Harry had found out that morning that Nathaniel was going to be okay, that both the wereleopard and Anita would be fine, he couldn't stop picturing what he had seen.

 _Blood and bit of flesh everywhere, bits of Nathaniel all on the ground and the walls._ Harry breathed in through his nose, feeling the pages of the book beneath his fingers, the hard stone bench under his legs, all of it far away. _Anita nailed to the floor, bleeding, her skirt wrinkled--_

Harry slammed the book closed before pressing his hands against his face. He knew things that he shouldn't, like how Olaf always wore black, how his victims always looked like Anita... things Harry could only know from being in Anita's head.

Things like how Olaf raped his victims before killing them.

 _Anita's skirt was just like that! Her legs were together and her skirt was just bunched up, it didn't mean that he did that to her!_ Harry told himself. _She's fine and Olaf didn't do that to her, he only hurt Nathaniel really bad, and was going to kill Anita, but he didn't!_

"Harry?"

Harry sat bolt upright at the sound of his name, hand dropping to near his wand before he realized that it was Luna who had spoken. "What?"

Luna cocked her head to the side, watching him like a bird. "No class this afternoon?" she asked, tucking her wand behind her ear.

"No." Harry shoved the book back into his bag.

"Ginny told me you missed Astronomy last night," Luna continued, settling herself on the bench next to Harry. "Ron wouldn't tell her why."

"Well, maybe it was none of her business," Harry snapped. "I'm not really in the mood for company, so can you go away?"

Luna shook her head. "The cards say no."

Harry stared straight ahead, wishing he wouldn't see Nathaniel's bleeding body superimposed over the stones of the wall on the far side of the courtyard. "What the bloody hell are you on about?"

"The Tarot cards in Divination," Luna said. "We were supposed to do a reading for someone else, but no one would be my partner, so I did a reading for you. There was a lot of stuff about blood and family."

"What a load of rubbish!" Harry exclaimed angrily. He shifted farther down the bench from Luna. "Divination's a load of bunk, I can't believe you're taking that class."

Luna ignored him. "The cards also said you shouldn't be alone, so here I am."

"Maybe next time you should shuffle harder," Harry said, kicking his bag over. He braced his elbows against his knees. "I have nothing to say."

"You don't have to talk," Luna said softly. "I just thought I'd keep you company for a little while."

Harry watched as an ant climbed over the toe of his shoe. He could just walk away, he supposed, but he'd run out of places to go. The common room was out, as was the library. He didn't want to talk to either Ron or Hermione, or anyone for that matter. The courtyard was usually empty during afternoon classes, even so early in the year.

_I wonder what Anita and Nathaniel are doing._

Harry turned over his right hand and ran his thumb over the healing scab on his palm. He didn't understand what happened with him and Anita, and the dreams. They'd shared dreams before, at least once in St. Louis, and then those times he'd been dreaming of her feeding the ardeur with Nathaniel and the vampires. It had never been so real, as it had the previous day.

 _But how else would I have gotten this cut?_ Harry wondered. _It's too round for me to have made it with my nails. There's nothing this shape near my bed._

_I wished I have been in St. Louis for real. I'd have been able to do something useful, not just petrifying Olaf. I could have made him pay for what he did to Nathaniel and Anita._

Harry breathed around the swirling anger in his chest. He'd only tried to cast the Cruciatus curse once, at Bellatrix after she killed Sirius, and it hadn't worked. Somehow, Harry knew, he could have made it work on Olaf.

"Ron and Hermione are coming," Luna said, breaking into Harry's dark thoughts. "In case you want to know."

Harry glanced up to see Ron and Hermione at the far end of the courtyard. Hermione was whispering furiously in Ron's ear, and he had bent over to listen.

"Wonderful," Harry groaned. He didn't know if he could deal with either of them. They'd want to know why he was acting like he was, and he wasn't sure he could lie.

No matter what Hagrid had said that morning, they wouldn't be able to understand.

A waist-high student bounced around Ron and Hermione, holding a sucker in one hand. Reece hopped his way across the courtyard, veering over to the bench when he saw Harry. "Hi!" he said, sticking the blood pop in his mouth.

Harry barely spared him a glance. "What?"

A frown creased Reece's face. "I wanted to say thanks, for stuff," he said, his eyes darting over to Luna.

"Can't you see I'm busy?" Harry snapped.

Reece's face fell. "Sorry," he mumbled, shoulders slumping forward. He turned and walked away, leaving Harry feeling as if he'd just kicked a puppy.

 _Fuck!_ Harry jumped up and caught Reece's shoulder, spinning him around. "Look, I'm sorry. Just... bad news from home."

"Oh," Reece said. He nodded sagely, as only an eleven-year-old boy could. "Will everything be okay?"

"I guess. They say so, but... yeah."

"Good," Reece said, and smiled, his lips stained blood-red from the candy. "Bye!" He scurried away.

Harry shook his head. Why did he keep messing things up like this? He went back to the bench. Luna was watching him as if he was fascinating.

He was weighing the options of sitting back down, versus doing a bunk before Ron and Hermione came over, when he heard a hated voice behind him. "Potter!"

Harry turned around slowly, forcing himself to be calm as he looked at Draco Malfoy. He didn't say a word.

Malfoy grinned and nudged Crabbe and Goyle. "What do you think? Think Potter's given up on finding a girlfriend and decided to start boffing little boys?"

Harry flung himself at Malfoy, his fist knocking the blond boy to the ground. Harry followed him down, pulling back for another blow, raw animal fury roaring through him. His fist was on the down-swing when a blast of magic slammed into his side, knocking him off Malfoy.

"That's enough!" Tonks yelled, running over at full tilt, wand bare in her hand. "Don't even think about it!" she shouted at Malfoy, who had pulled his own wand from his robes. "Take your friends and go inside!"

"He hit me!" Malfoy yelled. "Gryffindor bastard, I'm not--"

Tonks came to a sudden halt and grabbed Malfoy by the robes, hauling him to his feet, and hissed something to him. Harry climbed to his feet, anger beating through him. If Tonks wasn't there, he was going to kill Malfoy...

Hermione and Ron hurried over. "Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked, grabbing his arm.

Harry shook his head, trying to move away from Hermione. She didn't let go. The wolf inside Harry growled. It wanted violence, blood, and it wanted them now.

"Harry?"

Harry didn't trust himself to touch Hermione, even to move her away. "Get off me," he said in an unsteady voice.

"But--"

Harry looked over her head to Ron. "Get her away from me," he said through clenched teeth. The red-head's eyes widened at whatever he saw there, and he quickly pulled Hermione away from Harry.

Tonks finished with Malfoy and shoved him at Crabbe and Goyle. She whirled around and strode toward Harry. "You, with me!" she barked. Harry couldn't think; he just trailed along after Tonks. He vaguely registered Luna staring at him, wide-eyed, as Tonks stormed out of the courtyard, then they turned a corner and went down several flights of stairs.

Tonks moved so fast that the edge bled off Harry's fury as he struggled to keep up with her. Finally, they came out onto the deserted lawn in the back of the school, near the Quidditch pitch. There, Tonks turned around, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" she demanded.

"Malfoy--"

"I don't care what he said!" Tonks’ hair changed from lavender to black, then back to lavender. "I don't care if he said he was You-Know-Who's bloody right hand!"

"Then what?" Harry yelled. "Take me to McGonagall for detention, who cares?"

Tonks shoved her wand away. "When were you going to stop?" she asked.

"Stop what?"

"Stop hitting Malfoy?" she said. "One punch? Two? Were you going to beat him unconscious? Were you going to kill him?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, stepping away. He put his hands out in front of him. He wasn't going to do that to Malfoy; he hated the boy but not like that. Not like he hated Olaf. "That's not it!"

Tonks let her head fall back and sighed in frustration. "Have you heard about your friends, the ones that were hurt?" she asked.

A bit thrown at the sudden change in topic, Harry nodded. "Your dad sent me an owl this morning. Nathaniel's going to be fine, same with Anita."

Tonks pushed her hair back out of her face. "Good. What about the guy who did that to them?"

Harry kicked at the grass. "He's dead," he said, feeling the anger bubble back up. _No thanks to me._

Tonks bit her lip, then beckoned Harry over. "Come on, walk with me."

Not seeing that he had a choice, Harry shuffled in her direction. Tonks started walking slowly toward the Quidditch pitch.

"Dumbledore said you had a dream about it. Did you see what happened to them?" she asked.

Harry blinked away the memory of the bloody body that had been-- that was, Nathaniel. "Yeah."

Tonks shook her head. "Don't suppose you know much about me?"

Harry frowned. "Uh, what?"

"Did I ever tell you the story about stuff that happened in my first year as an Auror?"

"No."

Tonks took a deep breath. "They make new Aurors work with another Auror in the field, for the first few years," she explained. "I was working with an old-timer, William Oliver. He wasn't bad, you know. Fought against You-Know-Who, all that."

Harry kept silent. There was an expression of pain on Tonks’ face that warned him against being flip.

"We'd been working together for about a month, when something went wrong on a dark wizard we were tracking. Oliver and I got separated, and the wizard got to him first."

"Did... did he kill your partner?"

Tonks nodded. "The Unforgivable curses might be the worst, but there's still ways to turn ordinary curses bad," she said. "Oh, bother. Don't tell anyone I told you that, all right?"

"Sure."

"Shacklebolt wanted to take me off the case, because of what happened, not that it was my fault," she said sarcastically, "But because he thought I was too close. Scrimgeour disagreed."

"The Minister for Magic?" Harry asked. "He used to be in charge of the Aurors, right?"

"Right." Tonks kicked at a lump of grass. "Shacklebolt and I found the man who killed Oliver. Well, I found him first."

Harry slowed, then stopped walking. "What did you do?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

"I didn't do anything." Tonks’ voice was bitter. "I had him disarmed, at wand point, with no one around. And I did... nothing." She turned to face Harry, so serious. "Listen to me very carefully, because I'm only going to say this once. There's a line, Harry, that you never think you'll cross until it's too late. It was me wanting to eviscerate that wizard for what he did to Oliver. It's you wanting to beat Malfoy to death because of what happened to your friends."

"I wasn't... I mean, I wouldn't have..." Harry's voice trailed off when he realized how weak his denials sounded.

Tonks folded her fingers together under her chin. "Harry, you're a good kid, everyone says it. Sirius used to say it all the time, and Remus still does. Just... be careful."

"So, what, I should just let my friends get hurt?" Harry said hotly.

Tonks shook her head. "No, you're not listening to me. There's a difference between defence and vengeance, and it's very easy to slide over that line."

Harry looked away. No matter what she said, if Olaf was still alive, Harry would have dropped everything to go find him, to kill him for what he did to Anita and Nathaniel.

Tonks turned back to the school. "Come on, I'd better go take you to McGonagall or something."

"Why didn't you do that first?" Harry asked, matching her pace.

Tonks shrugged. "Thought it'd be a bad idea with you so angry. Plus, I really did want to offer you that advice."

"I'll take it under advisement," he said shortly.

"That's all I can ask," she said, unperturbed.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, before Harry said, "Have you talked to Remus recently?"

Tonks shook her head. "He's off doing something for the Order."

"Oh." Harry swallowed. "Can you not... I mean, if you do speak to him, can you not tell him about what happened on the night of the full moon? I should tell him, first."

"If that's what you want," Tonks said. She gave him a side-long look. "He's not going to be mad at you."

"Don't be too sure of that," Harry said darkly.

"You saved Snape's life by stopping a rampaging werewolf," Tonks said. "Act of reckless heroics aside, you did a good thing. How could Remus be upset by that?"

"Some people, when they find out you'll be a werewolf, they get weird," Harry said. "Even other werewolves."

"I'm pretty sure that Remus won't be one of them," Tonks said.

"We'll see."

"Pessimist," Tonks muttered under her breath. They turned around the edge of the rose garden. "Look, Harry, before we go back in, can I ask you a question?"

"I guess."

Tonks put her hands behind her back. "It's about Bellatrix Lestrange"

Harry almost tripped. His mind flashed back to Bellatrix being eaten by werewolves in the St. Louis woods, and the memory mixed with Nathaniel's bleeding body, and that made it so much worse. _Just what I didn't need._ "What about her?"

"My mum never had much time for her sisters, right? They were both such pure-blood fanatics, just like the rest of that damned family. Everyone except Sirius," Tonks said hastily. "I talked to Dumbledore, and he wouldn't tell me, but we all know that no one's heard from Bellatrix in over a month."

Harry schooled his features into blankness. "What do you want to know?"

Tonks shrugged. "I don't know, if you've heard anything? If Dumbledore won't tell me, then it's probably something bad, but... I just want to be able tell mum if her sister might ever be coming back."

Harry stared off at the far-off turret of Gryffindor tower. He wasn't sorry Bellatrix was dead, not after what she did to Anita and Clay. If Dumbledore hadn't told Tonks, there had to be a reason.

_I'd still do it again._

"She's not... Bellatrix won't be coming back," Harry said in an almost inaudible voice.

Tonks nodded. "Right then," she said in a brisk voice, with only a bit of a waver. "Good to know. I mean, I hated her, she told my mum she should have drowned me at birth, but sisters and all that."

"She said _that_?" Harry demanded. "That's foul!"

"Yeah," Tonks said conversationally. "Mum apparently turned Aunt Bella into a toad for it." She sped up. "Come on, we should get moving."

"To detention," Harry muttered. "Brilliant."

He couldn't thank Tonks for pulling him off Malfoy; the perverted git had deserved a punch or two, but the Auror had a point. Harry wouldn't have stopped at one.

 _Malfoy's not Olaf,_ Harry reminded himself. _He said something. He didn't rip Nathaniel open like a side of meat._

The sudden visual made Harry gag. He clenched his fists hard, feeling the scab on his palm break open, hot blood on his skin, and it was the only thing that kept him from falling to his knees. _Stop acting like a baby!_ Harry told himself, walking faster to catch up with Tonks. _You only saw it, didn't live it! You have no bloody right to be freaking out like this!_

"Harry?" Tonks said.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "Let's go."

_No use lingering on what's past._

* * *

 

Jean-Claude spread his hands wide as I looked around the room. "For as long as you require it, ma petite."

"Thanks," I said, not really caring where I was, as long as it was quiet. Micah dropped the bags by the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, watching me. "But why here? I thought..."

Jean-Claude smiled at me. "Non, ma petite. While I would delight in having you in my room, I know how disconcerted you are when I am dead during the day. As well, this room is more suited for Micah and Nathaniel as well."

"Oh."

Jean-Claude's smile faded. "Is something wrong?"

I shook my head a little too fast, and the room spun lazily around me. "It's fine."

Olaf's body had gotten to the crematorium at eleven this morning. He was ash now, beyond anything I could do to him. I wasn't sure what I felt about that.

"Very well," Jean-Claude said. "Would you care for me to remain while you settle in?"

"No, you don't have to," I said in a rush. "We're fine."

Jean-Claude stared at me for a minute, then nodded. "I will be only a call away, if you require anything at all, ma petite," he said.

I looked down as he walked out the door. I wanted to ask him to stay, to cling to him like he was the last strong thing in the universe, but I held my tongue. He probably had things to do that were more important than me falling apart.

Nathaniel closed the door softly, then shuffled over to the large bed. He curled up on the brightly colored bedspread and rested his head against the headboard, very carefully not looking at anything.

"Anita, do you want to lie down a little before the pard gets here?" Micah asked.

I paced the length of the stone room, too agitated to be still. "I'm going to be fine."

"I know that," Micah said. "But you're still hurt, I'm sure a little sleep can't be bad for you."

I turned around to glare at him, but the harsh words on my tongue fell away when I realized how exhausted he looked. Had he gotten any sleep last night at all? Or the night before that? I walked over to where Micah was sitting on the bed, letting my knees bump against his. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Micah caught my right hand in his, and brought it up to his lips to kiss my knuckles. "Just a little tired," he admitted, with a strange smile that I hadn't seen in a while. It was an unhappy smile, one that I had seen so often on him when he first came to me, after Chimera.

"Do you want to get some sleep?"

Micah tugged gently on my arm, and I let myself be pulled into his lap. He put his arms around my waist, his touch so gentle that my stitches didn't hurt at all. "I want to make sure you're all right," he breathed against my neck.

"I'm going to be fine," I repeated, unable to prevent my eyes from straying over to Nathaniel. He had flung an arm over his face and was pretending he was asleep, but the tension in his body gave him away.

He hadn't let me touch him after he left Hanson's office a few hours ago, even kept Micah between the two of us for most of the trip to the Circus of the Damned. I didn't know what to say to him. Every time he moved away from me hurt dug the stabbing guilt just a little deeper in my chest.

"Are you sure you don't want to lie down for a little while?" Micah asked again.

His arms tightened around me as I turned away from Nathaniel and pressed my face against Micah's hair. "Maybe for a few minutes," I conceded.

Micah kissed my shoulder. "As long as you want," he promised, transferring me to the bed before jumping up. He rummaged around in his jacket pocket for a little vial of pills, then grabbed a bottle of water out of one of the bags. "It's time for your painkillers."

I took the tiny white pills that he handed me, and managed to swallow them. "Are these actually supposed to work?" I asked as Micah helped me to lie down in the centre of the bed.

"The doctors said that they are supposed to work on a lycanthropic metabolism as well as human, so yes," Micah said, unlacing my runners and dropping them off the end of the bed. "I called Dr. Lillian to ask her, and she said they were safe."

"Good," I murmured, staring at the ceiling and not at Nathaniel, only a few inches from me. He hadn't moved when I lay down. If he moved away from me now... I didn't know what I'd do.

"Indeed," Micah said, pulling a blanket up over me and Nathaniel before slipping into the bed on the other side of me. "If you need anything, you let me know right away."

I closed my eyes as Micah turned the bedside lamp down to the lowest setting. "Micah?" I whispered.

"Yes?" he asked, breath tickling my cheek.

"Thank you."

He nuzzled his nose against my cheek. "Please don't thank me," he said. "I didn't do anything."

I turned my head so our lips were almost touching. His cat's eyes were glowing almost green in the faint light. "You stayed with Nathaniel," I whispered. "Then you stayed with the both of us. That's not nothing."

Micah blinked at me, that sardonic smile on his lips again, before he looked up at the ceiling. "You should get some sleep," was all he said.

I stared at his profile as he watched the shadows on the ceiling, and I didn't know what to tell him. How could I tell him that it wasn't his fault that this all happened, that it was mine? Olaf came here because of me. He went after Nathaniel because of me. Everyone knew it, but no one was saying it. At least to my face.

After a few minutes, Micah rolled onto his side and carefully laid his hand across my stomach. "Is that okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said fuzzily. The drugs were making me woozy, and the pain was sinking away. "S'okay."

"Good." Micah kissed my cheek, then lifted his arm to reach over me to touch Nathaniel's shoulder. "Nathaniel, don't you want to get closer?"

Nathaniel didn't respond or move a muscle. I knew he wasn't asleep, his breathing was too erratic for that.

I tried to reach out to him with the marks, to see what he was feeling, but I was met with cold silence. He'd walled up the marks between us tight.

He'd never done that before.

I closed my eyes, tears prickling at my eyelids. I'd tried to save him, but I'd failed. Harry and Edward had been the ones to save our lives yesterday. Not me.

I fell asleep trying to hold in the tears. I didn't have any right to cry about this.

* * *

The nap helped me feel a little more stable, physically at least. I was able to lie on my side and watch Micah unpack our bags. Nathaniel still hadn't moved, and hadn't responded when I'd spoken to him.

"How much did you bring?" I asked Micah as he opened the third bag.

"Enough for a few days," Micah said, folding a shirt and putting it onto a shelf. "We can decide what we're going to do then."

"What do you mean?"

Micah glanced at Nathaniel, then at me, a very serious expression on his face.

"Just say it, Micah."

Micah picked up another shirt and folded it carefully. "The crime lab said they'd send over someone to clean all the biological material out of the carpets and off the walls, but that's not what I mean."

"He means, are we going back there or not?" Nathaniel's voice, rough and lower than normal, startled me. I rolled onto my back just in time to see Nathaniel slowly unfold and sit up. He swung his legs down off the side of the bed, his back to me. "Are we going back there like nothing happened?"

I managed to sit up without popping a stitch. "What do you want to do?" I asked, trying to be as neutral as possible.

Nathaniel stood up and walked over to lean on the wall. His head was down, and his short hair swung forward to hide his eyes and part of his face. "It's not my house," he muttered.

"Yes, it is!" I insisted. I didn't know how to fix this, what to say. Helplessly, I looked over at Micah, but he appeared as lost as I did.

"Nathaniel, that is your house," Micah said, putting down the shirt and crossing the room. He stood in front of Nathaniel, not touching. "It's your home as much as it is mine, and you get a say in what we do now."

Nathaniel shook his head. "It's Anita's house, it always has been," he said bitterly. "I just do the laundry."

"That's not it at all!" I exclaimed, getting unsteadily to my feet.

"You're right," Nathaniel said, stepping away from the wall. "I also do the shopping." He stalked across the room toward the door. I tried to touch him, but he kept just beyond my reach. "I'm going to see Jason," he said before he slammed the door behind him.

I let my hand fall back to my side as I stared at the door. My head was ringing with Nathaniel's words.

Micah came over and put his arms around me in a hug. "He doesn't mean that, he's just upset," Micah said.

I let Micah hold me for a moment, just a few seconds of selfishly letting him comfort me. Then I pulled away. "Someone needs to go to talk to him," I muttered, hunting for my shoes.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Micah asked.

I shook my head. "You should go alone. He's not going to talk with me there."

"Anita--"

"Do you think we should move?" I interrupted. "I'm usually fine after bad shit happens in the house, you know, clean up and carry on, but what about Nathaniel? How can I ask him to move back there like nothing happened?"

Micah watched me with serious eyes. "Do you want to move?"

I flipped a shoe over with my toes and stepped into it. "It doesn't matter to me. I'm not the one who--" I cut myself off abruptly. "I mean, if Nathaniel wants to move, then that's okay with me."

Micah nodded. "I'll tell him that." He hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

"Go," I commanded, pointing out the door. "Nathaniel needs a Nimir-Raj right now more than I need someone to hold my hand."

After giving me a look I couldn't decipher, Micah left.

I stepped into my other shoe. As long as I didn't trip over the laces, I'd be fine.

Fine. What the hell did that mean, fine? Fine as in I no longer felt the urge to start screaming? Fine as in I no longer wanted to go find Olaf's body and do horrible, unspeakable things to it just so I could torture him like he'd tortured Nathaniel?

Or fine, as in this was all my fault and nothing could make things right again?

_Why didn't you know something was wrong?_

A heavy knock on the door spun me around and made me go for my gun. Heart in my mouth, I stared at the closed door. No one could get down here who wasn't supposed to; the place was guarded tighter than Fort Knox.

"Anita, it's Damian."

I slowly lowered my gun to my side. Without thinking, I opened the marks and felt Damian's presence on the other side of that door. "Come in," I said, the sour edge of adrenaline fading.

The door slowly opened, and Damian stepped inside. He looked at me hungrily for a moment, before dropping his eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked formally.

I holstered my gun. "You can come over here." I waited until Damian stopped a few feet from me before going over. "Hey," I said, waiting for him to look at me. His face was calm, but there were so many emotions running through those green eyes.

I could have lost him. If he'd been at my house the night of the attack, instead of staying here with Elinor, Olaf might have done to him what he'd done to Nathaniel.

I put my arm around his body, hugging him one-handed and pressing my cheek to his chest. I'd almost lost him too.

"It will be all right," Damian said awkwardly as he put his arms around me. We never hugged, not really, but standing here in Damian's arms like this I felt safe. "You are safe, and you will soon heal."

My eyes dry, I looked up at him. "Thanks to you."

Daman's face went cold, and he pulled away. "I was not present to fight your enemy," he said. "I am a day-walker, I could have--"

I shook my head. "You're only a day-walker when I'm there," I said. "He'd have gotten to you too, and then you wouldn't have been able to feed and keep me strong." I swallowed hard. "Look, Damian, you've been feeding for two days, to keep me and Nathaniel strong. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to help him. You're the only reason we're both still alive."

Damian kept watching me with those familiar eyes. "It was my honor to do whatever I could for you," he said.

I smiled weakly.

"May I ask a question?"

"Sure," I said, feeling unaccountably nervous. "What's up?"

"There have been rumors, here in the shadows, about Harry," Damian said. "He called Jason yesterday, not an hour after Jean-Claude and I were awakened by your call. Jason said that Harry knew things, things that had occurred. How could that happen?"

I looked down at my left arm, still in its sling. My hand tingled with the memory of Harry's grip. "I don't know how, or why, but... I had this vision, that Harry was there, in the living room." I played with a loose thread on the edge of the sling. "He grabbed my hand, just before Olaf was about to stab me again, and there was magic and Olaf froze."

"So Harry saved you?" Damian said, no trace of disbelief in his voice.

"Looks like."

"Good," Damian said, satisfied. "He then did what any warrior would do."

I shrugged my good shoulder. "Don't know how he did it, though."

"It was magic," Damian said, as if that explained everything. "Is there nothing I can do for you?"

I started to say no again, but something occurred to me. "Yeah, there is." I tried to smile, to cover how nervous I was feeling. "Walk me to Jean-Claude's room?"

"Of course," Damian said. He came over and held out his arm to me. "I would escort you anywhere."

"Just down the hall is fine," I said. I hated how much I wanted to cling to his arm. "How bad is it down these days?"

Damian shook his head as we walked. "Jean-Claude and Rafael have been arguing," he said in a low voice. "Christoff's wererats have been questioned, but as far as anyone can tell, they had never met Tony."

I frowned. "Why would Christoff's people help Olaf? It doesn't make sense."

"That is the conclusion Jean-Claude and Rafael reached," Damian said. "Asher is managing the businesses while Jean-Claude is occupied with other matters."

We came to a stop in front of Jean-Claude's door. After a minute of me just staring at the wood as if it might bite me, Damian gently squeezed my hand.

"Would you like me to knock?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. "No," I muttered, tapping gently on the door.

Damian stepped away from me, and bowed. "I will be available if you need me, for anything," he said.

"Thanks, Damian," I said. "Thank you, for everything."

He bowed again, then walked away as Jean-Claude's door opened. I stared down the hall after my red-headed vampire, suddenly too afraid to look at Jean-Claude.

"Ma petite?" Jean-Claude said. Slowly, I turned my head to look at him. He smoothed away his worried expression and held out his hand. "Would you care to come in?"

I took Jean-Claude's hand and let him guide me into the room. I glanced around as he closed the door, and saw something that made me frown. "You got a couch. When did you get a couch?" I asked, walking over to it unsteadily.

Jean-Claude stroked a hand over the soft black leather. "You liked the one in my office at Guilty Pleasures," he said, a bitter undertone in his voice. "I wanted to surprise you with this one."

"It's nice," I said, putting one hand on the couch arm to help me sit. "It's soft."

Jean-Claude stayed standing. "Where are Micah and Nathaniel?"

I kicked off my shoes and pulled my legs up into the couch. "Nathaniel wanted to go see Jason," I said, pulling my gun out of its holster and slipping it under the sofa. "Micah went after him."

"I see." He sat on the couch, not quite touching me. "Did you not wish to see Jason?"

I stared at his boots. "More like Nathaniel didn't want to see me."

"How do you mean?"

There was no blame in Jean-Claude's voice, but still, the guilt I was feeling threatened to come back up and choke me. "I, um... doesn't matter."

Carefully, Jean-Claude laid his hand on my knee. "Ma petite, you know I will be here to listen to you, in anything you wish to say."

I nodded. I traced the bones in the back of his hand with my fingers, feeling them strong and unbroken. "Yeah."

Jean-Claude let me touch him for a little while. "Did you hear of Harry's phone call to Jason, yesterday?" he eventually asked.

"Yeah, Nathaniel mentioned it," I whispered. I closed my eyes against the sudden visceral memory of lying on that floor, helpless and dying. "He saved us."

"How do you mean?" Jean-Claude asked, stroking my hair back from my face.

His touch was the only thing centering me, but I couldn't let myself cling to him. I needed to be stronger than that. "Harry was there, at least... I saw him," I said, eyes still shut. "He grabbed my hand, that part was real, I could feel it, and he used magic to stop Olaf. Then Edward came in."

"How could this be, ma petite?" Jean-Claude asked.

"I don't know." My right hand slipped down my jeans and clutched up the fabric by my ankle. "Edward saw something too, so Harry had to be there. He saved Nathaniel when I couldn't do anything."

"Ma petite, that is not true," Jean-Claude insisted.

"Yes, it is," I said, opening my eyes. "It's true! I was the one who put everyone at risk! I almost got everyone killed yesterday!"

I pushed Jean-Claude away and staggered to my feet. The walls seemed to be pressing in on me, and I tried to breathe, but the stitches in my side caught, and I gasped.

Jean-Claude shot to his feet. "Anita, listen to me!" he said, swinging me around in his arms. "You did everything you could, you could not have anticipated--"

"It doesn't matter!" I shouted. "What happened to Nathaniel is my fault! You would have died! Everyone would have died and it all would have been my fault!"

Something snapped in me. I tried to shove Jean-Claude away, but I was hyperventilating and the world started to get grey and shaking.

"Ma petite, stop this," Jean-Claude said in a voice halfway between cajoling and commanding. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight so I didn't fall over. "You are safe now, everyone is safe now. It was not your fault."

The pressure of his touch on my mind smoothed out my breathing, but as soon as his mental touch receded, I started sobbing. I balled my hand up in his shirt and I clung to him and I sobbed and screamed against him, all my terror and guilt and shame coming out.

He held me as I fell apart. Finally, my tears stopped and I was hollow, empty, as he held me in his lap on the floor.

"Ma petite, this was not your fault," he said after a while. "None of us could have foreseen that Nathaniel would be the one in danger."

"I should have," I said tonelessly. "I should have seen something, should have been able to do something."

"This was not your fault," Jean-Claude repeated.

I closed my eyes and wished I could believe him. "Tell that to Nathaniel."

Jean-Claude's silence told me all I needed to know.


	63. Chaos Theory

* * *

"When is your detention?" Ron asked.

Harry lay on his back and stared up at the deep blue sky. "Tomorrow night, with McGonagall."

Hermione laid her potions text down on the grass and stretched out next to Harry. "It could have been worse," she said sympathetically.

Harry pulled a blade of grass out of the ground and slowly dismantled it. "I guess."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "Want to tell us what Malfoy said that had you in such a knot?" Ron asked.

"No."

Hermione gave it a try. "Does it have anything to do with what happened in your dream on Monday?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and tossed them on his bag. "Look, I appreciate you guys coming out here to talk to me and all that, but we all know that you're only doing it out of some obligation of friendship, so feel free to leave."

"Another thing we all know is that you're an idiot," Ron said genially. Hermione let out a groan.

Harry flipped over, glaring at Ron while the red-head rooted around in his book bag. "Were we in different places yesterday? I punched Malfoy, and threatened Hermione!"

Ron pulled an apple out of his bag and dusted it off. "You hit Malfoy, anyway."

"Ron!" Harry shouted. He didn't want to be talking about this with them. The fact that he'd been thinking such violent thoughts, and Hermione had been in the middle of that... Shame didn't quite cover what Harry was feeling.

"What?" Ron looked at him, suddenly very serious. "You were, what, about five seconds from losing it when Hermione grabbed your arm? You still kept it all in, right? You didn't hurt her."

Harry sat up, hugging his legs to his chest. "You don't understand!"

"Yeah, I do." Ron took a huge bite of his apple and spoke through his mouthful. "Charlie used to get like that sometimes. He and Bill would be fighting when Charlie'd get a bit too angry, y'know?" He swallowed. "Charlie just had to walk away, go hit something else besides Bill. Used to freak Mum right out, we could even see it back then."

"I didn't know that," Hermione said, her wide eyes on Ron.

Ron shrugged. "You have five brothers, these kinds of things come up. Charlie's got a temper, but he's got a good handle on it. Like Harry." Ron pointed at Harry with his apple core. "Is this a new thing or something to do with-- you know." Ron made a face and curled his hands into claws, in what Harry supposed was an imitation of a werewolf.

Harry stared. "Why are you doing this?"

Ron lowered his hands. "Because something's wrong."

"Something big," Hermione added before Harry could interrupt. "You don't have to tell us if you don't want to, Harry, but if you want to, you can," she finished lamely.

"You wouldn't understand," Harry said, slumping back down to the ground. He looked up at the fluffy clouds in the sky, moving slowly toward the horizon.

"Do we have to understand?" Hermione asked tentatively.

Harry closed his eyes, trying to push the memory of Nathaniel's body out of his head, and shook his head.

"We won't push you, if you don't want to tell us," Hermione went on. "Just, if you want to, you can tell us."

"Hermione, leave him be," Ron said, nudging her. "You talk enough for all three of us sometimes."

She whipped her head around and glared at Ron. Without her attention focused on him, Harry could breathe easier. Would it hurt to tell them? He'd thought they didn't need to hear it, all that horrible stuff Olaf did, but how long would he last if he kept it all bottled up inside? He'd already hit Malfoy. What would be the next thing to set him off?

"You know..." Harry said slowly, picking restlessly at the grass with one hand, "Anyway, just don't tell anyone, okay?"

Hermione nodded, while Ron said, "Sure."

Harry took a deep breath, watching the quiet clouds. "So, once upon a time, there was a serial killer named Olaf," he began bluntly. "He liked to rape and torture women, then he killed them and dismembered their--"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, pushing herself back. "What are you doing?"

Harry closed his eyes. "You wanted to hear what's bothering me, from my dream, right?" He opened his eyes and looked over at her. It took him a moment, but it finally registered how horrified Hermione was. "Shit, Hermione, I'm sorry," he said, sitting up. "I didn't mean--"

Hermione waved him into silence. "No, it's just..." She buried her face in her hands as Ron moved to put a hand on her back. "Is this really part of it?"

Harry nodded. "If you don't want the details, I guess I can tell it different."

"No," she said, setting her jaw. "You tell it your way."

Harry flicked his gaze to Ron, who was looking a little lost and more than a bit worried. "You tell me if you need me to stop," he said. Hermione nodded. It took Harry a moment to remember where he was in the story. "So, um... Yeah. Olaf." Even saying that name lit the fury in Harry's head, and he had to stop and concentrate for a moment. _Dead, he's dead and the dead can't hurt anyone._

"Olaf. He met Anita in New Mexico a couple of years ago, it's in the southern part of the States. There was this vampire that was controlling a Quetzalcoatl dragon and a bunch of crazy vamps and stuff, they were killing people and skinning some of them, and others the dragon ripped apart."

Even Ron was looking a little queasy now.

 _I don't even remember Anita telling me this stuff, but she had to, right?_ Harry thought frantically. _I know all this detail about Olaf and I can't remember why!_

Hoping he was doing the right thing, Harry plunged onward.

"So Edward, that's Anita's friend, he called Anita down to figure out what it was doing all this, and Olaf was there too. But Anita didn't find out until after she got down there that Olaf's victims had all been..." Harry paused, searching his memory for the phrase. "Like muggle China dolls, pale skin and long dark hair and tiny. Exactly like Anita. She's even shorter than Hermione."

"Did... did something happen in New Mexico?" Hermione asked, voice rather shaky.

Harry shook his head. "Not really. Just Olaf left Anita a note, saying he thought she should be like his little psychotic girlfriend, and then he vanished. Edward called Anita in the middle of last month, told her that Olaf had gone off radar and he might be coming for her. No one heard anything for a while, but then--" Harry's voice broke, feeling the panic and terror from his dream all over again. "He was at home, waiting for her, one morning."

Ron uttered a curse he must have heard from Charlie. "Didn't they do anything for protection?"

"They had bodyguards," Harry said. "But Tony, the bodyguard from that morning, he took off early." Harry looked down at his hands, wishing his memory wasn't so good. "Olaf was there early, he'd gotten to Nathaniel first."

"Nathaniel, that's Anita's friend?" Ron asked.

"Boyfriend," Harry corrected softly. "He was home alone, and Olaf--" He swallowed against the rise of bile in his throat. "Nathaniel didn't even look human anymore!"

"Is he dead?" Hermione whispered.

Harry shook his head. "He's a wereleopard, they made him transform and it put everything back in the right place. Jason told me he wasn't going to die, but there was blood everywhere!" He dug his fingers into his hair, wishing he could break something. "Olaf nailed Anita to the floor, right through her hands," he continued, tonelessly. "He'd stabbed her in the chest once, and he was going to do it again, when I--" Harry held out his right hand, where the scab was stubbornly refusing to heal. "I don't know how, but I grabbed Anita's hand and _this_ happened and we used magic together and stopped Olaf!"

"How?" Hermione said, hands over her mouth. "That's impossible!"

"I know!" Harry exclaimed. "But it still happened!"

"Did you kill him?" Ron asked grimly. "Olaf?"

Harry shook his head as Hermione slowly reached out and took his hand, tracing the wound with a finger. "Edward came barging in with a shotgun and blew Olaf's head up," Harry said. "He just kept shooting Olaf's body even after he was dead."

"What happened then?"

"Ron woke me," Harry said, drawing his hand back.

"I thought it was just another nightmare," Ron said. "You know how you have those, sometimes."

Harry nodded, feeling as exhausted as if he'd just run a dozen miles. "But it was real," he whispered, clenching his fist and wincing as the scab tore and hot blood trickled over his palm. "It was as real as if I'd been standing there."

"But how could it be real?" Hermione asked, still a little horrified, but her usual curious tone coming back. "You've never done that before! You've been Nagini attacking Mr. Weasley--"

"Arthur."

Both Hermione and Harry twisted around to look at Ron. "What?" Hermione asked.

Ron looked a bit startled himself. "Sorry. Dad wants you to call him Arthur, like you call Mum Molly... and I guess that's not important," he mumbled. "Sorry."

Hermione shifted around and leaned against Ron. "It's okay."

"But this dream wasn't like the other dreams at all," Harry continued. "I wasn't Anita in this dream."

"What?" Hermione said, latching onto his statement. "You've had other dreams with Anita? What kind of dreams?"

The openness and innocent curiosity in her face made Harry want to sink into the ground. "I dreamed of her doing things, is all," he said, managing to not stumble over the words. "Like, real things she was doing while she was awake, not dreaming."

"When did this start?" Hermione pressed.

"After I got to Hogwarts... No, wait," Harry said, frowning. "It started in St. Louis."

"But why?" Hermione bit her lower lip as she thought. "What would have caused that?"

"Maybe because his grandfather was a vampire?" Ron suggested.

"No, that can't be it," Hermione said dismissively. "If it was, why didn't it start before now?"

"I haven't been able to think about why it was happening!" Harry said. "It's sort of like Voldemort's dreams, but not, really."

Hermione sat up so quickly that she almost hit Ron's nose with the back of her head. "Oh! OH! Those only started after he got his power back, after you two met!"

"So?" Ron said. "Are you saying these dreams are happening because Harry met Anita?"

"Was there some kind of power transfer between you two?" Hermione asked eagerly. "Like when Voldemort was in Quirrell's body and he touched you and he burned up?"

"That wasn't a power transfer!" Harry protested.

"You know what I mean!" Hermione said. "Was there anything in St. Louis? Did you and Anita do a spell? Anything magical?"

"No. We didn't. Anita's not a witch, not really, she's--" An idea hit Harry out of nowhere, and his jaw dropped. "The Crucio eternum curse!"

"What about it?"

"I told you I lifted it off Anita, remember?" Harry said, heart pounding. "Dumbledore told us there's no way to lift it, but I did! Bellatrix was gone and Richard was there and Anita was dying, she couldn't even scream anymore, and it was just like, I knew I had to do something! It wasn't a spell, really, just... It just happened, it just lifted."

"It just happened?" Ron repeated. "Harry, that doesn't make any sense!"

"It makes as much sense as me dreaming and being halfway across the world to get this!" Harry said, waving his right hand in Ron's face. "I know it's mental!"

"Nevertheless, it happened," Hermione declared. "I'll have to go to the library after class to find any references on magical dream transportation, I can't recall anything off the top of my head."

From across the lawn came the ringing of the bell, to signal the start of class. Hermione leapt to her feet and grabbed her book bag.

"I'll see you two after class in the library!" she ordered.

"Is that all?" Ron demanded.

Hermione hesitated a second, then flung herself back at him. She squeezed him and kissed him on the cheek, then untangled herself and ran toward the castle.

Harry was left staring at her. "That was... enthusiastic," he said.

"She hates being late for class," Ron said with a bit of a smirk on his face. Then the smirk faded into worry. "At least she's not dwelling on that stuff you said."

Harry slowly got to his feet. "I told her I'd stop talking about it," he said, uncomfortable.

"Like that'd stop her," Ron said. "Not blaming you." He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed. "I just wish I could keep that kind of stuff away from her, you know?"

Harry shook his head. "Don't let her catch you saying that," he cautioned as they turned toward Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. "She'll turn you into a slug."

"I know." Ron scuffed his shoe on the lawn. "But it doesn't mean I can't want it. Anyway, library time tonight means no more frustration with the bloody Animagus thing. I wish I knew how you did it, it's driving Hermione crazy."

"I told you, I got attacked by a werewolf, and didn't change the whole way," Harry reminded Ron. "Not my fault it worked it like this."

"Not to hear Hermione tell it," Ron said darkly. "She's convinced there's a trick she can duplicate."

"If anyone can figure it out, Hermione can," Harry said. He slowed. "Look, Ron..."

"What?"

Harry steeled himself. "You were right, about me telling someone... Thanks," he muttered to the ground.

Ron shrugged. "And, um, sorry I didn't believe you, with McGonagall."

"It's okay," Harry said. "Looks like almost everyone's to class, we don't want to be late."

"Even Hagrid's not here yet," Ron pointed out as they spend up. "So, about those dreams?"

"What about them?" Harry asked, distracted, as he checked his bag for the treat he'd brought for Fang.

"From Anita's point of view?"

Harry almost stumbled. "Yes," he stuttered, wishing desperately that he'd left that part out.

"While she was doing things while awake?"

Harry pressed his lips together and refused to answer.

"What kinds of things? Necromancer things? Making dinner?"

"Oh, look, it's Hagrid!" Harry said loudly. "We'd better hurry."

"No way!" Ron exclaimed, rushing after Harry. "Not that!"

"We are never going to talk about this," Harry said, face heating up as he remembered the vividness of those dreams of Anita having sex with Nathaniel, and later the vampires. "Ever!"

Ron started laughing. 

* * *

A tap on the door made me look up from my book. "What?" I said crossly.

"It's Jason," came the muddled reply through the wooden door.

"Fine," I said, closing the book and sitting up on the bed. "Come in."

Jason slipped into the stone room. I could feel the nervous energy radiating off him. "You gotta come," he said breathlessly.

"Go where?" I asked, standing. Nathaniel didn't move from the chair across the room, where he'd been sitting since before I woke up.

"To the living room," Jason said. "Rafael's there, and Jean-Claude and Edward and everyone!"

"Calm down!" I told Jason, even as I grabbed the gun on the bedside and shoved it into my shoulder holster. "Is there a problem?"

Jason gulped down some air. "They found Tony."

At the name of the bodyguard who had abandoned me to Olaf, I froze. When the rush of remembered panic eased up enough for me to speak, I demanded, "Why the fuck are they leaving me out of this?"

"They're not," Jason said. "Jean-Claude sent me to get you."

I looked over at Nathaniel, who still hadn't moved. "Micah's not back yet from the house," I said, torn between finding out what the hell was going on, and not leaving Nathaniel alone.

Jason waved his hand. "I'll stay here with Nathaniel," he said.

"Okay," I said, already moving toward the door. "I'll be back soon," I called over my shoulder. Nathaniel didn't acknowledge me.

I ran through the stone corridors of Jean-Claude's lair under the Circus of the Damned toward the main room. My mind wasn't letting me plan ahead with what I was going to do when I got there, it just kept circling: they'd found Tony.

I pushed my way through the drapes that served as a door, my bandaged left hand sending sharp pains up my arm as I hit the rock wall in my haste. "Where is he?" I demanded as soon as I was in the room.

The six people present all turned to look at me. Jean-Claude and Richard stood off to one side, facing off with Rafael. Edward was leaning against the couch, while a vaguely familiar man and woman were apparently the center of attention. "Ma petite, thank you for joining us," Jean-Claude said smoothly.

"Where is he?" I said again. "Jason said you guys found Tony?" My eyes turned to Edward.

"Don't look at me," Edward said, his voice pleasantly blank, but not enough to hide the irritation.

I looked at Rafael, then at Jean-Claude. "What's going on?"

Jean-Claude nodded at the two other people in the room. "They tracked Tony down."

I blinked at them. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask who exactly they were, when I remembered where I'd seen them before. They were Chirstoff's people, the two wererats sent to us from London as part of the deal between Christoff and Jean-Claude. What the hell were their names?

"How?" I said, inching closer to Jean-Claude and Richard. I made myself stop halfway across the room. I would not cling to anyone, not now. I needed to stand on my own. "How did they find him when Edward and Rafael couldn't?"

"A very good question," Edward said, turning his pleasant face with that dead stare in their direction.

The woman met Edward's gaze with eyes so still that I had to repress a shiver. "He knew where you would look," she said, a faint hint of a German accent overlying her British tones. "Rafael and the Rodere of this city; he knew their patterns. How long had he been your man?"

"That explains why Rafael couldn't find him, but not Edward," I said.

"But would not Olaf know Edward's methods?" the man asked. His accent was pure Irish.

"Didn't you ask him?" I demanded, voice a little shrill. Richard crossed the room and touched my arm. The contact made me feel stronger, better, and I let him stroke my arm. "You found him, right?"

The woman raised her eyebrow. "We did not set out to question him, only to return him to his King to face his betrayal. For money." The disgust was plain on her face.

"And return with him they did," Rafael said. I knew him well enough to know he was angry. "But somehow, I cannot bring myself to believe them when they say they just 'found' him."

"Wait, why did they go after him in the first place?" I asked.

"An excellent question, ma petite," Jean-Claude said silkily, his blank mask in place on his face. That was the face he wore to hide so many emotions; his Master of the City face.

The man and woman exchanged looks. "We did not locate him without assistance," the man admitted.

"Then how did you find him?" Rafael growled. "I let you in this city only upon Jean-Claude's assurances!"

"We received a message from our Master's servant, telling us where to look for this Judas," the man said.

"Elsa?" I exclaimed. "How the fuck did she know about this?"

The man took a step toward me, and Rafael was suddenly in his face. The level of lycanthropic energy spiked, and Richard's hand tightened on my arm, keeping me in place.

"Stop!" Jean-Claude commanded, his power sweeping through the room. Everyone froze. "Liam, Caroline, my patience is not boundless, and the recent assault on my servant has stretched that patience thin!"

The man, Liam, pressed his narrow lips together. "We have done nothing but assist you, and you threaten us as if we engineered this whole thing!" he exclaimed.

Caroline looked directly at me. "We were sent in the spirit of our Masters' agreement, to assist you in any way possible," she said. "We were instructed by our Master's servant how to find the man who betrayed you, and your wereleopard servant. Will you hear us out?"

I looked into her grey eyes. "Tell me how Elsa knew about this," I said. "Then I'll decide if we hear you out."

Liam shook his head. "The boy, Harry, called her," he said. "Right soon after it happened, before ever we heard about it from Rafael."

"Elsa's magic is strong," Carline said, her voice bordering on reverence. "She has many centuries of experience with those of our kind. After we learned that this Tony was missing, she told us where to find all the wererats in the city."

"There are over two hundred Rodere," Rafael said.

"It took some time," Liam snapped.

I looked up at Richard. He was watching the two wererats with a wary face, not an expression I often saw on his face.

"Why would Harry call Elsa?" I murmured to him. He shook his head.

 _Ma petite, what are you thinking?_ Jean-Claude asked in my head.

 _It doesn't make any sense for Christoff to have engineered this whole thing,_ I told him, widening the marks so Richard could hear us. _Why would he go through all this trouble to hurt us? Wouldn't the Council have take issue with this?_

_ What if he thought no one would figure it out? _ Richard asked.

_Christoff is not so simple as that,_ Jean-Claude replied. _If he had given his word to protect Harry and Anita while they were in his territory, then actively worked to have them assassinated while they were outside his lands.... it is stretching his word too thin. There are those who would see that as a betrayal of his promise._

 _Elsa was always going on about how Chirstoff kept his word,_ I pointed out. _And I can't see Olaf working with a bunch of British vamps and lycanthropes. He doesn't play well with others._

 _He's dead,_ Richard reminded me, and put his arms around me. _He can't hurt you any more._

I looked down to see that I was squeezing his arm, and quickly let go. I rubbed my sweaty palm on my jeans, hoping that no one else could see the tiny trembles. "Where is Tony now?" I asked Rafael. "What are you going to do with him?"

Rafael gave Liam one last glare, then turned around to face me. "I can't tell you that."

I felt my face go cold. "Why not?" I demanded, stepping away from Richard. I tried to cross my arms across my chest, but my left hand was hurting too much, and I had to settle on resting my right hand on my hip.

"You don't need to know," Rafael said.

Something stirred within me. Not my beast, but anger from a cold and dark place I held inside my body. I felt a brush of wind that couldn't possibly exist so far underground, that curled around me like invisible fingers. My necromancy twisted around my body, connecting me to the unhappy earth. "Why not?" I demanded softly.

Rafael, who had faced down monsters without blinking an eye, paled. "He's not going to get away with this," he said, holding his ground. "But you don't need to know where he is. The Rodere takes care of its own, including when they betray us."

I walked across the room, dropping my hand to my side, until I was close enough to Rafael to kiss him. "Did you see what Olaf did to Nathaniel?" I whispered, fighting the urge to touch Rafael. Touching anyone right now would be bad. Very bad. "Did you see his hand in that box? How Olaf ripped him apart, on the floor of the one place he was supposed to be safe?"

"Anita, I cannot tell you where Tony is," Rafael said.

I stared at him for a long moment, then I made myself back away, my cold power almost choking me. Glancing around, I saw the fear on Caroline and Liam's faces, the curiosity on Edward's features.

Dimly, I realized that I had to get away from everyone, now, before something happened. I walked toward the doorway in the curtains, ignoring Richard's call, ignoring everything but the ground in front of me. Step after step, until carpet gave way to stone, until light gave way to shadows, until I didn't know where I was.

The stone walls pressed in around me, shadows dancing, called to the anger within me. I stood in the middle of that corridor, fury at Rafael changing, twisting, into something much uglier.

It was my fault this happened to Nathaniel. I'd gone into that house, not planning, not thinking, just reacting. It had very nearly gotten Nathaniel killed, me killed, Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian killed. I'd almost killed everyone I loved.

_My fault._

I whirled and slammed my bandaged left hand against the stone wall, feeling the shattered bone give in a white-hot explosion of pain that drove my necromancy back, leaving only anger and self-loathing in its place.

_My fault._

Before I could hit the wall again, I was grabbed from behind and dragged back.

"Anita, stop it!" Jean-Claude ordered, wrapping his arms around me. I struggled silently, tried to get away, but his grip was like cold steel. "Stop this!"

We collapsed to the ground, him holding me against his body. My breathing was ragged, but I wasn't crying. I had no fucking right to cry.

As soon as I stopped struggling, Jean-Claude let go of me, and I slumped against his body. He picked up my left hand and slowly began to undo the bandages. The pain in my hand was nauseating, but I didn't make a sound.

"I left Richard with Rafael and Edward," Jean-Claude said as he unwrapped the final layer around my hand. The skin had healed since yesterday, but the bone was sticking up in an unnatural way behind my bleeding knuckles. "You will need to see a doctor again, ma petite."

I stared at my hand, not able to think.

"Rafael will deal with Tony. He will not escape again," Jean-Claude continued, picking me up effortlessly in his arms. "I will take you to your rooms, and I will have Richard take you to the hospital."

"No," I murmured. "Not Richard."

Jean-Claude walked silently down the halls for a few minutes. He stopped by a large outcropping of stone that no one had bothered to get rid of, and sat me down. Once I was settled, Jean-Claude knelt in front of me. "Ma petite, look at me," he said. Gentle fingers lifted my chin, until I was staring directly into his midnight-blue eyes. "Why did you do this?"

I jerked my head away and stared down the corridor. "Maybe it's all a little much to handle, okay?" I snapped.

"This was not your doing," Jean-Claude said. "Olaf coming to this city was not your fault."

"I let myself get taken down!" I exclaimed. "I got stupid and I--"

"No," Jean-Claude interrupted forcefully. "Not stupid. You realized that Nathaniel had been hurt and you reacted."

"And almost got him killed!" I stared down at my broken hand. Red-purple bruises were starting to form under the skin. "The only reason Nathaniel got hurt was because of me. God, every time he gets hurt, it's because of me! Now he's sitting in that room, refusing to look at me, pretending like I'm not even there, because I let that happen to him!"

Jean-Claude went up on his knees, pressing the front of his body against my legs. He slid his hands around my waist, holding me tight. "Do you love him?" he asked.

The question startled me. "What?"

"Do you love Nathaniel?" Jean-Claude cupped my cheek with one hand. "In spite of all that occurred, do you love him?"

I pushed his arm away with my right hand. "What good is love when all it does is get you hurt?" I demanded. "So what if I love Nathaniel?"

"Love means you keep fighting," Jean-Claude said. "You need to keep fighting, ma petite. I need you to keep fighting."

I looked back down at my hands.

"This was not your fault."

"Yes, it was," I said before I thought.

Jean-Claude ran his fingers over my good hand. "You were the reason Olaf came, but you are not the one who held the knife on Nathaniel." His soft, relentless voice made me want to curl up and die, but he wouldn't stop. "Only he did that, and now that he is dead and beyond your reach, you seek another target for that fury. You cannot have Tony, and you cannot fix that rage on anyone else, so you turn it inward."

"Please stop," I said, my voice thick and quiet.

"Be mad at him, Anita, not yourself." He stood. "Only he is to blame, and now he is dead and cannot hurt you anymore. You are not the guilty one in this."

I closed my eyes. Olaf was dead, and the man who helped him was going to pay for what he did, but that wouldn't make Nathaniel better. I reached out blindly and grabbed onto Jean-Claude's shirt, feeling the thin cotton bunch beneath my fingers. "There has to be something else I could have done," I whispered.

Jean-Claude gently drew me up into a standing position. "There are some things you cannot control, ma petite," he said, moving my right hand to support my left arm. "It is a hard lesson to learn, but it is true."

"When did you learn it?" I asked, anger slipping a bit at the strange tone in his voice.

Jean-Claude smoothed some hair back from my face, a compulsive gesture that wasn't like him. Finally, he said, not able to mask the centuries-old pain, "After Julianna died, ma petite, and Asher almost so, I realized that there are some things that no amount of planning or control can prevent." 

* * *

Ginny blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. "This is fun!" she exclaimed, a wide grin on her face.

Harry found himself grinning down at her. "Sure is," he agreed.

Luna frowned. "I can't get it to fit."

"Try a different angle," Ginny suggested. "Quit shoving it."

"It's too big," Luna said.

Harry smothered a snort. "Here, let me give you a hand," he said, going around her. He put one hand on her wrist and the other on her shoulder. "Like this," he whispered, and moved her hand for her.

As Luna whispered the incantation, the hovering tea kettle dissolved into a tea-kettle-shaped cloud of mist, and painstakingly swooped through the small hoop in the centre of the Room of Requirement before reforming on the other side.

Ginny whooped, clapping her hands. "See? Perfect!" she crowed.

Luna glanced over her shoulder at Harry, a shy smile on her face. "Thanks for your help," she said.

Harry's heart flip-flopped in his chest. "It's easier if you can feel the magic, you know, sharing it," he stuttered, feeling himself blush a little.

Luna nodded and moved away, over to the collection of objects floating by the hoop. Harry shook his head and went over to the textbook by the wall, trying to get his bearings. _What's with me?_ he wondered. _All she does is smile at me and everything starts feeling all weird!_

Harry flipped the page on the book, moving to the next part of the spell. He read the instructions a few times, then turned around to head back to the floor and almost jumped out of his skin. Ginny was standing there, watching him with a faintly amused expression.

"Yeah?" he said when his heart moved out of his throat.

"Next part of the spell?" she asked. "Why don't you show Luna first?"

"Okay," he said, frowning slightly. "Why?"

Ginny shrugged. "She gets things faster when you show her," she said, looking over to where the blonde girl was rearranging the work floor. "She looks good with her hair up, doesn't she?"

Harry blinked. Had he missed part of this conversation? "Yeah, I suppose," he said.

The object of their attention came over then. "Are we going to try the next part?" Luna asked.

"Yes," Ginny said before Harry could reply. "You two go first."

Luna gave Ginny a look that wasn't entirely friendly as Harry headed back to the floor, but she moved to stand by Harry's side without a word.

"Are you doing all right?" Harry said under his breath. "You don't have to, if you don't want to."

"No," Luna said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I can do this."

Feeling once again as if he was missing something, Harry raised his wand and demonstrated how to make the kettle dissolve into mist, float through a tiny hole, and reform as an oil lamp on the other side. "Get it?"

Luna nodded. She raised her wand and tried to repeat the spell, but she couldn't manage to get her object to dissolve.

Harry watched as she tried again, and then again. Her hand movement was perfect, her pronunciation correct. He didn't understand why she wasn't getting the spell. From what Ginny said, Luna was normally perfect at Transfiguration.

"Here," Harry said as Luna's fourth attempt failed. "Can I show you again?"

Luna hesitated before saying, "I suppose."

Harry stood behind her, feeling the brush of her shoulders against his chest as he held out his arm. "Put your hand on mine," he said, waiting as Luna slid her warm fingers over his hand, her finger reaching out along his wand in an echo of his stance. "Here we go."

Harry slowly moved his hand into the spell, pushing his magic out along his wand, feeling his body tingle wherever Luna was touching him as the spell spilled out his wand and toward the kettle. Once the object had formed on the other side of the hoop, Harry lowered his wand, but Luna didn't take her hand off his wrist.

"That was pretty cool," he said, hoping his voice wasn't as shaky as he felt. Doing that spell with Luna touching him had felt _good_ , more than regular magic.

Luna twisted around, her shoulder pressing against his arm as she looked up at him. Harry tried to think of something to say, but looking into Luna's wide blue eyes, all coherent thought deserted him. She felt and smelled so good, it was all Harry could do to not lower his head and kiss her.

Suddenly, Luna went up on her toes and pressed her lips to Harry's. Harry instinctively wrapped his arm around her back, pulling her against him as he kissed her back. The kiss was awkward and electric and amazing and terrifying, all rolled into one, and Harry never wanted it to stop.

Just as quickly as she had begun, Luna pulled back, and Harry had to make himself let her go. He blinked, still a little stunned.

Luna pressed her hand over her mouth, eyes huge, then turned and ran out of the room.

"Wait!" Harry called after her. Ginny was already halfway to the door.

"I'll go after her," she said, no trace of anger on her face. Instead, for reasons Harry didn't understand, she looked guilty. "Just..." She stopped trying to talk and ran after Luna.

Harry stood stock still in the centre of the room, confused beyond belief. What had just happened? Luna kissed him, but why?

Mechanically, Harry put things back in order, as he replayed the last few minutes in his head. Everything had just fallen into place, the spell, touching Luna, even the kiss. Everything felt so right.

 _Luna!_ Harry thought. He'd never thought of kissing her before, not really. Certainly not that evening. Not with Ginny standing right there.

Harry's stomach dropped. Ginny has been standing there, watching the whole thing. Ginny, who he had entertained thoughts of kissing. _I'm the world's biggest moron!_ he thought. There was no way Ginny would be interested in him now, after he'd let Luna kiss him like that.

In spite of all that, Harry couldn't feel sorry about kissing Luna. Her lips has been so soft, and she'd felt so tiny in his arms.

Frustrated at himself and everything else, Harry stomped over to retrieve the spell book from the side of the room before leaving in a huff. _How do things get so messed up?_ he wondered as he stalked down the hall. _If I'd been in the library with Hermione and Ron, none of this would have happened._

Harry made it all the way down to the main level of the school and out into the dark courtyard before he came to a halt. He rested his head against the wall. _I'm not sorry Luna kissed me._

But why did she do it? Harry was puzzled. The last time they talked about such things, Luna had indicated that she liked Ginny.

 _Well, Nathaniel's done that, kiss boys and girls and stuff, too,_ he reasoned. _There's nothing wrong with that._

Thinking about Nathaniel drove away a large part of Harry's confusion, replacing it with unease. _I wonder how he's doing?_ Harry thought. It was Wednesday, two days since Nathaniel and Anita had been hurt.

It was so frustrating, being so far away and not being able to call them! Harry toyed with the idea of owling Tonks’ dad, but quickly decided against it. Nathaniel and Anita were personal, not something to be discussed through a man Harry had never met.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Nathaniel and Anita would be fine. They had so many people there supporting them, like Damian and Richard and Jean-Claude and Micah. Olaf was dead, and they weren't in any more danger. They had to be fine. Jason wouldn't lie to him.

After a while, the growing chill drove Harry back inside. He slowly made his way up to the Gryffindor common room. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he got there, but it was almost curfew. The last thing he needed, after getting in trouble for hitting Malfoy the day before, was more detention.

"Harry?"

Ginny's voice froze Harry in his tracks. He slowly turned around. "Um, hi."

Ginny had her arms crossed over her chest, but far from being angry, she looked embarrassed. "Can I talk to you for a few minutes?" she asked.

"Now?" Harry asked.

"Now." She waited until Harry nodded before leading him toward an empty alcove. Once there, she leaned awkwardly against the wall, while Harry dropped his bag to the ground and sat on the window seat.

"How's Luna?" Harry asked after the silence grew painful.

"She's fine," Ginny said quickly. "She-- I mean, what happened was all my fault."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "In what way?" he demanded.

Ginny set her jaw and met his incredulous gaze. "We'd been talking, about you, and I said if she wanted to kiss you, maybe she should."

Harry blinked, speechless.

"It wasn't bad, right?" Ginny said defensively. "You seemed to like it, and she was freaking out because she never kissed a boy before and--"

"Hold it," Harry ordered, standing up. "You told Luna she should kiss me?"

"She told me she liked you!" Ginny said, putting her hands on her hips. "And you're the one who asked her to Hogsmeade!"

"As a friend!" Harry protested. "Why are you pushing her?"

"You weren't pushing her away, were you?" Ginny said, her eyes flashing.

"I never said I didn't like Luna," Harry protested. "I just think that you're the last person who should be pushing Luna into things!"

"Is that a fact?"

"Yeah, that's a fact," Harry said angrily. "You're supposed to be her friend, not making her kiss boys she doesn't want to!"

"She wanted to!" Ginny said loudly. "She started this whole thing by saying she knew how curious I was about how good a kisser you are, and it went from there!"

Harry's lips were already forming a retort when the meaning of her words struck him, and he said something that sounded a bit like "Urgh?"

Ginny's eyes went huge, as if she's only just realized what she said. She took a step back, waving her hands in front of her. "Forget I said that," she ordered weakly. "Just forget it."

"No, I won't forget it," Harry said. His insides were twisting up, and not in a bad way. "You told Luna you wondered if I was a good kisser?"

Ginny looked mutinous for a moment, before saying, "Yes," as stiffly as possible.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "Did you ever think of maybe just asking me how good a kisser I was?"

"No!" Ginny exclaimed. "You know what? Forget we had this conversation." She tried to brush past Harry, but he gently caught her arm. She froze as if someone had petrified her, staring up at Harry.

"I've, um, wondered too," Harry said softly, staring down into Ginny's startled eyes. "You know, about how good a kisser I am."

Ginny smiled before she could stop herself. "This is supposed to be horribly embarrassing," she murmured.

"It is horribly embarrassing," Harry said, smiling wryly. "I'm doing this all wrong and I have no idea what to do next."

"We could go back to the common room and never talk about this again," Ginny suggested.

"We could," Harry agreed, seeing the disappointment in Ginny's face. "But then you'd never get your answer."

"To what?"

"To if I'm a good kisser."

Ginny tried to hide a smile, then broke into a grin. "Luna said you're not bad."

Harry's ego jumped at that. "Good." His smile faded. "Look, about Luna..."

"She's my friend," Ginny said quickly.

"She's my friend too," Harry said. He supposed this was the place to say he wasn't going to kiss Luna again, but he couldn't make himself sat those words out loud.

"Good," Ginny said. "So..."

"So."

Ginny looked at him hard, then said, "Oh, hell," before putting her hands around Harry's neck and pulling him down.

She was a much more active kisser than anyone else Harry had kissed, he thought dizzily. Hands were moving, lips and...

Oh god, was that her tongue?

* * *

By some miracle, Harry and Ginny made it back to the common room before Ron and Hermione. Still breathless and grinning, Ginny gave Harry's hand a squeeze before vanishing up to her dorm.

Harry collapsed onto the couch in front of the fire, oblivious to the chaos around him. _I kissed Ginny. And Luna. I kissed Ginny and Luna. And both of them know. And neither one thinks that's wrong._

_Anita kisses more than one guy and everyone's okay with that._

_I wonder if they'd let me kiss them both at the same time._

_I'm doomed._


	64. No One's Home

Micah's car disappeared down the road, my Nimir-Raj intent on dealing with the latest emergency for the Furry Coalition, but still I didn't go back in the house. I could face what Olaf had done to me in there, it was over and done. What I couldn't handle was the young man cowering in that house.

I took a deep breath, trying to squash down the anxiety. It was Saturday. The Olaf thing had happened on Monday. Almost a week since that day, and we had only just gotten back to the house a couple of hours ago. Apparently, most of the furniture on the main floor was beyond saving and Micah had arranged to have it carted off to the dump. The place almost echoed, uncomfortable in every way.

I gave up and went back into the house, through the hall to the living room. Micah had the carpet replaced, and it seemed strange to me to see the bright white carpet, gleaming snowy underneath the stacked books and boxes. The couches were gone, and without them the room seemed empty.

I wondered when I'd feel safe in here again.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I swung around to see Nathaniel in the doorway to the kitchen. He held several long, flat boxes in his hands, very carefully not looking at me. "What?" I demanded. It came out harsher than I wanted, and Nathaniel flinched.

It had been almost a week. Almost a week since Nathaniel told me in my hospital bed that this whole mess was my fault, almost a week since Nathaniel had spoken more than one sentence to me at a time. He'd spent his time with me, silent, or with Micah and Jason. I'd been told they played cards or read, but every time I had entered the room, Nathaniel got as far away from me as he could.

Now, Nathaniel griped his boxes a little harder before taking two quick steps into the room and laying his handful on the single remaining table. "I thought we could play a game until Micah gets back," he said, voice a bit rushed.

I stared at him. "A board game?" I asked. "You ignore me for a week, won't sit down or relax or anything while I'm near, and all of a sudden you want to play games?" My voice rose as I spoke, all the frustration I'd been having with Nathaniel spilling out.

Nathaniel gripped the side of the heavy wooden table, breathing heavily. Quick as a flash, he flung the table into the empty bookcase across the room. Wood splintered, game pieces scattered over the floor, and then he was gone.

My heart beating so fast it almost hurt, I stood there, frozen. Nathaniel had never been violent around me, ever. I wanted to find him and say I was sorry, but everything I'd done for him all week, every advance, had been rebuffed. I didn't know what to say to make it better.

Maybe I couldn't fix this.

Blindly, I went back outside and stumbled down the stairs. My legs folded and I barely caught myself on the railing, collapsing onto the bottom step.

What if I couldn't fix this? What if Nathaniel would go on hating me? Jean-Claude had asked me if I loved Nathaniel, and I did, I really did, but I didn't know what I could do to make this better. What if he had to leave? What if the only way for him to get better was to leave me?

My cell phone rang in my pocket. Dully, I pulled the thing out and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Anita?"

My mouth dropped open in shock at the sound of the voice. " _Harry?_ " I demanded. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," Harry said, echoing hollow over the line. "How are you doing?"

I blinked hard in the morning sun. "I thought they didn't have phones at your school," I said, feeling a lump forming in the back of my throat. God, I missed him.

"They don't. I told them I was going into Edinburgh to make a call or else I was leaving, and they decided it was better to let me go." I could imagine the sheepish expression on his face at that admission. "But are you all right? How's Nathaniel? How's Damian?"

"Damian's fine, perfectly fine," I said, answering the easiest question first. "He's staying at the Circus for now."

"Anita?" Harry sounded more worried. "What about Nathaniel? What about you? Jason said you'd be fine, but that was almost a week ago."

I stared down at my left hand. The doctors had re-set the bone after I'd hit the wall, and everything had almost healed, except for the shiny scar on my skin. "They say I'll be fine. Thanks to you."

"But what about Nathaniel?" Harry demanded. "Is he okay? He shifted back, right?"

"Yeah." I swallowed hard again. "He's fine, not a single scar. The shift didn't bring back his hair, though." I blinked back tears. "Olaf cut off his hair."

"Oh." Harry was quiet for a moment. "How's he doing with that?"

"I don't know," I said, clenching my fist, ignoring the twinges in my bones. "He won't tell me anything, he won't talk to me about anything and I--" I cut myself off.

"Anita? Anita, are you there?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "I'm here."

"Does Nathaniel have someone to talk to?" Harry asked anxiously. "I thought you guys were like best friends and all that."

I played the fabric on my jeans and gave Harry a shrug he couldn't see. "I guess."

"Maybe he needs to not talk about it?" Harry suggested. "With Cedric, I couldn't talk about it for a long time, and that was okay, until I talked about it with my friends."

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't know how to fix this."

"Maybe you're not supposed to fix it," Harry said. "Maybe Nathaniel has to fix this when he's ready."

I couldn't find anything to say to that, so I changed the subject. "Jason said you saw what happened?" I said. "With Olaf?"

"Didn't you see me?" Harry asked, astonished. "I thought you saw me. You lifted your hand up to me and everything."

"I did see you," I said. "I just wasn't sure if it was real."

"Even Edward saw me!" Harry exclaimed. "He looked right at me!"

"Edward says he saw a dark hovering shape by my head," I clarified. "But he's a magical null, he can't see specters unless they have physical form."

"I told you I was there," Harry said stubbornly. "In this dream, I was there physically."

I was about to agree with him, when something in his words hit me. "What do you mean, 'this dream'? What other dream would we have had? Are you talking about the thing that happened in August?"

Harry swore under his breath. "No."

"Harry, what are you talking about?'

"Okay, if I tell you this, you absolutely cannot tell anyone!"

"Tell anyone what?" I demanded. "What are you rambling about? If this has to do with what happened with Olaf, I have every damned right to know!"

"Anita!"

"I'm not promising anything until you tell me what happened!"

Harry's voice got closer and more muffled, like he'd put his mouth right up to the receiver. "I've been having dreams about stuff you were doing, while you were awake."

I frowned. "How the hell does that work?" I demanded.

"I don't know!" Harry said defensively. "It wasn't my idea! Even trying to block my mind against dreams didn't seem to work. Hermione thinks it might be because of an energy transfer. She's convinced it started after Richard and I helped lift that curse Bellatrix set on you, in the woods, but I can't figure out why."

"That is the weirdest thing I ever heard of!" I said, uncomfortable that Harry had been spying on my waking hours. "Wait, why didn't you want me to tell anyone? What kind of things was I doing?"

Behind the dead silence, I swear I could hear Harry's embarrassment over the line.

"No," I breathed. "Tell me it was while I was raising zombies, or shopping!"

"I didn't mean for it to happen!" Harry exclaimed. "I swear! Just don't tell Nathaniel, okay? Please?"

I dropped my head to my pulled-up knees. "I can't believe this!"

"Well, that's how I was able to see what happened on Monday," Harry said, flustered. "I'm trying to block my dreams better, really."

I swallowed past my mortification. I didn't want to know details of Harry seeing into me having sex with Nathaniel. It's easier to forget, or ignore something, when you don't know details. "Let's concentrate on how you helped me. You did it, obviously, and I don't know how."

"We mixed magic," Harry said quietly. "It was my magic, but it felt like your magic too, all cold. Have you ever done that before with someone else?"

"Only in the cemetery," I said. "What you're describing sounds like I was acting as a focus, channeling your magic through me to increase the power. I haven't ever done that with someone who's not an animator, and certainly not someone half a world away."

"Maybe it was because of Damian?" Harry suggested.

"I have no idea."

There was a clicking on the phone. "Damn!" Harry said. "I'm running out of time on this calling card."

"Are you going to get another?"

"I can't, I have to get back to school. Dumbledore was pretty annoyed that I was leaving in the first place. Are you guys going to be okay? Tell Nathaniel I hope he's going to be okay."

"I will," I said. "Harry, why did you call Elsa about Olaf?"

"Huh? Oh. I don't know, it seemed like the right thing to do, she's a witch, right? And I wondered if the men she sent to the States had anything to do with it, but she said that wasn't it."

"How did you know Christopher sent two of his wererats to St. Louis?" I asked suspiciously. "That only happened after I got back. Have you been talking to Elsa?"

"She cornered me in Hogsmeade, it was noting," Harry said, defensive. "She just wanted to see me and be all gothic witchy mysterious, you know? But it's fine!

Another click. We were running out of time. "Harry, you be careful," I said. "Don't do anything stupid, okay, we're fine, I promise."

"Okay," Harry said. "Just help Nathaniel, okay? Tell him I'm coming home for Christmas break and I've got loads to tell him so he has to be okay, all right?"

"I will," I agreed. "I miss you," I added impulsively, but the line had gone dead. Had Harry even heard me?

I did miss Harry, and not the fact that he seemed to pull our asses out of the fire all the time. He was a good kid. A good friend, I corrected. Someone I could talk to that made sense, most of the time.

Slowly, I closed my phone and looked out at the morning. The lawn was getting a bit long, the plants starting to wither as October settled upon us. I didn't want to go back into that house, didn't want to try to deal with Nathaniel again.

Harry's words came back to me. Maybe I couldn't fix this. Maybe Nathaniel had to fix this. I had to be there for him. It had taken me a while to understand how much I loved Nathaniel, how much I would do for him. What I was feeling now wasn't just the guilt that I'd let him get hurt, although that was there.

I just had to figure out what he needed. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and went back into the house.

I couldn't hear anyone moving. Brand new resolve aside, I had no idea what to do with Nathaniel. As I thought, I went into the living room and tried to pick up the table, but it was broken beyond repair, as was the bookshelf. It was easy to forget how strong lycanthropes could be, until they started throwing furniture around.

I gave up on the table and stepped over a pile of Scrabble tiles to get to the game boxes. Sorting out a zillion tiny game pieces took some time, but unfortunately didn't help me clear my mind. Not a lot.

Nathaniel had never wanted to play games before. Not this kind. Sure, he loved playing house, doing things like you see in sitcoms and those old family shows on TV, but I didn't know he wanted to play Scrabble. But then, I'd never asked him about it.

I gathered up the boxes and took them into the kitchen. I'd put them on the island, scrubbed sparkling clean by the clean-up crew, before I spotted Nathaniel huddled by the French doors. He was staring blankly at the spot where the kitchen table had been.

Zerbrowski told me the table was a mess. Micah had gotten rid of it. I'd never seen it. Had it happened in here, what Olaf did to Nathaniel?

I took a deep breath. I might not be able to fix Nathaniel, but I had to be able to help him in some way, right? Carefully, I walked over to Nathaniel and knelt down about a foot away. "Hey," I said. He didn't move. "I, um... I'm sorry about the games. I guess I wasn't comfortable being back here, and I had no right to take it out on you."

Nathaniel didn't respond.

"So," I said, looking around. "Do you want some coffee?" My old coffee maker was gone, but there was a new one, still in the box, on the counter. "I can make us coffee."

Nathaniel pulled his legs up to his chest. "No," he muttered.

"Oh. Okay." I sat back on my heels, then stood. Where the hell was Micah when I needed him? Oh, right, I'd told him to go to work.

I took a deep breath. I could do this. Keeping an eye on Nathaniel, I pulled the gift tag off the box, sent from Jean-Claude, of course, and unpacked the expensive machine. Washing it took a bit of time, as did rooting around in the freezer for the coffee beans. I read the instruction manual several times, then added water and hit the button. It lit up like a small nuclear reactor, but it seemed to work.

While the coffee brewed, I looked around the kitchen. We really needed a table and some chairs. The living room could wait, but I didn't relish the idea of standing up for every meal.

The machine beeped, startlingly loud in the silent kitchen. I rooted around in the cupboard before pulling out my favorite penguin mug. I didn't bother with cream or sugar, just poured a cup and took one sip of the rich dark liquid, then another.

As I drank, I came to a decision. Setting my mug down, I went to the cupboard and pulled out a phone book, rifling through the pages before I was even back to the counter.

"Are... are you going somewhere?" Nathaniel asked nervously.

I gave him a small nod. "We'll deal with the rest of the house tomorrow, but right now I need a kitchen table and chairs." I wrote down the address of a furniture store on a slip of paper, and shoved it in my pocket.

"Oh." Nathaniel stood and stared out the glass door, a dejected slump to his shoulders. I still wasn't used to seeing him without all that auburn hair covering his back, and a tiny shaft of grief straightened my spine.

"So get your shoes," I continued. "We can be back before Micah gets home."

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder at me. "What are you talking about?"

I paused in scribbling a note to Micah. "I mean, let's go. It shouldn't take us too long. Unless you want to stay here?"

Nathaniel ran a hand through his hair, not answering me. I finished my note, left it in plain view on the counter, and went over to him. He'd shied away from any attempt I'd made over the last week to touch him, and I didn't try again.

"Do you want to stay here?" I asked gently. Nathaniel kept staring out the window. In this light, his eyes were a crystalline amethyst, so heartbreakingly unreal. Every line in his face was perfect, but cold and distant. I don't think I'd ever realize how warmly he'd looked at me until that look was gone.

I stepped back, unable to look at him any longer. Suddenly, I had to get out of there, away from any reminder of what happened to him and to me.

"I'll be in the car, I'm leaving in five minutes," I said. "You can come if you want, it's up to you."

I hurried out of the kitchen, grabbing my jacket on the way out the front door. Was I doing the right thing? Maybe I was rushing him. Maybe I should have offered Nathaniel another option, called someone to come over and stay with him while I was gone.

I hesitated with my hand on the car door, but finally I climbed into the jeep. I'd sit out here for a few minutes, then if Nathaniel hadn't joined me, I'd go back and get him. That was okay, right? Giving him space if he needed it?

Automatically, I slipped the keys into the ignition. Was this what Nathaniel needed? How was I supposed to know if he wouldn't talk to me? I thought I'd been getting to understand him over the last few years, but right now, I was drawing a total blank. I really wished I could ask someone about this, but Micah was busy with work and Jean-Claude hadn't woken up for the day.

Would Nathaniel want me to leave him alone to make this decision? The uncomfortable sensation in my chest intensified as I thought about that. I'd left Nathaniel alone in that room where Olaf had cut him up, just like that. Oh, God, what the hell was I thinking?

I grabbed my keys and was about to open my door to go back in the house, when the passenger door opened. Nathaniel stiffly slipped into the seat, eyes straight ahead. He didn't say a word.

I waited for a minute, then put the key back in the ignition. "So, you want to come with me?" I asked, angry at myself for expecting Nathaniel to act like me.

Nathaniel gave a tiny nod, never looking at me, as he put on his seatbelt.

I realized I wasn't going to get anything else out of him. Hoping the shopping trip wasn't a bad idea, I started the car. I knew where I was going, and only half my mind was on the road. What should I say? Micah would know what to say, so would Jason. I tried to remember what Nathaniel would want to do. Sometimes, when he was driving, he liked to listen to the radio. Maybe he'd like that now.

Taking my hand off the gearshift, I turned on the radio. I didn't recognize the station, which meant it was probably one Nathaniel had picked the last time he was in here. I turned the volume up a bit, so he could hear the music, and settled back into my seat. Nathaniel turned to look out the side window, away from me. His hair curled over the edge of the collar of his shirt. He'd switched shirts before he came out here, from a t-shirt to a crisp button-up dark green cotton shirt. Above the shirt, his auburn hair glowed in the morning sun.

"I like your shirt," I said tentative. No response. I swallowed the growing frustration. I wasn't cut out for this. How much of this could I put up with before I started snapping at him, even knowing the reason for his behavior?

The rest of the trip was silent.

* * *

Nathaniel trailed after me into the furniture store. It was the same place I'd bought my sofa a few years before, not overly pretentious. We made our way over to the corner of the store with tables on display. Nathaniel didn't seem to be looking at anything, but I decided to try again. "What about this one?" I asked, pointing at a nice round wooden table. It looked almost identical to our old one.

After a long minute, Nathaniel shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

I counted to ten. "What about a square table?" I suggested. "Something in glass? Oak? Metal?"

A salesperson was hurrying toward us, and I instinctively stepped between him and Nathaniel. "Can I help you?" the guy asked, his eyes flicking to Nathaniel, then back to me. "Are you looking for a table?"

"Yes," I said shortly.

The guy beamed at me, like I'd solved a complex math problem. Maybe coming down here in this kind of mood was a bad idea. "Dinning room table?" he asked.

"Kitchen," I said. "Maybe something like that." I pointed at random to an oval wood table.

"Wonderful choice!" the salesman beamed. While he nattered on about finishes and leaves, I noticed a family with a couple of teenagers walking past. The woman was staring at me and Nathaniel, open-mouthed. Her husband noticed, and yanked her past in a hurry.

What the hell was that about? Looking around, I saw a few other people in the store staring at us. I was used to a bit of attention; with my job, Bert made sure I was in the media eye, and I got caught on tape a lot as a federal marshal. But people weren't looking at me: they were staring at Nathaniel.

Nathaniel's fingers gripped his arms so hard that his nails had gone white. He noticed me looking at him, and abruptly held out his hand. "Keys?" he demanded.

"What--" I tried to say, but he cut me off.

"I'll be in the car," he said forcefully.

Not sure what else to do, I handed Nathaniel my keychain. He snatched it out of my hand and walked off, not looking back.

Pressing my lips together, I turned back to the salesman. He was frowning, as if having people interrupt him hadn't ever happened before. "Look," I said. "You've got ten minutes to sell me a table. No more spiels, not fancy talk, just tables. Okay?"

"Okay," he gulped. "How big is your kitchen?"

* * *

I was out of the store in less than nine minutes. No one bothered me as I strode across the parking lot to my jeep. Nathaniel was hunched over in the passenger seat when I opened my door and got into the seat.

"They're going to deliver the table in about an hour," I said as a greeting, holding out my hand for the keys. I almost didn't notice his hesitation, as I stowed the papers from the store on the dash. "Gives us enough time for some lunch, if you want. Sandwiches or..."

My voice trailed off as something wet and sticky brushed over my plan. I looked at my keys, not understanding for a moment why my palm was bloody.

No, I thought dizzily, not my hand. My keys were covered in blood.

The question of 'how' died on my lips as I looked over at Nathaniel. He had one hand covering his opposite wrist, but in the enclosed space of the car, the smell of blood was overpowering. I didn't know how I'd missed it before.

"Show me," I said, dropping my keys. Nathaniel didn't move. "Show me!" I shouted, reaching over and prying his hand away.

There was too much blood for me to see properly, but it looked as if he'd carved a line in the flesh across the back of his wrist, in almost the same place as his hand had been severed by Olaf.

"Fuck!" I dove for the glove compartment, grabbing a handful of take-out napkins and pushing them against Nathaniel's bleeding wrist. "Hold this!" I ordered. Nathaniel obeyed me, which dimly surprised me. I scrambled out of the car and dashed around to the back of the jeep where I kept the first-aid kit. My hands shook as I grabbed the box, so badly that I dropped it on the ground.

Stop freaking out! I told myself, picking up the box. Don't think about why Nathaniel's trying to cut off his own hand with your house key, don't think about it at all, keep breathing.

Nathaniel hadn't moved when I got back in the jeep. I popped open the first-aid kit on my lap and pulled out some gauze. "Give me your hand," I ordered, my voice shaking. Without a word, Nathaniel extended his arm, still holding the napkins.

I brushed his other hand aside, and gently pried the blood-soaked paper up. The wound, which was deeper than I thought, still bled profusely. I pressed the gauze over Nathaniel's wrist. If his lycanthropic healing was working right, then that cut had been even deeper before I got back to the car, probably almost down to the bone. My hands shook as I taped the gauze in place. He'd heal in a few minutes. He'd be fine in a few minutes.

"Is there anything else?" I asked, getting angry. When Nathaniel didn't answer, I had to restrain the almost-visceral urge to reach over and shake him. "Is there anything else?" I shouted.

"No!" Nathaniel shouted back, jerking his hand away and holding it over his heart. "Leave me alone!"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw things. But if I started on that now, I don't think I'd ever be able to stop. Instead, using every ounce of self-control I had in me, I very carefully pulled a few alcohol wipes out of the first-aid kit before closing it, and placing it in the back seat.

I'd told myself that I'd do anything for Nathaniel, but I couldn't deal with this. I couldn't deal with him mutilating himself like this, shoving me away.

I wiped the blood off my keys before inserting the key into the ignition and starting the vehicle. I didn't trust myself to look at Nathaniel right now.

We drove home in silence. I was too afraid I'd ruin thing irrevocably between us if I opened my mouth. I'm not sure what his excuse was.

* * *

At home, Nathaniel was out of the jeep before it was even stopped. I let him go. I was almost sick to my stomach, trying to figure out how to help him, but under it all was an emotion that I didn't even want to name. I sat in the jeep, staring at the blood-soaked napkins on the floor, as the unwanted thought forced its way into my head.

I was tired. Tired of trying and being pushed away. Tired of wanting to help and not knowing how, resenting this helplessness and guilt.

I loved Nathaniel, I did. It had taken me so long to get to this point, welcoming him into my life, but now I was starting to wonder if it was enough.

I didn't know what to do.

In my jacket pocket, my cell phone started ringing again. "Hello?" I said when I got it open.

"Are you okay?" Micah asked, immediately concerned.

"Why?"

"You sound like something's wrong."

I looked away from the scattered bloody evidence of Nathaniel's self-mutilation. "I don't know," I said finally, closing my eyes.

"Do you want me to come home?" he asked.

Over the phone, I could hear voices in the background. "What are you doing?" I asked, trying to deflect his question.

"I'm with one of the werewolves, he's having custody problems again, but I can come home if you need me."

I wanted him here, to deal with Nathaniel, but I couldn't pull him away from his work. Other people were having problems, not just me and Nathaniel. "No, we'll be fine," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "You stay there."

"Anita..."

"Things will be fine," I said. "I'll see you when you get home."

Reluctantly, Micah said goodbye and hung up. I put my phone in my pocket and slowly got out of the jeep. The walk up to the front of the house had never seemed to take as long, but finally I got to the porch steps. Nathaniel was leaning on the wall by the door. In the sun, I could see how much blood he'd gotten on himself, soaked all down the front of his jeans and painting his shirt black.

Clenching my jaw, I unlocked the front door, and stood there with my hand on the latch. "Nathaniel, I think we need to talk," I began. As soon as I opened my mouth, Nathaniel pushed himself off the wall and knocked my hand away to open the door. He was inside before I could figure out what to do next.

I was not a patient person, I knew that. But somehow, when Nathaniel had pushed me aside, like I was nothing, all the frustration and pain and guilt in me twisted, going straight toward anger.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I followed him to the bedroom. He was already stripping off his jeans when I got to the doorway.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I demanded. "What the hell kind of sick game are you playing?"

Nathaniel pulled on clean pants, hands moving quickly. "This isn't a game," he said, sounding as angry as I felt.

"No fucking kidding!" I shouted, gripping the doorframe hard. It was the only solid thing I had right now. "Trying to saw off your hand with a house key isn't any kind of game!"

He whirled on me, so much fury in his eyes that I actually took a step back. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the doorbell rang.

Nathaniel flinched back against the wall, abject terror on his face. His eyes unfocused as he curled in on himself. If he hadn't been at the wall, I think he might have fallen over.

Before I could figure out what to do, he straightened up, wiping the fear away, to be replaced by a face so completely devoid of any emotion that it frightened me even more. "You'd better get the door," he said.

"It's the movers with the table," I said quickly.

"Then you'd better get the door." As he continued to speak in that dead voice, he picked up his dirty t-shirt from this morning off the floor and pulled it over his head.

The doorbell rang again. I swore under my breath. "I'll be right back," I promised, dashing down the hall. I looked through the door peephole, my hand on the butt of my holstered gun. All I could see were two bored delivery guys balancing a large table.

As soon as I opened the door, one of them said, "Delivery for Anita Blake?"

"That's me," I replied. "Leave it out on the porch."

The other guy raised his eyebrows, snapping his gum. "We're supposed to take it in for you, part of the delivery fee."

"Leave it on the porch," I repeated curtly. "You're still getting paid."

The first guy jerked his head, and together he and his buddy moved the table around the porch, out of the way, then went back to their truck for the chairs. I signed their delivery sheet and handed them a twenty, then waited impatiently for them to drive away.

As soon as their taillights vanished around the corner, I slammed the door shut. When I turned around, Nathaniel was leaning on the wall against the wall, watching me.

"Nathaniel, what's going on?" I asked, trying to breathe, trying to keep my voice low and helpful. "Is there anything I can do?"

Nathaniel shook his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes.

I walked a bit closer. "There has to be something," I pressed. "At least let me try, please."

I stopped next to him and put my hand on his arm. Always before, Nathaniel craved physical comfort, the wereleopard in him wanting touch. Now, he stared at my hand like it was a poisonous snake.

"Nathaniel--"

He whirled around, spinning me with him until my back hit the wall. In a blur, I saw his fist flying toward me and instinctively put my arms up to protect my face.

The sound of the wall breaking was deafening. It took my body a minute to realize it hadn't been hit; the noise itself was like a physical blow. Shaking, I lowered my arms.

Nathaniel pulled his fist out of the wall, plaster dust hanging in the air as he placed his hands flat on the wall on either side of me. "Just leave. Me. Alone." He pushed off the wall and ran up the stairs.

My knees gave out, and I slid down to the floor. The plaster dust tickled the inside of my nose, but I didn't sneeze. I couldn't do anything. Couldn't help Nathaniel, couldn't make this all better.

Nathaniel had never raised a threatening hand to me. He'd shaken me, once, when I was about to get hysterical, but that was it. He'd never thrown a table across the room, never punched a wall beside my head, never screamed at me to leave him alone.

Everything I tried to do to help, only made it worse. Maybe I couldn't help Nathaniel fix himself.

I pulled my legs up to my chest, squeezing myself into a tight ball, as if I could keep myself from falling apart. There was no noise upstairs. I didn't know what Nathaniel was doing. Maybe that was the point. What if I was hurting him more?

I stared at the hall floor. It took me a few minutes to realize that this was where I'd fallen after I'd come into the house, that day with Olaf. Where I'd fallen, helpless and unable to move.

I sat there for a very long time. The sunlight patterns on the carpet had slowly crept across the floor, climbed over my toes, and vanished into shadows when finally a key turned in the lock, and Micah walked through the door.

"Anita," he called, looking back outside over his shoulder, "Why is there a table on the porch?" He swung his head around as he finished, going still when he saw me. Quick as a flash, he dropped the bag in his hand and was on the carpet beside me, touching my face, my arms. "Are you okay?" he demanded. "What happened?"

I blinked up at him, trying to remember how to talk. "I messed things up," I said, brushing away tears that welled up in my eyes. "I tried to help Nathaniel, but everything got all fucked up."

Micah sat back on his heels. "So why is there a hole in the wall? Why is there plaster in your hair?"

I shook my head.

"Are you hurt?" Micah demanded. "I can smell blood."

"It's not mine," I said, hugging my knees tighter. "Nathaniel... he hurt himself in the car." I wasn't able to tell Micah that Nathaniel had tried to cut off his hand with my keys.

"Where is he?" Micah asked, sitting back on his heels. "Is he upstairs?"

"Micah, leave him alone," I said. "He wants to be alone."

Micah ignored me, heading up the stairs. I shakily stood up, pulling myself up on the banister. I strained to hear, but couldn't hear a thing.

After a few long minutes, Micah came back down stairs. His face had that blank expression he used when he was trying to hide his emotions. He spotted me looking at him, and gave me a small smile. "I brought home some lunch, in case you were hungry," he said.

"Is Nathaniel okay?" I asked. "Is he upset?"

Micah paused, then put his hand on my arm. "Anita."

I stepped away from him. "It's a legitimate question," I snapped. "I'm still his Nimir-Ra, I have a right to know about that."

Micah looked at me with his yellow-green eyes, worry in his gaze. "Physically, he's fine."

I nodded. When I could speak, I said, "We should move the table into the house. Get it off the porch."

"Anita, what happened?" Micah asked. "When I left, things weren't nearly this bad."

"I don't know," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "Maybe it's me, maybe I'm the one who's keeping him like this."

"Anita, that's not true," Micah chided. "You're not hurting him."

"Well, I'm sure as hell not helping."

"Maybe you should reconsider Jean-Claude's offer for tonight," Micah said.

"What, go over there for dinner?" I asked. "I just spent a week at the Circus."

"But you didn't spend it with Jean-Claude," Micah pointed out. "You should go, just you and him. Give yourself a little space."

I looked at the hole in the wall, my insides twisting. I didn't want to leave Nathaniel for that long, even if I was only going to be across town. The thought of being so physically far away from him almost hurt.

But he didn't want me around. He wanted space. Maybe that was the best I could do for him.

"Maybe I will," I said reluctantly.

Micah kissed me on the forehead. "I'm sure things will be fine," he said.

I wanted to scream at him that things weren't fine, Nathaniel was putting his hand through walls and mutilating himself and not letting me in, but instead I shook my head. "We should move the table."

"Anita..."

"Just let it go, Micah."

Shrugging, Micah opened the door wide and went out to porch. "Come on, we can deal with this thing together," he said, putting his hand on the table.

* * *

I was finishing the final touches on my mascara when I heard a tap on the bathroom door. "Yes?"

Micah poked his head into the room. "Asher's here."

I put the mascara back on the counter and turned around. "Why?"

Micah shrugged. "He said he's your escort."

"Escort," I repeated. I tied my bathrobe tighter. "I don't need a bloody escort to the Circus!"

"Tell him yourself, he's in the bedroom," Micah said, ducking back out of the bathroom.

A growl on my lips, I stormed out of the steamy bathroom and down to the hall. I flung open the bedroom door, to find Asher poking through my closet. "Asher!"

The golden-haired vampire turned around lazily. "Ah, Anita. What are you going to wear this evening?"

I hurried over to him, brushing his hands off my clothes. "What are you doing here?"

Asher reached around me to draw a dark red dress out into the light. "I am to assist you in any way, cherie." He gave me a sly smile. "And at this rate, you will be needing all the help you can get."

I yanked the dress out of his hands and threw it on the bed. "Is this some kind of fucking crack about how I can't protect myself?" I demanded.

The amusement was wiped off Asher's face. "No, not at all," he said, somber. "Jean-Claude expressed a desire for your safety tonight, and I offered my services."

"Why?"

He turned away from me, cold and aloof. "I can see I was in error, I will leave."

I caught his arm. "No, Asher, wait." I took a step around him so I could see into those beautiful ice-blue eyes. "I am glad to see you, it was a bit of a surprise. I hardly saw you at all this week."

"Jean-Claude expressed the need to spend his time with you, this week," Asher said, the cold frost thawing a little. "I was taking care of the businesses."

I put my other hand on his arm in a caress. "Thank you," I said, smiling. "That means a lot."

Hesitantly, Asher smiled back at me. "I must confess, I had an ulterior motive in offering my services tonight," he said.

"Oh, really?"

"Really." Asher took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles. "To spend an uninterrupted twenty minutes with you, that is all I ask."

I sighed. "Okay. But if there's any trouble, I can deal with it."

Asher nodded, hair falling over the scars on his face. "As you wish."

I hesitated, then reached up to brush his hair back. Going up on my toes, I pressed my lips to his. His hands went around my back, deepening the kiss. His lips were silky and cool under mine, a delicate kiss. He hadn't fed tonight.

Slowly, he released me. A strange haunted expression lingered in his eyes, but I didn't push him. Giving him another smile, I went over to the closet as he lounged on the end of the bed. "What will you wear tonight?" he asked.

"I could wear a burlap sack and Jean-Claude would be happy to see me," I said, flipping through my clothing.

"But that would not nearly be as much fun," Asher said, fiddling with the red dress on the bed.

"When was the last time you wore a burlap sack?" I asked, shaking my head and going over to pull the red dress out of Asher's hands.

He pretended to think about this. "Four hundred year ago, give or take. It itched."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Vampires can itch?"

"They can when wearing burlap."

I rooted through my underwear drawer until I found a matching bra and panties. "Get out, so I can get dressed."

"Oh, do not mind me."

I gave Asher a look. "You're usually around for me taking them off, but putting the clothes on isn't as much fun."

Asher leaned back farther, settling in. "I am willing to forgo the fun."

"Have it your way."

Getting dressed wasn't really that big a production. With my makeup and hair done, the most time-intensive thing was the garter belt and hose. After I slipped into the panties and bra, I slid the dress over my head.

"Can you help me zip this up?" I asked Asher, going over to the bed.

He sat up slowly. Putting his hands on my hips, he turned me around, then slowly drew the zipper up my back. When he was finished, he stood and wrapped his arms around me in an embrace.

"What's up?" I whispered, leaning back against him.

"It used to take Julianna hours to prepare for a night out," he said. "Corsets and petticoats and so many layers. She seldom let me watch; whenever I did, we became... distracted."

I turned around and put my arms around his waist. I didn't know what to say. I could count the number of times he had mentioned Julianna to me. Even after three hundred years, that pain was too raw.

"And then, Jean-Claude almost losing you..." Asher kissed the top of my head. "You are not mine, Anita, but to have you taken from me--"

I pulled back and put my finger on his lips. "Shh." I moved my finger and kissed him gently. "Whatever happens, I do love you."

Asher quirked an unhappy smile at me, then kissed my cheek. "We should be on our way," he said. "Jean-Claude awaits."

"Asher."

"I heard you, ma cherie," he said, stepping away. "But you will forgive me. I would rather not speak of this further."

I bit back a sigh. "Then we should be on our way."

I watched Asher take a moment to rebuild himself. "Shall I drive, then?" he asked, back to his old self.

"No." I breezed out into the hall, Asher on my heels. "I'm driving."

Micah came out of the kitchen as I was stepping into my high heels. "You two on your way?" he asked, a book in his hand. He saw me, and a slow grin spread across his face. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," I said, going to him. In these shoes, I was an inch taller than him and I had to lean down to kiss him. "Is everything going to be okay?" I asked when we broke apart.

"Things will be fine," Micah said.

I glanced at the ceiling. Nathaniel was still upstairs. "Call me if anything goes wrong," I instructed, slipping into a coat. I'd trained them well; neither Asher or Micah offered to help me. "I'll have my cell."

"Anita, it'll be fine," Micah repeated. "Just go. We'll see you tomorrow morning."

I sighed. "I guess. I mean, it's just dinner with Jean-Claude. What could go wrong?"

* * *

I stared up at the stone ceiling, sheet pulled up over my breasts. "I'm sorry," I said for the fifth time.

Jean-Claude rolled onto his side, looking down at me. "Ma petite, it is nothing to apologize about. It happens to everyone."

I closed my eyes. "Spare me the impotency speech, okay?" I snapped.

Jean-Claude sighed. "You have a lot on your mind," he said. "It is all right. Perhaps it is too soon."

"This isn't some kind of Olaf trauma," I said, flinging off the sheet and going to the bathroom. My silk robe was hanging on a hook, and I pulled it on. I didn't want to be naked right now, even around Jean-Claude. My return to the bed was much slower.

Jean-Claude had propped himself up against the headboard, sheet pooling in his lap. His cross-shaped burn scar seemed dark against his pale chest. He held out his hand to me, and reluctantly I climbed back onto the bed, letting him draw me against his chest. "Will you hear me out?" he whispered against my hair. I nodded. "You have healed physically, ma petite, but much happened to you."

"But I have to be fine!" I said. "Olaf's dead, he can't hurt me anymore."

Jean-Claude stroked my hair. "You are not the only one who was hurt, ma petite."

I toyed with the end of the robe sash. "Is this about Nathaniel?" I asked quietly.

"Oui." Jean-Claude's arms tightened around me.

"Do you know why he's acting like this?"

"Non," Jean-Claude confessed. "But it is different from his past reactions to traumatic situations."

I pushed away from Jean-Claude, sitting up. "You can't be serious!" I exclaimed. "That's because this is so different from anything else!"

"Nathaniel has had many bad things happen to him, ma petite, over many years. This is only the latest in a line of many horrific things."

I scrambled up off the bed, pacing across the floor because if I didn't move, I think I'd have exploded. "Don't you ever talk about him like that!" I hugged myself through the thin robe. "This isn't a fucking sliding scale of damage! You didn't see what happened to him, you can't compare this to anything!"

Jean-Claude slid out of the bed. He was naked, but it so didn't matter any more. "Ma petite, I apologize," he said.

I shook my head, hard and fast. "You can't talk about him like he's a robot, he's not. He's a human being, with feeling and all that shit and you can't expect him to be fine!"

Jean-Claude grabbed me as I passed him. I tried to twist away, but he would not let me go. "Ma petite, I am sorry."

I tried one more time to push away, then collapsed against him. "I don't know what I'm going to do," I said in a tiny voice. "I don't know how to help him."

Jean-Claude guided me back to the bed. He sat me down, then retrieved his own midnight-blue robe. Kneeling in front of me, he cupped my cheek in his hand. "It will need time," he said.

"How much time?"

"I do not know."

I touched the collar of his robe, so I didn't have to look into his eyes. "What if..." I swallowed and tried again. "What if I can't fix this? What if there's nothing I can do?"

Jean-Claude caught my hand. "I do not believe that is the case, ma petite." He turned my hand over and kissed my palm, right over the nail scar. "I believe that your heart is big enough--"

He was interrupted by a heavy knocking at the door. I turned around, frowning. "Who is it?" I asked Jean-Claude.

"It is Asher," Jean-Claude said, moving toward the door. He flung it open to reveal Asher on the other side. They bent their heads together for a moment, speaking softly in French. Before I could protest, Asher nodded and Jean-Claude closed the door.

"What's going on?" I demanded. "No one ever interrupts us unless it's a real emergency, what's wrong?"

Jean-Claude sat beside me on the bed. "Asher came to pass on a message."

"What message?"

"That Nathaniel is here," Jean-Claude said.

I shot to my feet. "What's wrong? Is he hurt? Where is he?" I asked on my way to the door.

"Anita, wait." Jean-Claude's voice froze me in place. Why was he using my name? He never did that unless there was a problem. "Nathaniel is with Jason. He did not ask for you."

I blinked at Jean-Claude, not understanding. "He wouldn't go to Jason if there was trouble," I said slowly.

"I do not believe he is in trouble," Jean-Claude said.

I pulled my robe tighter. "I'm going to go see why he's here."

"Ma petite, I believe this may be a bad idea."

I stopped for a moment to glare at him. "Don't tell me what to do," I said before I stormed out of the room.

The walk to Jason's room had never seemed so long. Questions bounced around in my head. What was wrong? Why hadn't Micah called me if there was a problem? Why had Nathaniel gone to Jason and not found me, if there was a problem?

Finally, I knocked on Jason's door. The movement swung the door inward, and I saw Nathaniel standing by the far wall, his back to me. Then Jason opened the door wider. "Hi," he said, rather grim.

I looked between him and Nathaniel. "Is something wrong?" I asked. "Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel's shoulders stiffened, then slowly he turned around, arms crossed over his chest. "No, nothing's wrong," he said flippantly, tossing his head to get his hair out of his eyes. The stare he was giving me was cold, unlike anything I'd ever seen from him before. "Nothing at all."

"Oh." I clenched my fingers into my robe, anxiety gnawing at my stomach. "Okay." Nathaniel kept staring at me. Flustered, I stepped back. "Sorry." Another step, and I backed into Jean-Claude, who had apparently followed me. Suddenly, everyone's eyes on me felt like too much, and I pushed past Jean-Claude and sped down the hall.

Back in Jean-Claude's room, the claustrophobia didn't let up. I quickly turned on every light, but chasing the darkness away didn't help.

The door closed softly, and Jean-Claude walked towards me. "Ma petite--"

"Don't," I warned him. "Don't stand there and tell me that things are going to be all right, or he just needs time, okay? Things aren't going to be all right!"

I pushed my hair back with my left hand, the bones aching as I clenched my fist tight, trying hard not to panic with the walls pressing in at me.

"What would you have of me?" Jean-Claude asked after a few minutes.

"I don't know," I said, taking a deep breath. If I concentrated on breathing, then it wasn't quite so bad.

"Would you like to lie down?"

I shook my head. "I think I'd like to be alone for a while," I said, not able to look at him. "Maybe get some sleep."

"As you wish," Jean-Claude said, a trifle reluctantly. "Is there anything else you require?"

So many things, I wanted to say, but nothing Jean-Claude could give me. I shook my head again. He came over and kissed me on the cheek, running a hand down my back. Then he was gone.

The pressure eased a little once I was alone in the room. I crept over to the bed and climbed on top of the messy sheets. The air was chilly, but I didn't reach for the blanket. No blanket had been warm enough over the last week Micah had slept beside me like always, but without Nathaniel in my bed, I could never get warm enough to sleep.

Slowly, I pulled a pillow to my stomach and curled up around it. I hated feeling like this, lost and guilty and afraid. I hated to think about how much I needed Nathaniel. He'd slowly wormed his way into my life, making me depend on him and need him and finally love him. That was what was making all this so hard. I loved him, had spent most of my free time in his company for over a year, and now he was pushing me away.

That was the thing about love. When you loved someone, it wasn't candles and romance -- the other person had a piece of your soul, that they could use to hurt you with. There was no taking it back, no switch to throw or button to push to stop loving someone. They had you forever. Even if that love warped into hate, they still had you.

Did Nathaniel blame me for what happened? He hadn't said anything since that day in the hospital, but he'd been pushing me away, ignoring me. Before today, however, he had never been so cold towards me. Almost like he didn't care anymore.

Almost. When I closed my eyes, I could see the look of utter terror on his face when the doorbell rang. Was he flashing back to Olaf? What Olaf had done to him? Or how I hadn't been there to save him?

I curled up tighter around the pillow. I was so tired. Of feeling guilty, unable to help the man I loved. I was fine with everything else that happened with Olaf, I had to be. I'd been hurt before. My hands were healing, my side didn't ache any longer. And if my magic had been ripped away... I shook my head. Having my magic taken away had left me vulnerable, yes, but I'd faced bad guys before without my magic.

Would it even have helped? If I had been able to call upon my necromancy with Olaf, what would I have done? The magic I'd learned in New Mexico, from Itzpapalotl, Obsidian Butterfly, to drain a person's power, wouldn't have worked until Olaf was touching me, and by the time he'd have been touching me, I might have been too hurt to do anything.

There had to be some other way for me to use my magic to protect myself and Nathaniel. Something else I could have done. Something...

Chills prickled down my spine as an idea, a horrible idea, occurred to me. That magic I had sought from John Burke, Bokor Majeur, the kind Jean-Claude had flatly forbidden me from using... that I could have used. I could have done something to save Nathaniel, save myself.

No! I screamed in my head, burying my face in the pillow. I knew why I hadn't gone looking for more about Bokor Majeur; it was the same reason I'd let Zerbrowski keep me at the police station as Olaf's body was being cremated. I couldn't walk down that road. I wasn't evil. I wouldn't do evil things...

Not even to protect Nathaniel?

I tried to breathe around the pounding of my heart in my throat. I couldn't do that, I couldn't. Not even if Nathaniel hated me forever, I wouldn't open myself up to evil temptation like that.

I tried to banish those thoughts from my head. After a while, I could breathe again, but I didn't let go of my death-grip on the pillow.

As cold as I was, the dark edge of sleep was pulling at me. The thought of going to sleep by myself, all alone, hurt, but the only person I wanted to hold onto was currently in Jason's room, cold and untouchable.

Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow was another day, and I'd try again. Nathaniel might freak out at the sight of me, but I had to believe there was some part of him that still loved me.

"Tomorrow," I whispered, putting my cheek on top of the pillow.

Distantly, I thought I heard the door creak open. I didn't bother to roll over, hoping that whatever Jean-Claude wanted, he'd get it and leave quickly.

"Anita?"

It sounded like Nathaniel's voice. I opened my eyes and blinked. Had I been dreaming?

"Are.... are you awake?"

I rolled over. Nathaniel was standing just inside the door, staring at his shoes.

Ignoring the sudden surge of hope, I slowly sat up. "Yeah, I'm awake," I said. "What do you want?"

Nathaniel didn't say anything for so long that I slumped down on the bed, holding the pillow tight to my chest. Finally, he said, "Can I come in?"

I restrained myself from pointing out that he was already in the room. "If you want."

Carefully, Nathaniel closed the door, then shuffled across the floor to the bed. He sat on the very edge, as far away from me as he could.

I wanted to ask him why he was here, but I knew that if I opened my mouth right now, I'd say something unfortunate. So, I waited in that increasingly uncomfortable silence for him to speak.

This Nathaniel was a totally different person from the one I'd seen in Jason's room. That Nathaniel had been cold, distant. This Nathaniel was almost cowering, not looking at me. After a while, he balled the blanket up in his hand, then smoothed it down on the bed.

"Jason called Micah," he said eventually.

"Why would Jason call Micah?" I asked, frowning.

Nathaniel tried to make himself even smaller, curling up against the bedpost. "Because I took his car without asking?"

I restrained the urge to shake him, to get him talking faster. "Why did you do that?"

Nathaniel shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know why you took Micah's car, drove for forty-five minutes to the Circus, came down here and brushed me off?" I said, unable to keep quiet any longer.

Nathaniel balled his hand up in the blanket again, and didn't respond.

Tossing the pillow to one side, I crawled over the bed to Nathaniel's side. "Nathaniel, give me something," I said. "I don't know what to do. I don't know what you want from me!"

"You turned the radio on," he muttered.

I blinked at him. "What are you talking about?"

"In the car, today." Nathaniel pulled one leg up on the bed, putting his cheek against his knee. "You turned on the radio so you didn't have to talk to me. You never turn on the radio."

I buried my head in my hands. "You like the radio, that's why I turned it on!" I exclaimed. "Damn it, Nathaniel, I'm trying and I don't know what you think I did wrong!" I pushed my hair back. "Was that why you freaked out in the jeep today?"

Nathaniel shook his head.

"Was it those people in the store?"

Nathaniel hesitated, then nodded.

"Why are you paying any attention to them?" I asked. "They're not important."

"They probably saw the papers," Nathaniel said, pulling his other leg up to his chest.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Didn't you see it?" Nathaniel demanded, his voice ragged. "There was stuff in there about you and me. About what happened."

"The media writes stuff about me all the time," I said. "You ignore them, and they'll go away."

Nathaniel shook his head. "You don't get it," he said. He sounded so distraught that I reached out and touched him. His skin was oddly cool for a wereleopard.

He froze under my touch. "Nathaniel, it's okay, you can tell me," I coaxed. "Whatever you want to say, I'll listen."

He licked his lips, slowly lifting his head to meet my eyes. There was such pain on his face, and I didn't know what to do to make it go away. "The papers, they... they talked about me. About what happened."

"How did they find that stuff out?" I demanded. "Why would the cops--"

"It's not that," Nathaniel said in a rush. "I don't care about that, not really. But they knew who I was. They had a picture of me, from work, and they had where I worked and what I did for a living and my stage name--"

"Nathaniel, it's okay," I said, trying to hush him, but he shook his head.

"No, it's not!" He grabbed at his hair. "No one's going to want to see me strip after this! They don't want to know someone cut me up like that, that I couldn't even protect you! Stripping needs the fantasy, Anita, not this kind of shit!"

Once I untangled his hands from his hair, he clenched his fists and wrapped his arms around his legs. "Nathaniel, it's okay if you can't work there anymore."

"No, it's not!" Nathaniel looked at me beseechingly. "If I can't work, I can't make money, and I'm not going to have anywhere to go! I can't do anything else; no one's going to hire a sixth-grade dropout for anything!"

"What are you talking about?" I demanded. "Where are you going to go? You're not..." My insides clenched up nauseatingly as his words sunk in. "Are you leaving me?"

Nathaniel looked away.

I pushed myself back. This couldn't be happening, I told myself. Nathaniel couldn't be leaving. How was I going to handle things without him?

"Why?" I heard myself say. "Why do you have to leave?"

"You're not going to let me stay!" Nathaniel exploded, jumping up off the bed.

My jaw dropped and I stared at him, speechless for a moment. When I found my voice, I demanded, "When the hell did this become about me?"

"You can't let me stay!" Nathaniel shouted, his voice breaking. "You have to realize that all I do is put you in danger!"

"All you..." I stared at him for a long time, unable to speak. Then I got off the bed and walked across the room to the door. I threw the inner bolt, so no one could enter if they didn't have a key, turned around and pressed my back against the wall. "Nathaniel, I'm not going to make you leave," I said.

"You should." He swayed in place, then his knees gave out and he crumpled to the ground.

I ran across the room to him. He was shaking as I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tight.

"Nathaniel, stop it," I ordered desperately. Slowly, he stopped shaking, and I pulled at him until he was sitting up. "Where did you get the idea that I was going to make you leave?"

He pressed his lips together, looking down. I touched his cheek gently, feeling the tiny prickles on his skin that told me he hadn't shaved today. "At first," Nathaniel said, "I thought it was your fault, you know, because you didn't know that you couldn't feel me after Olaf... after he got to me. You were supposed to know I was in trouble and not come in there."

"If I'd known you were in danger, I still would have gone in there," I said, shifting around to pull him against the front of my body. I rested my chin on his shoulder. "You cannot think that I'd have left you in there."

"But you should," he whispered. "You're supposed to be smarter than that."

I wrapped my arms around him. "I thought you were mad at me I didn't get there sooner."

"I was."

I frowned. "So you're mad that I came in to save you, and mad that I didn't get there sooner?"

"No!" Nathaniel looked down at his hand in his lap. The cut on his wrist had completely healed. "I'm not mad at you."

I stroked his too-short hair as something occurred to me. "Then who are you mad at?"

Nathaniel's shoulders slumped.

"Are you mad at yourself?" I asked gently.

He nodded, his breath coming out in a sob. I pulled him closer and stroked his back.

"Nathaniel, what happened wasn't your fault. Olaf did this, not you."

"I should have known better!" Slowly, he crumpled against me. "But I was stupid, and you almost got killed, like always. You always come to save me and you always get hurt. I can never save you, it's always someone else. Even Harry saved you, and he's halfway across the world!"

"Was this why you've been acting like this all week?"

Nathaniel slipped lower on my lap. My legs were starting to hurt from kneeling on the stone floor. "I thought, once you figured it out, that you'd tell me..." His voice broke again. "You haven't even tried to feed the ardeur off me since it happened."

"Jesus, Nathaniel, what happened to you was really traumatic! After something that horrible, the last thing you need is someone pressing you for sex!"

"Why not?" Nathaniel said tonelessly. "I'm used to it. But when you didn't.... That's sort of why I thought you were going to make me leave, because you didn't need me for that any more, you could find someone else. Once you figured out that you didn't need me, that I just made your life worse, I thought..."

"Come on." I urged him up, and pulled him over to the bed. He let me push him onto the covers, then lay on his side, not looking at anything. I crawled onto the bed so I could look at him. Our bodies weren't quite touching, but I reached over to touch his face with my fingertips. "I'm not going to figure anything out, because there's nothing for me to get," I told him. "I love you, Nathaniel, _you_ , not just that we have sex or that you cook for me. What happened with Olaf wasn't something you did, you got caught up in my shit, like always." I ran my fingers through his hair, lighter than silk. "I thought you'd had enough of me," I said awkwardly as I smoothed his hair back. "That you were done with me."

He shook his head, his eyes so wide. "Never," he breathed.

Relief flooded through me, and I had to blink back tears. "Good, then," I said.

Nathaniel squirmed closer to me, putting his face against my chest and wrapping his arm around my waist. He was beginning to feel a little warmer as I held him. All I could think about was how close I'd come to losing him.

"You know, you can always do other stuff," I said. "Besides strip."

Nathaniel traced a pattern on my back, settling closer to me. "Like what? I can't do anything."

"What do you like to do?" I asked. "We can start there."

Nathaniel heaved a sigh, sending a shiver over my skin, and not from cold. "I thought about that, this afternoon." His arm tightened around me. "I didn't mean to hit the wall, it's just--"

"It's all right," I said, kissing the top of his head. "I know you'd never hurt me. It did scare me, though, after what you did with your hand." I ran my hand down the back of his head and nudged him slightly until he looked up at me. "Why did you do that?"

He rolled away from me and stared up at the ceiling. "I dunno."

I propped my head up on my arm and watched him. "You can tell me anything," I said. Belatedly, something occurred to me. "But only if you want," I said in a rush. "You don't have to, it's okay, whatever you want."

He nodded, worry lines easing away from around his mouth.

I tried to think of what else to say. "Did I tell you I talked to Harry this morning?"

Nathaniel frowned, then looked at me sideways. "No."

"It was after that thing with the board games," I told him. "He's worried about us. He said he's coming here for Christmas and he's got stuff to tell you."

"Did he say about what?" Nathaniel asked. I shook my head. "Probably girls."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"He didn't tell you about it, and he tells you all the important magic stuff," Nathaniel explained. He lifted his hand up to the light and examined it. "When he was here, we talked about girls and stuff. Harry got kind of nervous talking about girls with Jason, because Jason's never serious, and Harry doesn't understand girls at all."

"Oh." I wondered if I should tell Nathaniel the other thing that Harry had told me, him dreaming about me having sex with Nathaniel, when Nathaniel took a sudden deep breath and sat up.

"That's not all of it," he blurted out.

"Not all of what?" I asked as I pushed myself up. "Does this have to do with Harry?"

"No."

"Nathaniel?" I put my hand on his back.

"I've always known what I was, you know what I mean?" he said, picking at the blanket.

"No, I don't," I said slowly.

He spread his hands out on the blanket. "Even before Gabriel, I knew what I was and what I could do with my body, same with after Gabriel made me a wereleopard. I knew what I could do, and what I was."

"Nathaniel, you were a submissive with no safe word," I said, bending over him. "You didn't know when to say stop if someone was hurting you."

'That's not what I mean," he said urgently, and I shut my mouth. "When I was a street kid, I knew I was a street kid. When I was a wereleopard, I knew that too. But now I'm not."

"What do you mean?" I asked quietly.

With aching slowness, Nathaniel turned his head, peering out at me from behind a curtain of his hair. "I can't shift."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can't shift. I can't even be a wereleopard right anymore." He turned away from me and crumpled on the bed.

"Of course you still have to be able to shift," I said, putting my hand on his hip. "You can't lose your beast like that."

He mumbled into the blanket. I had to crawl over to him and ask him to repeat himself. "It hurt too much." He took hold of my hand and pressed it against his chest. "Everything else on that day, with the knives and the screwdriver and the glass, it hurt, you know, but it was just normal dying hurt. But what Richard did..." He wasn't crying, not really, but I almost wish he was, to let out that pain bottled up inside him. "It's never hurt like that to shift. It was like every single part of me was on fire and I thought I was going to die like that."

"That doesn't mean it's always going to be like that," I told him softly. "I was almost unconscious, Richard didn't know what he was doing, he was trying to save your life."

"I know." Nathaniel ran his tongue over his lower lip before he continued. "But I can't even feel my beast anymore. How am I supposed to know what I am if I can't do that? How can I be what you need if I can't be who I am?"

I curled up around Nathaniel's back, an echo of the way we'd slept for so many months, and kissed the back of his neck. "All I need you to be is you, not anyone else. I love _you_ , not something that you are."

When Nathaniel didn't move, I sat up and touched Nathaniel's face until he was looking at me. "Do you want me to help you?" I asked.

The look of intense concentration on his face was almost too much. "How?" he asked in a tiny voice.

I made myself smile reassuringly. "Richard doesn't know you, doesn't know what it means to be a wereleopard. I do. We can see if I can help you shift."

Nathaniel was making some serious eye contact with me. "What if it doesn't work?"

I squeezed his arm. "Then we'll try again tomorrow."

I waited for what seemed like a very long time before Nathaniel nodded. "Okay."

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and smiled. "Come on, let's use the bathroom," I said.

Obediently, Nathaniel trailed after me into Jean-Claude's large bathroom. I grabbed a handful of towels and laid them out on the ground.

"What are you doing?" Nathaniel asked.

"I'm tired," I said. "I don't want to have to clean up all the liquid from when you shift into your leopard form. So, you change on the towels and no clean up. Simple."

"Oh."

I held out my hand to him. "Come on."

He took my hand, let me lead him onto the towels. I tried to help him undress, but he moved me away from him. He seemed to be struggling with himself. I wanted to help him, to make this easier for him, but some part of what we'd been through today made me stay where I was.

He undressed slowly, reluctantly. I hadn't seen him naked since before this whole thing began, but every removed article of clothing revealed a perfect, flawless body. In my head, I had a remembrance of his body, bloody and ripped up, and it took all my willpower to not to let that show on my face.

Once he was naked, he looked at me. "Now what?"

I bit my lip. Truth be told, I had no idea. "Try and shift?" I suggested. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Nathaniel closed his eyes, frowning in concentration. Then he opened his eyes and shook his head. "I can't do it," he said, shaking his head over and over. "It's going to hurt."

"I'm here," I said. I stepped onto the towels, having to look up a little to meet his haunted eyes. "I have an idea, okay?"

He nodded. I put my hands on his chest and closed my eyes, calling not to his beast, but to mine.

She was sluggish, tired and unhappy, but as I called to her, let her fill me up with a warm rush of fur in my body, I dropped all my mental barriers and reached out to Nathaniel along the marks. My beast knew Nathaniel, wanted to curl up with him, and when she found his marks closed, she was unhappy.

"Nathaniel, let me in," I muttered.

I felt his hesitation, the slow crumbling of his mental blocks. Instead of pushing my way in, I ran my power over him, letting him know I was there.

He took a deep breath, then let it go, everything crumbling, and my beast jumped in joyously, crashing into Nathaniel's beast. His back bowed and he fell back, his body shifting. Our minds touching, I felt the joy of the transformation, the freeness as he went from man to cat. He twisted midair, and when he landed, it was as a leopard.

He tossed his sleek black head back, stretching his jaw wide to reveal a mouthful of sharp teeth and a wet pink tongue. He sprang off the towels to my side, looking up at me with those grey leopard eyes. Through the marks, I could feel his delight that the transformation hadn't hurt, of being so close to me, of being alive. I sank to my knees and held out my arms, wrapping my arms around him as far as they would go.

He purred, a deep sound that went all the way through my bones. I hugged him tighter, and I started crying.

Nathaniel's astonishment was clear through the marks. I sat back and wiped my face with my hand. "So what if I'm crying?" I sniffled, then buried my face in my hands.

I'd almost lost Nathaniel. First to Olaf, then to his and my own growing fears. I sniffed hard and looked up, catching his head in my hands. Making eye contact with a huge leopard is difficult, but we managed.

"I'm always going to be there for you, do you understand?" I said. "I promise. Always."

He nodded. I stood up, and Nathaniel quickly darted to my side.

"Do you want to go hunting? I think I need to get some sleep," I said. "You could go find Jason and..." My voice trailed off as Nathaniel bounded over to the bed and jumped up, stretching out on it. "Or we could get some sleep."

I lay down next to Nathaniel without taking off my robe, cuddling next to him, so warm and alive. After a minute, I sat back up and leaned against him, instantly feeling a whole lot better.

"Let's do this for a while," I said drowsily. Nathaniel growled his agreement, dropping his head to his paws.

With the marks still wide open, I felt Nathaniel's worry and anxiety drain away, as much a response to his leopard as to what we had talked about. Just before I fell asleep, I murmured, "I love you."

Nathaniel's wash of emotion, of love, of _home_ , followed me into sleep. 


	65. The Crux of the Matter

* * *

Harry munched on his bacon, tired. His Sunday stretched out ahead of him, annoyingly full. He had piles of homework due in the coming week, which had been pushed to the side by his trip to Edinburgh the previous day. Not that he regretted calling Anita on the telephone. He had to hear her voice, to know she was going to be okay.

 _She'll be just fine,_ Harry thought, trying to ignore the smidgen of doubt in the back of his head. _She and Nathaniel and Damian will all be fine. They have to be. I'll see them at Christmas and we can talk about it then._

Harry looked across the table at Hermione, bent over the Daily Prophet. Her hair was threatening to fall in the butter, but Harry didn't say anything. She had a prefects' meeting that morning, so he couldn't ask her for any homework help. Maybe he and Ron could see if anyone else in their year wanted to work together.

Ron shambled up to the table, still looking half asleep. He slumped at the table next to Hermione, automatically reaching for food. Harry watched idly as Ron grabbed the remaining sausages from under Neville's fork. Neville glared at Ron, but reached down the table for another sausage platter.

Hermione sighed and put down her paper. "How are you?" she asked.

Ron nodded, his mouth already full. Harry had to hide a laugh behind his teacup.

"Hrm." Hermione picked up her paper again. Ron and Neville both went back to their breakfasts, but Harry looked around the Hall. It wasn't early, and the place was pretty full. Some of the Aurors were sitting at the head table with a smattering of the teachers. Dumbledore was absent, as were Snape and Hagrid, but a green-haired Tonks was sitting on the end of the table, talking to Professor Sprout.

Harry set down his cup and stared into the tea's amber depths. Normally he liked tea, but today he was restless. Maybe he wanted something else to drink. He remembered how much Anita liked coffee, and how he started to drink coffee on his own, that last week in Anita's house.

He didn't know if there was a specific spell to change tea to coffee, but it had to be pretty basic, right? Harry tapped the side of his cup with his wand as he thought hard. Maybe he could make up a spell. Tonks had made that spell to pack clothes into a trunk, just by saying "Pack". Maybe Harry could do the same thing, if he wanted it hard enough.

Sticking the end of his wand into the tea, Harry wished for coffee with all his might. "Coffee," he muttered, and twirled his wand.

Nothing happened.

"Damn."

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked over her paper.

Harry pulled his wand out of his cup and wiped the tip on his robe sleeve. "Trying to invent a spell."

"For what?" Neville asked.

"Change tea into coffee."

Hermione put the paper down and held out her hand for Harry's cup. He gave it to her, and watched as she waved her wand over the liquid in an intricate fashion and spoke an unfamiliar word. A thick coffee smell wafted up, reaching Harry even before Hermione handed back the cup.

"Oh, thank you," Harry said with feeling, breathing in the steam off the cup, then taking a tiny sip. It tasted heavenly and it made him so homesick that for a second he wanted to cry. He swallowed those feelings down with the coffee, and gave Hermione a brilliant smile. "Can you teach me that spell?"

"Did you just make that up?" Ron asked, resting his head on his hand. "She does that," he said to Harry. "Spells and stuff."

"No, I didn't make it up," Hermione said, looking a little bit flustered. "It was in one of your mum's magical cookbooks, I saw it over the summer."

"It's brilliant," Harry said, still smiling. "How about making up a spell to do my homework for me?"

Ron laughed at the expression on Hermione's face, while Harry pretended to cower. Hermione opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. "Oh, you two!" was all she said.

Neville was watching the scene with a tiny grin. He'd been hanging out with the three of them more in the last month, and Harry was glad. Neville was a good guy. He'd been talking to Ginny the previous night when Harry got back from his phone call trip, and had stuck around while Harry tried to regain his composure. Ginny and Neville had gotten into quite the argument about plant ingredient for potions, to which Harry had gratefully listened.

Of course, then Neville left, and Harry realized how close he was sitting to Ginny, his thigh touching hers on the couch, so close he could have kissed her...

They sat like that for a long time.

Harry took another sip of his coffee. He hadn't seen Ginny all morning. She had that prefects' meeting later on, so he probably wouldn't see her until the afternoon. That realization made his stomach twist unhappily.

 _She's probably busy,_ Harry thought. _She's a prefect and she's got homework and all kinds of other friends._

A few late post owls began to flit into the hall. One landed in front of Harry and dropped a letter on his plate. The bird took off before Harry could even offer it a bit of toast.

Harry opened the letter and recognized Dumbledore's spidery handwriting on the parchment. _Come to my office after breakfast. No need for your cloak._ The letter was unsigned.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What's up?" Ron asked, his lazy tone belying the quick gleam in his eyes. Harry handed over the note. Ron read it a few times, then gave it to Hermione. "Dumbledore?" he asked quietly.

With a nod, Harry took the parchment back from Hermione. "Guess you're on your own for homework, Ron," Harry said.

"It's all right, me and Neville can work together," Ron said hopefully.

"Sorry, I've got a herbology project," Neville said. "I'll be in the greenhouses all day."

Harry slipped the note deep into his pocket. "I'll see you guys later," he said as he stood up.

"Tell us how it goes," Ron said. Harry gave a wave as he walked down the halls.

Up ahead, Harry saw Luna walking out of the Hall. He broke into a run to catch up with her. "Hey, where are you going?" he asked once he reached her side.

Luna gave him a sidelong glance. "It's a nice day, I was going to go for a walk."

"Sounds fun," Harry said, staring at her necklace. "Is that made of vines?"

Luna nodded, dancing back to avoid being run over by a herd of sturdy Hufflepuff boys. "I was out early this morning."

"It looks really neat," Harry said as they left the Great Hall. The wave of sound faded as they stopped in the Entrance Hall. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Luna said. She gave Harry a tiny smile. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

"I can't," Harry said. "I have to go see a professor."

Was he imagining the disappointed look in her eyes? "On a Sunday?" Luna asked.

"Yeah," Harry said, suddenly wishing he could blow off Dumbledore and go walk around with Luna. "Have fun, okay? Think of me when you're out there in the sun, with me in this stuffy castle."

"I will," Luna promised.

Harry supposed he had to get moving, but he couldn't make himself walk away. "Luna, about the other day..." She stared at him. "When you kissed me?"

She blinked, but didn't look away. "Yes?"

A thousand words were on the tip of his tongue, like how he thought she liked girls, or he wondered what she was thinking, or how the kiss had been so incredible and he wanted to know if she'd do it again, but he settled on saying, "It was nice."

Luna looked relieved. "It was," she said quietly.

Harry grinned widely, his heart beating hard in his chest. "I'll see you later," he promised. Then, before he could think better of it, he leaned down and kissed Luna on the cheek. She smelled like flowers, and Harry had to catch himself before he nuzzled her neck.

He pulled back, feeling his beast more than usual. Luna's smile faded when she saw his face. Somberly, she nodded. "I'll see you tonight," Luna said, and it sounded like a promise.

Harry fled before he did something stupid and impulsive.

* * *

Dumbledore's office was bright with sunshine. The headmaster greeted Harry, and directed him to the chair across from the desk.

"Your note didn't say anything about what you wanted," Harry said as he sat down.

"No, it did not," Dumbledore agreed. "It is a delicate matter."

"So why am I here?"

Dumbledore sighed, a tired sound. "Today, I will attempt to destroy one of Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. "I'm coming with you," he said after he got his voice back, sure that Dumbledore would tell him no.

Dumbledore smiled. "I was hoping you would say that, Harry."

"You were?" Harry blurted out.

"Indeed." Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair. "I may have been able to destroy the Horcrux contained in the Gaunt ring, but you destroyed the diary, Harry. I suspect that the other objects will be much harder to destroy, and so I will need your help."

"What kind of help can I give?" Harry demanded. "And why would they be harder?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "We have three of the Horcruxes," he said.

"The diary and the ring, which are destroyed, and that locket, yeah," Harry interrupted. "You said you thought there were seven? So where are the other four?"

"I believe I know where one other is," Dumbledore said. "Two of the Horcruxes resided in objects belonging to Salazar Slytherin, the ring and the locket. Years ago, it came to my attention that soon after he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, was seeking out objects famed to belong to the other founders of Hogwarts."

"Like what?" Harry said, almost bouncing off his seat. "The school was founded over a thousand years ago, there can't be many things left!"

"Very true." Dumbledore walked over to where Godric Gryffindor's sword hung on the wall. "This," he said, picking up the sword, "Is all that is left from Gryffindor. I have tested it in several ways. It is not a Horcrux."

"So that leaves us with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." Harry stood up and began to walk around the room, able to think better when he was on his feet. "Are there any of their things here at the school? No, wait," he contradicted himself immediately. "Would Voldemort have been able to get into the school to make one, kill someone for it, then sneak out? He wouldn't hide his Horcruxes here, how would he get them again?"

"Exactly," Dumbledore said. "I do have information on one object belonging to Helga Hufflepuff. A cup."

Harry spun around. "Where is it?" he demanded. "Are you sure it's hers? Did Voldemort use it as a Horcrux?"

"I believe he did," Dumbledore said. "And I can show you why."

"How?" Harry asked quickly.

Dumbledore laid the sword on his desk and walked to a cupboard in the wall. He pulled back the doors to reveal his pensive, which he picked up and placed on a small table. "A memory," Dumbledore murmured. "Taken from a house elf, shortly after Tom Riddle vanished. Before Voldemort came into being."

"You can take a memory from a house elf?" Harry asked, standing across the table from Dumbledore. "I never thought of that."

"Few do," Dumbledore said. "There are not many wizards who would consider a house elf to be a viable witness, which, in my experience, is short-sighted. House elves see much more than many think."

"But can they tell things?" Harry asked. "Do they need their master's permission?"

"Usually," Dumbledore said. "But not if their master is dead."

Harry frowned. "So this house elf, his master died?"

"Her master," Dumbledore corrected. "The house elf's name was Hokey. First, see the memory, then I will tell you what happened to her and to her mistress, a very rich old witch named Hepzibah Smith."

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment, then bent over the pensive. He felt himself falling into the memory, then with a bump he was in the most overcrowded parlour he had ever seen.

In the centre of the room, a fat old lady, with an immense red wig and far too much makeup, dabbed more rouge on her cheeks while a tiny and ancient house elf laced her swollen feet into satin shoes. "Hurry up, Hokey!" the woman shouted. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"

The house elf tied faster, then straightened up. Hepzibah Smith looked at herself in the mirror, side to side.

"How do I look?"

"Lovely, madam!" the elf responded as the doorbell rang. The woman snapped to attention, her eyes lighting up with glee as she urged the house elf to answer the door.

Looking at the heavily made-up woman, watching the entranceway with a simpering sort of happiness, Harry suddenly felt old. He didn't want to watch this memory, didn't want to know what happened to Hepzibah Smith in her pink silk dress.

About a minute later, the house elf came back into the room, leading a tall young man. A thrill went through Harry. It was Tom Riddle, looking almost the same as he had in the Chamber of Secrets. This Tom was a bit taller, his hair a touch longer. His cheeks were hollow, and it made him look even more handsome in a cold way.

Harry clenched his fists and made himself stand still. It was just a memory, and there was nothing Harry could do. Voldemort stepped through the crowded room as if he'd been there before, and stopped in front of Hepzibah, taking her fat hand in his and brushing his lips to her skin.

"I brought you flowers," Voldemort said quietly, much to Hepzibah's delight. She admonished him playfully as she put the flowers into a waiting vase. Voldemort sat down while Hepzibah offered him cakes, asking after his health with a not-quite motherly concern.

"Well, what's your excuse for visiting this time?" Hepzibah asked, batting her eyelashes at Voldemort.

"Mr. Burke would like to make an improved offer for the goblin-made armour," Voldemort said. "Five hundred Galleons; he feels it is a more than fair--"

"No, now, not so fast, or I'll think you're only here for my trinkets!" Hepzibah said, pouting.

Voldemort blinked slowly, almost bored. "I am ordered here because of them," he said quietly. "I am only a poor assistant, madam, who must do as he is told. Mr. Burke wishes me to enquire--"

"Oh, Mr. Burke, phooey!" Hepzibah interrupted. "I've got something to show you that I've never shown Mr. Burke! Can you keep a secret, Tom?" She kept talking, not noticing how Voldemort sat up a little bit straighter, a look of impatient waiting on his face. The next second, the expression was gone.

Hepzibah sent Hokey to fetch what she called her "finest treasure," then amended that to include another object as well. Harry waited as the elf dashed from the room, then returned carrying two small boxes on her head.

The witch took the boxes from the elf and laid them on her lap, and prepared to open the top case. "Now," she said, "I think you'll like this, Tom... oh, if my family knew I was showing this to you! They can't wait to get their hands on this!"

She lifted the lid. Harry leaned over a table to get a good look into the case, and saw a small golden cup with two delicately carved handles.

"I wonder if whether you know what it is, Tom? Pick it up, have a good look!"

Voldemort reached a pale hand forward and lifted the cup by one of the handles, his eyes gleaming red for a moment. Harry knew by his expression of greed and curious triumph that Voldemort wanted this cup.

"A badger," Voldemort murmured with barely hidden satisfaction as he looked the cup over. "Then this was...?"

"Helga Hufflepuff's, as you well know, you clever boy!" Hepzibah pinched Voldemort's cheek, startling Harry. He half-expected Voldemort to hex her, but the man just sat there, as if Hepzibah was a buzzing fly that had no importance. The witch blathered on happily about the cup, taking it back from him after a minute. She was so intent on putting the delicate object away carefully that she didn't see the shadow that crossed Voldemort's face.

The house elf took away the first box, and Hepzibah adjusted the other case on her lap. "I think you'll like this even more, Tom," Hepzibah said in a stage whisper. "Lean in a little, dear boy, so you can see... of course, Burke knows I've got this one, I bought it from him, and I daresay he'd love to get it back from when I'm gone."

She slid back the clasp on the box, and lifted the lid. On the blood-red velvet inside the box lay a heavy golden locket.

Harry swore out loud. It was Slytherin's locket, the Horcrux that Dumbledore already had. This must be why the headmaster was so certain the cup was a Horcrux too! If Voldemort had taken the locket, it would be just as easy to take the cup, too!

Voldemort plucked the locket off the cushion without asking permission, and held it up to the light. "Slytherin's mark," he said quietly.

"That's right!" Hepzibah said. "I had to pay an arm and a leg for it, but I couldn't let it pass, not a real treasure like that, had to have it for my collection. Burke bought it, apparently, from a ragged-looking woman who seemed to have stolen it, but had no idea of its true value--"

Voldemort's eyes glowed red again, his fingers going white as he clutched hard at the chain at Hepzibah's words.

She prattled on. "I daresay Burke paid her a pittance, but there you are. Pretty, isn't it? And again, all kinds of powers attributed to it, thought I just keep it nice and safe." She reached to take the locket back from Voldemort, but for a moment it looked as if he wasn't going to let it go. Finally, the chain slid through his fingers, back to the red cushion.

Harry had seen enough. He pulled out of the memory, deeply uneasy. "Voldemort had the locket, he must have taken the cup at the same time," he said to Dumbledore. "Did he steal them?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply. "Two days after his visit, Hepzibah Smith was poisoned. It seems that Hokey added something to her mistress's hot chocolate that was not sugar, but a rare and very deadly poison. The Ministry's view was that the house elf was old and had been confused--"

"And no one looked closer?" Harry demanded. "But the cup! The locket!"

"Hepzibah's heirs did not discover the missing artifacts until they were cataloging her belongings, after the funeral. By then, the charming and well-liked shop assistant from Borgin and Burkes had resigned and vanished without a trace. No one saw Tom Riddle, or Voldemort as he was to become, for a very long time," Dumbledore said. He placed the pensive back into the cupboard.

Harry stared down at the empty tabletop. He wanted to ask why Voldemort had killed the woman when he didn't need to: Just a quick memory modification, or maybe making some fake replacements so she wouldn't have missed them.

He was unable to shake the memory of the look on Hepzibah's face, of complete adoration. She was old and she was foolish. Voldemort didn't have to kill her, she wasn't a threat. But then, that was what Voldemort did. Kill people just because he could, people like Hepzibah Smith who weren't valuable to him.

Harry took a deep breath and made himself move on. "So Voldemort killed Hepzibah Smith and stole the cup and the locket to make the Horcruxes," he said. "That makes four. We've got the locket, but do you know where the cup is?"

"Not at this time, but since I found out about the Horcruxes, I have been searching for it," Dumbledore said. "I have several promising leads, but I have had to be careful about my search. If it is truly lost to Voldemort, as I suspect it is, we cannot risk him finding it before we do."

Harry gripped the side of the table. "What about the other three?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore said heavily. "I am searching. We must find them before Voldemort does, and destroy them."

Harry glanced up. He hated seeing Dumbledore this serious. It meant things were bad, and probably only going to get worse. "Let's go destroy the locket, then."

Dumbledore nodded. "Before we go, I will tell you, Harry, that I do not know what sort of protection exists on the locket. The diary Horcrux was made when Voldemort was sixteen, and the ring when he was seventeen. The locket did not fall into his hands until some years later. I cannot be certain that Voldemort did not add layers of protection, traps of some sort, to prevent its destruction. It might be dangerous."

"Then it's dangerous," Harry said. "We have to do this. Voldemort has to be stopped!"

"Agreed," Dumbledore said. He glanced at the clock on the wall, then reached into the candy dish on his desk, and held out his hand with a small, rough stone. "Come and take a hold on this rock," he said.

"What is it?" Harry asked, coming over. He touched the rock with his thumb and forefinger, leaving it to sit on Dumbledore's palm.

"It is a timed portkey," Dumbledore said. "It will take us to where I have hidden the Horcruxes. It is charmed to transport every half-hour when it is touching human skin, or cloth"

"What happens if it's not touching skin?" Harry asked. "Does it go off?"

"No. So it will not leave us stranded."

Harry supposed Dumbledore meant that to be encouraging, but nevertheless, a chill went down his spine at the words.

* * *

The portkey deposited them in a huge, dim cavern. Harry let go of the stone to gawk at the surroundings. The place was even bigger than the Chamber of Secrets, with only a few magically burning torches hanging on the walls. Looking up, he couldn't see the ceiling.

"So," Harry said, his voice made tiny and insignificant by the empty space. "We're under Hogwarts?"

"Why do you say that?" Dumbledore asked. When Harry turned around, he saw Dumbledore place the portkey stone in a pile of similarly shaped rocks.

"Because you said before that you needed to keep the Horcruxes safe, and you were going to keep them at the school," Harry said with a frown. "Are you sure that's wise, sir?"

Dumbledore straightened up. "It would be most unfortunate if the portkey were to go off in my pocket, leaving you here," he said with a barmy smile. He picked his way carefully across the rocky floor. Harry waited for a moment, then gave up on getting an answer to his first question. They had to be under Hogwarts, or else Dumbledore would have denied it.

As his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, Harry saw that the smooth rock walls gave way to fitted stone blocks in one corner of the room. _Are we at the base of the castle?_ Harry wondered. _Maybe even under the lake?_

Dumbledore led Harry over the rocky floor, around a small still pool, to a small indentation in the rock. On the make-shift shelf lay three cloth-wrapped bundles.

"Stand back, Harry," Dumbledore cautioned as he pulled out his wand and began to whisper incantations at the rock. He spoke too quietly for Harry to make out the words, but the air in front of the shelf shimmered with blue and purple lights for a moment before vanishing.

Dumbledore picked up one of the bundles and carried it over to a sheared stalagmite. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal Slytherin's locket.

"Who was the woman who sold that to Burgin and Burkes?" Harry asked, remembering the look of anger on Voldemort's face when Hepzibah Smith had spoken of the woman who may have stolen it.

Dumbledore held the locket up, letting it spin around on its chain. "That was Merope Gaunt Riddle," he said. "Tom Riddle's mother. She sold it for a small amount before her son was born. She died shortly after his birth."

"Is that why he grew up in a muggle orphanage?" Harry couldn't take his eyes off the slowly revolving locket.

"Yes." Dumbledore laid the locket on the top of the stalagmite. "When I first met Tom Riddle, to deliver his Hogwarts letter to him, he did not know anything about the wizarding world, but he knew magic. He knew he was different."

All this talk of an eleven-year-old Voldemort was too weird. "What was he like, back then?" Harry asked. "Was he like-- like anyone else you know?" He had almost asked if Voldemort had been like him. Harry had always known he was different from the Dursleys, and had wanted to desperately to believe in magic as a child, like snakes talking to him in zoos and suddenly being up on top of the school kitchens.

"He was not like you, Harry, in any way," Dumbledore said quietly, as if he was reading Harry's mind. "There was no kindness in Tom Riddle. He was cruel and distant. He did not make friends; he used people, even at such a young age. You could not be like him, even if you tried."

"But I've killed people," Harry said, eyes burning but unable to stop talking. The very air seemed to be listening to him. "Quirrell, and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"While they were trying to kill you," Dumbledore reminded him. "Voldemort kills people without provocation."

"Like Cedric," Harry muttered. "Wormtail killed him, but only because Voldemort said so. He treated Cedric like a weed, or something that you'd just pull out of the ground because it was inconvenient."

Harry felt Dumbledore's hand settle on his shoulder. Taking deep breaths, Harry made himself calm down. After a minute, Harry stepped away and gave Dumbledore a nod.

"Ready when you are, sir."

Dumbledore nodded back. "On this one, Harry, I will show you what I am going to do. I will use the spell I created to destroy the Horcrux that was in the ring, but there are modifications that must be made. It is a matter of feeling the magic and responding to it."

"Why are you going to show me?" Harry asked.

"So if you come across another of the Horcruxes, you can destroy it," Dumbledore said calmly.

Harry stared. "There's no way I can do that!" he exclaimed. "You made the spell, you have to cast it! How can I know how to deal with the magic if it's changing?"

"You must," Dumbledore said, his voice becoming more powerful. Unconsciously, Harry straightened up. "If something happens to me, then you must carry on, to find the Horcruxes and destroy them, stop Voldemort--"

"No!" Harry shouted, panic growing in his chest. "I can't do that! You have to do that! You're the most powerful wizard we have, you stopped Grindelwald and you can stop Voldemort!"

Dumbledore waited until Harry was finished. "Harry, this is the way it must be," he said softly.

Harry shook his head, trying to shake loose Dumbledore's words. "No, it's not!"

"Even if nothing happens to me, then someone else needs to be able to destroy the Horcruxes," Dumbledore continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken. "We cannot afford to presume that it is safe for this knowledge to remain in only one person."

Dumbledore was right, Harry knew, and even as he thought those words, he felt like he was betraying Dumbledore in some way. "All right," Harry choked out. "I'll try and learn it."

"Thank you, Harry."

 _Don't thank me,_ Harry thought bitterly as he stood beside Dumbledore. Breathing deeply, Harry made himself pay close attention as Dumbledore started to explain the spell in intricate detail.

The explanation took time, but every word burned into Harry's brain. Finally, Dumbledore told Harry to stand back.

"I need to cast the spell," Dumbledore said. "If you are next to me, I may not be able to respond to the nuances of the magic."

"How far away should I be?" Harry asked, gripping the end of his wand in a futile attempt to reassure himself.

"Just over there." Dumbledore waited as Harry walked about ten feet away. In the dim flickering light from the torches, Dumbledore looked older and more tired than usual, and Harry shivered again. "I will begin now."

Dumbledore raised his wand, and began the intricate incantation. Magic pulsed in the air like a hot wind, blowing Dumbledore's robes and hair back. Any hint of the barmy old headmaster was gone. The most powerful wizard Harry had ever seen was molding the magic to his will, sculpting it in the air and pushing it back at the locket.

The locket began to glow red hot as the magic swirled around it. Dumbledore's voice raised above the whirl of the burning wind, pushing harder on the Horcrux.

The magic had almost reached the locket, when suddenly something _twisted_ and magic exploded off the locket. Harry ducked instantly, but the main force of the explosion hit Dumbledore full in the chest, throwing him backwards into the air. He landed on the rocky floor like a rag doll.

"No!" Harry screamed, scrambling up and dashing over to Dumbledore's side. He rolled the unconscious man onto his back, feeling desperately on his neck for a pulse. A tiny beat against his fingers, and a shallow breath, told Harry that Dumbledore wasn't dead, not yet.

Harry drew his hand back, nearly gagging at the gaping wound in Dumbledore's side, burned around the edges, with the stench of blood and charred flesh.

"Sir, can you hear me?" Harry demanded, pulling the cloth of Dumbledore's robe away from the wound. Blood ran out of the wound, coating Harry's hands. "Hold on, I'll get you out of here!"

Harry pulled off his robe and pushed the fabric against Dumbledore's chest. The man was so still, so pale, so much like a corpse already...

 _NO!_ Harry used his wand to conjure some ropes to hold the robe against the wound, to slow the bleeding. _He's not dead! We need him too much for him to be dead!_

"Sir, you have to listen to me," Harry pleaded as he felt again for a pulse. "The wound's not over your heart, but it's close, you have to concentrate and stay with me, I'll get you out of here and Madam Pomfrey will fix you up as good as new in no time, I promise!"

Dumbledore's heartbeat and breathing were shallow and fading. Harry couldn't think. He couldn't apparate out, he didn't know how. He didn't know if there was a way out of the room on foot, and that would take too long.

Harry jumped up as something finally occurred to him. "I'll be right back, I promise, just hold on!" He bolted past the stalagmite and the innocent-looking locket, stumbling over the dark rocks until he arrived at the pile of rocks where Dumbledore had left the portkey.

How could anyone find it? Harry pawed through the rocks, all looking identical in the half-light. How could anyone except to find the portkey to get them out of there?

Harry screamed, hitting the rocks with his fists. He had to do something, or else Dumbledore was going to die and it was going to be all his fault, there was nothing he could do to save him, no magic he could do--

With a gasp, Harry realized what he could do. He changed into his Animagus wolf form and dropped his nose to the pile of rocks. He could smell his blood on some of the rocks, but he ignored that, drawn instead to the smell of human hands, Dumbledore's hands, Dumbledore's office, of tea and old books and sugar.

Picking up the rock in his mouth, Harry dashed back toward Dumbledore, his paws surefooted on the stone floor. His human panic was gone, and the animal fear was easier to deal with. It was purer and had a simple, single solution -- save Dumbledore.

Back at Dumbledore's side, Harry spat out the portkey rock and changed back to his human form. "Sir, I've got the portkey," he said in a hurry, making sure Dumbledore was still breathing. "I'm not sure when it'll go off, but it'll be soon and it'll get us out of there soon and you'll get better, I promise."

"Of... course..." came the rasping reply. Harry looked up, startled, as Dumbledore opened his eyes and tried to draw a deeper breath.

"Hold on, you're hurt," Harry said, not flinching from the pain on Dumbledore's face. "But you're going to be okay, I promise."

"I know... you will..." Dumbledore rasped. He coughed, closing his eyes as blood ran out of the side of his mouth.

"Don't talk," Harry said quickly. He grabbed the portkey again, clenching his palm around the sharp edges. "Once this goes off..." His voice fell silent. He didn't know when it was going to activate, what if he wasn't touching Dumbledore? He could put the rock in Dumbledore's pocket, but then that might leave him down here.

Grabbing Dumbledore's hand and pressing the rock between their palms, Harry conjured ropes to bind their hands together. "See?" he said, trying to sound reassuring. "We'll both get out of here soon, I promise."

Dumbledore didn't respond. His hand went slack against Harry's, and his breathing grew too quiet.

"No!" Harry shouted. "You can't die! We need you, everyone needs you!" His eyes blurred, then hot tears slid down his cheeks. "I can't do this alone!"

The world was starting to go grey. Harry made himself breathe deeply, ignoring the blood and burnt meat smell, until things were more solid. When was the portkey going to go off?

Needing something to do, Harry raised his wand with his free hand and shouted into the darkness, "Accio Dumbledore's wand!"

The thin stick flew at Harry and he caught it, curling his hand around both wands.

The next moment, the portkey grabbed at him and pulled him bodily out of the cave. Something wooden crunched under him as he landed in Dumbledore's office, but he didn't care. All that mattered was how Dumbledore's body had fallen like Cedric's, pulled back by the portkey, no movement at all.

"Sir? SIR?" Harry shouted. Dumbledore wasn't breathing.

He looked up at the empty room. The portraits of the past headmasters craned to see what was going on, horrified.

"Get help!" Harry shouted at the portraits, not letting go of Dumbledore's hand. "Get Madam Pomfrey, get McGonagall, get someone!"

He bent over Dumbledore, not wanting to think about how slack the man's face was, how the lines of pain were smoothing out. "It's going to be okay, we're back, someone's going to get help, please don't die, we're back, you have to be okay, please, please..." 


	66. Into My Own Hands

* * *

"How about this one?"

Jason held the paint strip up to the wall. Micah and Nathaniel looked at it, then both shook their heads at the same time. "It's too bland," Micah said.

Jason let my hand fall. "It's not bland, It's..." He consulted the back of the strip. "Creamy Eggshell?"

"It's a dirty white," I said, while Nathaniel rummaged through the pile of paint strips we'd gotten from the hardware store.

"We should do the entire house with colors," Nathaniel said as he laid a handful of strips on the carpet. "Like this blue one for the kitchen, and this green one for the living room, and yellow for the hallway?"

He looked up at me with wide, hopeful eyes, and I couldn't help but smile. Nathaniel, Jason and I had met Micah for breakfast at a restaurant. It had to be close to my house, since Nathaniel had "borrowed" Micah's car last night. Then the four of us bundled ourselves over to the store to start to figure out how to redecorate my house. It was Nathaniel's idea to paint everything.

"You should do your bedroom in zebra stripes," Jason contributed.

We all turned to stare at him. "Why?" I demanded.

"Zebra stripes are cool." He drained his mug, then picked up my coffee mug and took a sip. "Oh, do Harry's room in plaid! He'll love it when he comes over for Christmas."

I rolled my eyes at Micah. My Nimir-Raj hid a smirk. "Why don't we concentrate on the rest of the house first, then do Harry's room. He's not going to be here for a few months yet," Micah said.

"Spoilsport," Jason muttered as I grabbed my coffee mug back. "Hey!"

"Get your own coffee," I said as Micah pulled me onto his lap at the new kitchen table. "And why are you still here?"

Jason shrugged. "Because catching a cab back to the Circus isn't nearly as fun as staying here." He looked at Nathaniel's paint strips, and moved one. "The blue's too dark for the kitchen, use this one."

Nathaniel moved the strips back to the way he had them. "We'll use it as emphasis, not the whole walls," he said firmly.

I laid my hand on his shoulder, and he gave me a tired smile. Micah's hand tightened on my leg, and I settled back against him while I held onto Nathaniel. This was the way it was supposed to be, the three of us together at home like this.

The phone rang. Micah and I let out simultaneous groans. "A call this early can't be good," I grumbled as I stood up.

"It's almost noon," Jason said, getting into a tug-of-war with Nathaniel over a light purple paint strip. "Nathaniel, you can't do the bathroom purple!"

I ruffled Jason's hair on my way past. "He can do whatever he wants," I said as I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Anita?" The female voice on the other end of the line was familiar, but I couldn't place it right away. "It's Tammy."

"Tammy, hi," I said. "What's up? How are Larry and Tannis?"

"They're fine, thanks," Tammy said, sounding a little flustered. "Are you busy?"

I sighed. I should have known that more than a week off from work, even after being almost killed by a psychopath, was too much to ask. "What's wrong?" I asked, unable to keep the exhaustion from seeping into my voice. At the table, Micah sat up straight, watching me.

"Nothing's wrong, I just have someone that wants to meet you," Tammy said quickly. "Are you busy right now?"

"Not really," I said. "Who do you want me to meet?"

"Can you come over to my place?" Tammy asked, ignoring my question.

Now I was starting to get worried. Tammy was usually straight-forward to the point of bluntness. "Is something wrong?" I asked while looking at Micah. I made driving motions with my free hand. A wave of understanding washed over his face, and he hurried over to where I put my keys.

"Nothing's wrong, but this is very important," Tammy said. "Are you coming over?"

"Yes, I'm coming over," I said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Tammy hung up without saying good-bye.

"Shit!" I said, slamming down the phone. I took off down the hall to the bedroom where I'd left my shoulder holster. Tammy was never like this, what it something was wrong?

"Anita?" Micah asked from the doorway while I searched for a belt. "Is there trouble?"

"Tammy says no, but I don't like it," I said, adjusting the straps, then slipping the Browning into the holster. "I'm going over there."

"I'm going with you," Micah said.

"And me," Nathaniel said from behind Micah. "Larry and Tammy are my friends too."

It was on the tip of my tongue to argue, to tell Nathaniel and Micah to stay here out of danger, but there was something fierce in Nathaniel's eyes. I nodded. "I have to get the Firestar from the upstairs gun safe."

"I'll get the bullets from downstairs," Nathaniel said, and vanished.

Micah stopped me in the doorway with a light touch on my arm. "Would you like me to call Larry?" he asked.

I'd forgotten all about Larry. "I should call him," I said, reaching for my cell phone. Micah took the phone from me.

"You can't do everything at once," he said. "I'll call Larry, you get the gun, and we'll go in a minute."

I wanted to argue, but he was right. I hated it that he was right, that I couldn't do everything, but I swallowed those protests. "Fine," I said, already moving.

Jason followed me upstairs. "Do you need me to come along?" he asked as I hurried down the hall.

"I don't even know if anything's wrong!" I exclaimed as I unlocked the unused bedroom that held the gun safe. "Maybe Tammy's just frazzled. I'll have Micah and Nathaniel with me."

"Do you want me to go with you?" Jason asked again.

I had to concentrate on the combination for a minute. "I honestly don't know."

"Then I'm going with you," Jason declared in a very un-Jason-like tone. "Like Nathaniel said, we're Larry and Tammy's friends too."

I pressed my lips together as I reached into the safe, past the shotgun and the various weaponry my job necessitated these days. "I can't protect you all," I said as I pulled out the Firestar.

Jason was so quiet that I had to turn around to see if he had left. He had leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest, and he was glaring at me. "You don't need to protect us," he said, still too serious. "We're lycanthropes, we're faster and stronger than anyone else except vampires, and it's the middle of the day."

I shook my head as I closed the safe. "I'm your lupa, I'm supposed to protect--"

"Oh, fuck, not this again!" Jason exclaimed. "When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours that this goes both ways? We love you too, and we're allowed to want to help you! You're not the only person in the world who's able to help!"

I stared at Jason for a long second, then I pushed past him into the hall.

* * *

"What's the plan?" Micah asked as I turned the car around the corner onto Larry and Tammy's lane.

"Just see how it goes, I guess," I said. I pulled the jeep up to the curb. "Larry wasn't on his phone?"

"It went right to voicemail," Micah said. "I called your office, too, but Mary said he'd gone out for lunch with a client."

"Right," I muttered. "Okay, let's go."

Micah insisted on walking at my side, with Jason and Nathaniel right behind us. I hoped it was because Micah understood that Jason and Nathaniel needed more protecting that I could give.

"Smells like baking cookies," Micah whispered as we neared the door.

"Then let's hope I'm wrong," I said as I pushed the doorbell.

Footsteps sounded, and the front door swung open. Tammy was holding a cranky-looking Tannis on her hip. "Anita?" She appeared surprised. "Hi, Micah. Jason, Nathaniel... why are you all here?"

I couldn't even bring myself to be embarrassed. "You sounded weird on the phone."

Tannis blew a raspberry at me, then started chewing on her hand. Tammy hitched her daughter up higher. "Everything's fine, I told you, just..." She shook her head and stood back to let us all in. "Just strange."

I stayed where I was. "Strange how?"

Tammy shook her head as Tannis began unhappy babbling. "Someone wanted to see you, something to do with Harry."

I felt Nathaniel's hand on my back, and a light brush against my mind. He wanted to go inside, to hear what Tammy's mysterious guest had to say about Harry. I agreed. "Fine."

Micah went ahead of me, with Jason and Nathaniel bringing up the rear. Jason reached out to tickled Tannis's bare foot, but she just kicked and frowned. "What's with her?" Jason asked.

"She's teething," Tammy said. "At least she's stopped crying."

"Poor kid," Jason said. "Can I?" He took Tannis from Tammy and tossed the six-month-old baby up over his head before settling her against his side. "Those aren't scary teeth, these are scary teeth," he said as he pretended to gnaw on her wrist. She began to smile, then giggle.

Tammy looked relieved. "Do you ever want to baby-sit?" she asked as she led us toward the living room. "She's such a handful."

I caught a glimpse of the wistful expression on Nathaniel's face, and in spite of everything that was going on, I felt a tiny shaft of worry snake down my spine. Please don't let Nathaniel get broody, I prayed. My life was complicated enough without having to deal with a baby, or a guy who wanted one.

We'd been to Tammy's house before, and it was as immaculate as ever. I knew Larry was the one who cleaned, so I never commented on it. The living room was the only room with a bit of a mess, with Tannis's playpen and toys strewn about. It was also the only occupied room, with a tall old man in a suit standing by the window looking out at the backyard.

I wasn't sure what it was about him that put my hackles up. He looked normal enough, like any old man, but there was something about him that was too... energetic, as if he wasn't really as old as he looked.

With a start, I realized that he reminded me of Harry's headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. The mental comparison did nothing to calm me down.

"Anita, this is John Cassidy, he's in charge of the American Auror department," Tammy said. Her voice was cop-cool, but under it I could hear the tiniest hint of trepidation.

I stared at the man. "Is that a fact?" I didn't bother to hide the anger I was feeling. Anger was easy for me, and it helped to push down the shiver of scared remembrance, of breaking glass and flying through the air, of pain all over my skin that I wasn't able to stop. Micah grabbed my left hand, and I squeezed him so hard that I'd have broken a normal human's bones.

"Yes, Ms. Blake, it is," the man said, with just the tiniest hint of a drawl. "Might we talk for a few minutes?"

"I'm pretty sure that I don't want to listen to anything you have to say," I said as I turned to leave.

"It's about Harry Potter," he said, unruffled. I froze. Micah's hand slipped out of mine as I turned back to the man.

"What about him?"

Tammy looked at me. "It's something you need to listen to, Anita," she said.

I spared the witch a glance before glaring at Cassidy. "You came to her first so that she'd get me to listen to you, didn't you?" I demanded.

An expression of resignation passed over his face. "After what happened in the St. Louis police station with two of my former employees, I didn't think there was any way you would listen to me if I came to you straight out." He sat down on the sofa, a tiny hesitation in his movement as he swung his right leg out stiffly. "There's also the political aspect that I unfortunately have to deal with."

Micah and I exchanged glances. I hated this, being tricked into anything, but I knew that I couldn't leave now, not without knowing what this had to do with Harry.

 _Are we staying?_ Nathaniel's voice brushed against my mind. Unhappily, I told him we were. _Then I should make tea or something, because otherwise Tammy's going to want to do it and she should be here with you in case things get weird._

 _Take Jason and the baby with you,_ I thought quickly.

"Tammy, if we're going to stay for a while, maybe I can make us something to drink?" Nathaniel said smoothly. I couldn't see his face, but he was using his stage voice, confidence that he wore like a shield whenever something was wrong. It was an act and I hated it, knowing that the confidence wasn't real.

"Oh, I don't--" Tammy said.

"He makes a mean cup of coffee," Jason said, turning a giggling Tannis sideways on his arm and rubbing her tummy. "I'll help. We know where everything is."

Tammy nodded so quickly that I wondered if she was worried about the situation, or if she just didn't want to miss anything. "Let me know if you need any help."

"Tell me what you wanted to say about Harry," I said as soon as Jason and Nathaniel had cleared the room.

Cassidy leaned back against the couch. "You may as well sit down, we're going to be here for a bit."

I tried to push back my... my what? Anger? Or was it the apprehension still singing through my veins? Olaf had attacked Nathaniel and me one week ago, and it had been almost a month and a half since the Aurors had attacked Zerbrowski and Dolph at the police station. I didn't want to be here, with someone whose magic I couldn't fight.

I swallowed my developing panic attack. I had to find out what this man had to say about Harry. Following Micah to the couch across from where Cassidy was sitting, I perched on the arm while Micah sat beside me. From here, I could see Nathaniel and Jason in Tammy's kitchen. Nathaniel glanced at me, and my resolve strengthened.

"So?" I demanded.

"So," Cassidy said, "Introductions are probably in order."

"I thought you already knew who everyone was, spying on me and all that," I snapped.

The man stared at me. "What I know and what I don't know isn't any excuse for impoliteness on my part, Ms. Blake." He looked at Micah and gave a nod. "I'm John Cassidy."

"Micah Callahan," Micah said.

Cassidy shot me another glance. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't know why you were upset with me, Ms. Blake."

"Oh really?" I exclaimed, trying very hard to keep an hysterical edge out of my voice. "Would that be where two of your employees messed with the mind of a friend of mine, a good policeman? Or where they sent me through a plate glass window?"

"Or where we didn't know Nigel Spencer was in St. Louis?" Cassidy interrupted. "Or what Nigel Spencer did to his wife? I assure you, Ms. Blake, exactly how my department missed Spencer's presence for so many years is the matter of an ongoing investigation."

"What about what they did to Zerbrowski?" I pushed. "Fucking with a law enforcement officer's mind is a magical felony! But, I forgot, you people don't give a fuck what happens to us 'muggles'," I finished sarcastically.

Tammy winced, but Cassidy looked as if I finally said something interesting. "I keep forgetting that your first introduction to my world was through Harry Potter," he said thoughtfully.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I demanded.

Cassidy sighed. "Ms. Blake, I'm only in this job because twenty years ago, there wasn't anyone else who wanted to deal with the mess that the Auror department had become," he said. "I'm not a politician or a war hero or any other word that gets battered around. Hell, for the last five years, the politicians have been trying to force me out for someone who will play their game."

"Why are you telling us this?" Micah asked from my side.

"Because a lot of people in my world would treat Harry like he's a part of the political machine, like they did over in England," Cassidy said. "Sixteen years ago, he was somehow involved in the destruction of a dark wizard, and he ceased to be a child. He wasn't a kid, he had to be more in their eyes."

"Why?" Micah asked.

"Because, Mr. Callahan, if they admitted to themselves that Harry Potter was just a child, just a normal boy, then they would have had no excuse for not standing up to Voldemort themselves. This way, they could continue to delude themselves that there was nothing they could do."

"What's your point?" I interrupted.

"My point, Ms. Blake, is that I'm not surprised that you have little time for this," Cassidy shot back. "Mr. Potter's seventeen now, but from what I hear he's been fighting in this war for a long time before any sane person would have put him in that situation."

"Auror Cassidy was a battalion commander in the fight against Grindelwald in World War II," Tammy said quietly to me.

I blinked. "Who?"

"A very dark sorcerer," Cassidy said. "The title sounds more important that it was. I was some twenty--year-old kid, leading anyone with a shred of magic into a fight we didn't have hardly any chance of winning. I saw too many sixteen and seventeen-year-old kids die then, Ms. Blake."

I wrapped my arms around my waist, trying to comfort myself, but it wasn't working. When Cassidy said those words, I'd had a sudden vision of Harry lying cold and dead on a stone floor. I swallowed hard. "Then you can understand why I feel like I do about someone who keeps putting kids at risk like he does."

"Albus Dumbledore?" Cassidy said. When I nodded, he shrugged, an undecipherable expression on his face. "I never saw why he went into teaching children."

Nathaniel chose that moment to walk into the living room with a tea tray. Jason was on his heels, Tannis sleeping on his shoulder. Tammy stood up to get her baby while Nathaniel laid the tray on the coffee table.

 _I thought you were going to stay in the kitchen with Jason,_ I thought at him.

 _You calmed down enough so I knew we were going to stay and that it was okay,_ Nathaniel told me as he sat beside Micah on the couch. _That man is working very hard to get you to trust him._

_You get that too, huh?_

_He doesn't smell like he's lying,_ Nathaniel said. _But he's really old. He'd have to be, like, ninety, right?_

 _If he was leading a battalion in the second world war, then yes._ I took the coffee cup Micah handed to me. "All right, what did you want to say about Harry?"

Cassidy looked up from where he was pouring himself a cup of tea. "Actually, it starts with our investigation into Spencer."

I gave him an unhappy smile. "And?"

Cassidy took a sip of tea. "Without boring you with the details, while we were going through Spencer's belongings, trying to find out if he had created any more Inferi, other than his wife, we discovered a substance known as Dragon's Breath. Do you know what that is?"

"Some kind of chemical?" I guessed.

"Yes, I suppose it could be called that," Cassidy said. "It can be used as a component in an explosive device. In this case, we found only traces, but through tracing we learned that Spencer bought a large amount about four months ago. A very large amount."

"So he was making a bomb?" I asked.

"As far as we can tell," Cassidy said. "I've had tracer teams out, but we can't find a trace of it."

"Has it been used?" I stopped my next question as my mind finally began to tie together all the things Cassidy had been saying. "You think someone's taken it out of the country, don't you?"

"Spencer had a reputation as an arms dealer, and he was known to have worked with Voldemort's people in the past," Cassidy said. "To have him building a large bomb, then have that bomb disappear, and him killed by one of Voldemort's people, is too pat to be a coincidence."

"Shit," I muttered as I set my coffee cup down. "So, why me? Why not just tell the British authorities?"

"Offers from my government, for assistance to the British ministry of magic for the fight against Voldemort, have been met with suspicion and resentment," Cassidy said. "After being rebuffed, it was made clear that we were not to assist unless asked through proper channels."

"So you came to me to, what, circumvent the rules? Why? Because you're scared for your job?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tammy shake her head.

"Actually, that's exactly it," Cassidy said. I raised my eyebrows. "Voldemort's not the only magical threat in the world right now, Ms. Blake. His presence and the attention of the magical world focused on Britain means that others are trying sneak in under the radar to gain a foothold. I've got a team of twenty people down in Brazil right now, trying to stop a band of sorcerers from doing some serious damage to that continent. If the ministry kicks me out, there's a very real chance they'll attempt to pull everyone back in for review, right at a crucial time."

"But that's insane!"

"Yes," Cassidy said shortly. He picked up a packet of paper at his side and tossed it over. "That there is all the information I have on the explosive device, from my people. Dumbledore might be able to find someone able to use that information to look for the thing."

"How large of a bomb are we talking?" Micah asked.

"Give or take, big enough to bring down a very large building," Cassidy said. "The British Parliament, for example, but I don't think Voldemort's going to be going for a muggle institution on this one."

"Why not?" I asked, pausing in leafing through the paper.

"Because it's not his style to attack the muggles like that," Cassidy said. "In the past, he's used a more direct attack on people. Frankly, using a bomb isn't in his nature."

"Good to see he's thinking outside the box," I said bitterly.

Cassidy stood up. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Blake. Det. Reynolds, thank you." Cassidy nodded at Micah, then his glance slid right over Nathaniel to Jason, who got another nod.

Tammy quickly showed Cassidy out. Once they left the room, I tossed the papers to Micah and stood up, staring down at Nathaniel. He looked back at me, frowning. "What?" he asked softly.

"Why didn't Cassidy say goodbye to you?" I asked. "Dumbledore did the same thing back in August. He said goodbye to everyone in the room but you."

Nathaniel ducked his head and leaned against Micah, who put an arm around the younger wereleopard's shoulders. "I don't know," he said. "I'm not important enough to notice."

I slid to the couch btween Nathaniel and Jason, ending up mostly on Jason's lap, as I hugged Nathaniel between me and Micah. "That's bullshit," I whispered in his ear, and kissed his cheek. "You're very important."

"To you."

"To me too," Micah said from Nathaniel's other side. "And to Jason, and Harry."

I pressed my cheek against Nathaniel's, stayed against him as we heard the front door close and Tammy came back into the living room. She sank down into an armchair and briefly closed her eyes.

"So, is he on the level?" I asked, sitting up a little. It put me more on Jason's lap, but surprisingly, he kept his hands to himself. "Or is this just some weird smokescreen?"

"I can't see how," Tammy said. "But Dolph's going to be pissed."

"I'll say."

"Why?" Micah asked.

Tammy and I looked at each other. "Because the Aurors probably took any kind of evidence with them," Tammy said as she got up. Carefully, she lifted Tannis, still sleeping, out of her playpen and carried her back to the armchair. "We may know who, or rather what, killed Spencer, but we'll never be able to prove it," Tammy said, settling Tannis against her chest. "I hate this, knowing bad things are going to happen and not being in the right place to stop any of it."

"Are you sorry your parents didn't let you go into Cassidy's world?" I had to ask.

Tammy didn't hesitate before shaking her head. "No. Things are less... There's less artifice in this world. It's not as nice, but it's more real."

I stood up. "We should go," I said, as Nathaniel got to his feet beside me.

Tammy adjusted Tannis higher on her shoulder. "Do you want me to see you out?"

"We're fine," Micah said with a smile.

We left Tammy sitting there. Once we were in the jeep, Micah started to flip through the packet of papers that Cassidy had given me. "That was different."

"That's for damned sure," I muttered under my breath as I started the car.

"What are we going to do about Harry?" Jason asked, poking his head between the seats. "Wait for him to call again?"

"Maybe," I said as I put the jeep in gear. "If it was just as simple as mailing it to him, I'm sure Cassidy would have done that, instead of arranging this whole thing with Tammy. Besides, I want to know exactly what those papers say before I send them anywhere."

We drove in silence for a little while, until a hand from the backseat snuck onto my shoulder. Knowing it was Nathaniel, I let him stroke the side of my neck with his fingers, feeling the knot of tension in my stomach ease slightly.

I hated this. I hated that Harry was over there and we were over here, that he was facing dangers we hadn't even thought about and there wasn't a damned thing I could do to help.

Nathaniel's fingers traveled to the base of my spine, and I shivered. "Your seatbelt had better be on," I said to him.

 _It is,_ he thought at me, so casually that it took me a moment to realize he was using the marks between us to communicate, not talking. _We'll figure this out and help Harry._

 _You seem to have a lot of faith in that,_ I said, not all together happily.

I felt his smile like the warmth of the sun against my skin. _Yes,_ he thought quietly. _I do._

* * *

Harry rested his head against the stone wall in the infirmary, his mind screaming alert, every muscle tense, as he waited for any change. The room was quiet as a tomb, Madam Pomfrey having swept Dumbledore into an inner chamber as soon as he'd been portkeyed to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey hadn't said anything to Harry, but the speed with which she worked, and the fact that she used a portkey to move someone so gravely injured inside the castle, wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

 _He can't die,_ Harry thought for the hundredth time. _We need him here, to fight Voldemort. We can't do it on our own, we're not powerful enough._

_I can't do this alone._

Anita would probably pray, but Harry couldn't do that. He'd gone to church with the Dursleys as a child, for appearances' sake, and the whole event had always felt so incredibly hollow. He had wondered what kind of a God would let his parents die in a car smash, leaving him all alone with people who didn't love him. A God that loved everyone, like the pastor always said, wouldn't have done something like that to Harry. So, there couldn't be a God.

He'd never been able to shake that childish conviction. It was probably too late now, anyway.

The sound of heels tapping on the floor whipped his head around. McGonagall appeared around the corner, and Harry was on his feet before she even reached him. "How is he?" Harry demanded.

"Potter--"

"Is he still alive?"

McGonagall stared at Harry for a long moment, and he felt his heart began to sink. "He's still alive," she finally said.

Harry's knees bucked, making him sit down heavily on the bench. Dumbledore wasn't dead. He was still alive. As long as he was alive, there was a chance.

"Potter, I need you to tell me what happened," McGonagall said, in a voice that was a lot less strident than she had used when she'd rushed past him earlier. "Madam Pomfrey was unable to tell what sort of spell caused such damage, and all you said was--"

"I told her that a spell backfired on him, and I didn't know why," Harry said, sitting up straight. Now that he knew Dumbledore wasn't going to die, a number of thoughts suddenly crowded into his head. What would Dumbledore do? If he wanted McGonagall to know about the Horcruxes, wouldn't he have told her? Or taken her with him down into the cavern? He took a deep breath and prepared to lie. "He said he'd explain all that he was doing after he cast the spell, but it went wrong and I don't know why."

McGonagall's eyes were boring into him, but Harry cleared his mind and met her gaze. "Where did he take you for this spell?"

Harry shrugged. "We portkeyed there, I didn't recognize it."

Another pause. "How did you return?"

"The portkey was set on a timer or something," Harry said. "Did Madam Pomfrey say anything about when Dumbledore would be awake?"

"She did not," McGonagall said stiffly. "And in the meantime, Potter, you cannot tell anyone what has happened the headmaster."

"But--"

"No buts. If certain people found out he was incapacitated, it would put the school and everyone in it, in peril."

"Voldemort," Harry said grimly.

"Among others," McGonagall said. She straightened her robe. "Unless you have anything else to tell me, on your way."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Harry exclaimed. "I'm staying right here until he wakes up!"

"You cannot do that."

Harry crossed his arms across his chest and set his jaw. "Unless they're taking Dumbledore to St. Mungo's hospital, which I really doubt after what you told me, then I am staying here!"

McGonagall narrowed her eyes. "And how will you explain why you are here? No other student is in the infirmary. If you stay, your friends will come to find you, putting unnecessary attention on the place. How long do you think it will take before rumors begin?"

Harry stared down at his shoes. McGonagall was right, and he hated it. He didn't want to leave, in case Dumbledore needed him for anything.

But what would the greatest wizard in the world want from him? He hadn't even been able to help the man with destroying the Horcruxes.

Getting to his feet, Harry shuffled over to the window, aware of McGonagall's eyes on him. The day was dreary, but it wasn't raining, not yet. A drift of smoke caught Harry's attention, and he spotted Hagrid coming out of the ForbiddenForest, Fang at his side.

Harry whirled around. "Has anyone told Hagrid?"

"No."

"Someone has to tell Hagrid," Harry said in a rush. "He needs to know!"

Harry thought McGonagall was going to argue with him, tell him that Hagrid was too much of a liability. Hagrid couldn't lie to save his life, and if keeping Dumbledore's condition was as much a secret as McGonagall was saying...

"Would you go tell him?" McGonagall asked rather gently, surprising Harry.

He nodded quickly. "I'll tell him that he needs to come up here, that something happened that a teacher needs to--" Harry froze. "Snape! Does Snape know? Because if he does, then Voldemort is going to find out!"

"Professor Snape would never endanger this school or the headmaster," McGonagall said sternly.

"But he's a spy!"

"Exactly, for our side." McGonagall lifted her head imperiously, making it seem as if she was looking down at Harry, even though they were the same height. "In any event, Professor Snape left the school before breakfast this morning."

Snape was gone? "Why? Where'd he go?" Harry demanded.

"The headmaster sent him on an errand, he will be back in a few days," McGonagall said. "Now, if you're going to go tell Hagrid, do so now. I'll be waiting up here for him."

Harry blinked a few times, then turned toward the door for the infirmary. Snape wasn't there. Snape was gone.

Dumbledore had sent Snape away.

"Potter, you cannot go out there like that," McGonagall called after him.

He stopped and looked down at himself. He'd used his robe on Dumbledore's wound, and his white shirt was covered in Dumbledore's drying blood.

Suddenly nauseated, Harry whipped out his wand and cleaned his shirt, then transfigured it into a black school robe with the flick of a wrist. Keeping his wand in his hand, he continued out of the infirmary.

He was dimly aware that he passed several students, but he didn't particularly care who they were. It didn't matter, not with Dumbledore lying upstairs in the infirmary almost dead and the Horcruxes not an inch closer to be being destroyed.

_Dumbledore sent Snape away._

An uncomfortable thought was growing in Harry's head. Dumbledore had sent Snape away that morning, not on Saturday. Now the man was going to miss classes, which Harry couldn't remember Snape ever doing in the past.

_Dumbledore sent Snape away this morning, and then sent for me, and we tried to destroy the Horcruxes, and Dumbledore almost died. McGonagall told me I can't tell anyone in case it gets back to Voldemort._

Harry burst out the front doors, almost tripping down the stone steps and not really caring.

_Did Dumbledore know something like this was going to happen?_

Dumbledore hadn't told Harry what had happened when he destroyed the first Horcrux, the ring. What if Dumbledore had known this was going to happen? Was that why he took Harry down there and shown him how to do the spell? In case something happened to Dumbledore?

 _How could he do something like that?_ Harry wondered, feeling anger stirring his beast. _Why didn't he just tell me?_

"Harry!" Hagrid shouted in greeting. "Come t' see me?"

There was a happy grin on the half-giant's face, and Harry hated himself for what he was about to do. "Hi, Hagrid." He got closer, making sure there was no one else around, before he said, "You should probably go up to the infirmary."

"Why?" Hagrid asked, putting his wheelbarrow down against the wall. "Sumpthin' happen?"

Harry made himself take a deep breath. "Dumbledore was--" _Was what? Almost destroyed by a wild spell? A conniving old man who probably knew this was going happen?_ "-- hurt this morning and McGonagall wants to see you, up in the infirmary."

Hagrid stared at Harry, his grin half-frozen. "What happened? Is he goin'..." He shook his head. "Nah, he'll be fine. Right as rain in a day or so!"

Harry pasted a smile on his face, feeling sick to his stomach. "I'm sure he will be."

"Right." Hagrid squared his shoulders. "I should--"

"Go, it's okay. He'll be fine," Harry said again. Watching Hagrid hurry toward the castle, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he had just lied to Hagrid. His very first friend ever, Hagrid had always believed in Harry, no matter what was going on, no matter what Harry had done.

_Just like Dumbledore always believed in Hagrid._

Fang shambled up to Harry and licked his hand with a slobbery tongue. Harry looked down at the huge boarhound for a few minutes before he saw what Fang was so interested in.

Harry had blood on his hands.

He barely had time to stumble over to the bushes before he threw up. When he was done, feeling empty and gross and horrible, he went to the water pump outside Hagrid's hut and took long drinks until the aching in his stomach abated somewhat.

Fang licked at the water on the pump until Harry summoned the dog's water bowl and filled it up. He watched the dog drink, making an utter mess over the grass, and wishing his life was that simple.

"What am I going to do?" Harry asked Fang. "What would you do?"

Fang paused in his drinking long enough to give Harry a baleful look, then went back to his bowl.

"What the hell am I going to do?" Harry asked himself, sitting on a rock. _I can't do anything to help Dumbledore. I'm not even supposed to tell anyone!_

Not that McGonagall's restriction mattered; Harry was going to tell Ron and Hermione anyway. They wouldn't tell anyone that Dumbledore was hurt.

Harry pressed his palms against his face. He couldn't get the stink of burning flesh out of his head, of the feel of thick blood and other things that should never be seen, all because Harry was too slow to be able to help.

In desperation, he wondered what Anita would do if this happened to her. He had heard stories, that she had been through some really horrible stuff, but she still kept on going, until the job was done.

 _This isn't over yet,_ Harry told himself, taking his hands away from his face. _Dumbledore's not dead, and neither is Voldemort. We need to stop Voldemort, and if Dumbledore's not able to help, then I have to do it myself._

* * *

Harry was mildly surprised when the stone gargoyles outside of Dumbledore's office let him in without a fight. He went up the stone stairs without a sound, not really sure what he was going to do, but knowing that he didn't have much time. McGonagall probably had her hands full with Hagrid at the moment, but soon she might be coming to this very office.

The muttering portraits went still when Harry slipped through the door. "You, boy, you shouldn't be in here," said one curly-haired witch in a portrait by the window.

Harry ignored them, drawn to the spot on the carpet where Dumbledore had fallen. Still-red blood soaked the carpet, almost hiding the ropes that Harry had used to bind Dumbledore's wound, and their hands together around the portkey.

 _Fall apart later!_ Harry screamed at himself. He turned his back on the stain and dropped to his knees to look for the tiny portkey pebble. It took him ten minutes, but he finally located the stone under a bookshelf. Heeding what Dumbledore had said about it going off every half hour if it was touching skin or clothing, Harry used his wand to levitate the tiny rock to the top of the desk. Hoping Dumbledore wouldn't mind if Harry borrowed one of the tiny trinkets in the office, he placed the stone in a small silver box, and shoved the entire thing in his trousers pocket.

The portraits continued to talk over Harry's head, casting the occasional comment at him. He tuned them out and looked around the office. He had the portkey, but what else would he need to learn how to destroy the Horcruxes? Dumbledore's spell alone wasn't going to be enough, as they'd seen down in the cavern.

 _Hermione makes a ton of notes, maybe Dumbledore would too,_ Harry thought. _But where would he keep them?_

A quick "Accio Horcrux spell notes!" didn't move anything in the room, so Harry rolled up his sleeves and set to work. Two of the desk drawers wouldn't open, and the remaining drawers didn't seem to have anything resembling spell notes. Harry tried magic to unlock the drawers, but nothing budged. Frustrated, he moved over to the cupboards.

He still didn't find any spell notes, but he did find something of almost equal interest. The Marauders' Map.

He stared at the empty parchment for a moment, then unfolded it on Dumbledore's desk to tap it with his wand, saying, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." _Truer words were never spoken,_ he thought as lines began to spread across the map.

McGonagall was still in the Infirmary with Hagrid, Harry saw. He left the map open on the desk as he went back to rooting around in the cupboards.

Half an hour later, he still hadn't found a thing. "This is hopeless!" he said, kicking the desk in frustration.

"Stealing from the headmaster usually is," said the portrait of Phineas Black, glaring down at him.

Harry retuned the glare. "Don't suppose you know where Dumbledore hides his spell notes? Or a diary?"

The portrait gave him a beady stare. "So you can rob him blind? Hardly likely!"

Harry restrained himself from making a rude gesture at the portrait and leaned back against the cupboard door. He was about to give up. Where would Dumbledore hide something he didn't want found?

Looking around the office again, Harry couldn't help but think that something was just the tiniest bit... off. He had felt a similar sensation when he walked into the room that morning, but he hadn't paid it much attention, as Dumbledore wanted to talk about the Horcruxes. But the closer Harry looked around the office, the more the thought slipped away.

 _Calm down, and it'll come to you,_ Harry thought, his inner voice sounding a lot like Hermione. _Just breathe, just relax._ When that didn't work, Harry slipped into his Occlumency, focusing on clearing his mind, making things smooth and calm.

Snags in his head were hard to smooth over, and each snag was a smell. The smell of blood, of charred flesh, of a dank stone cavern, of failure... each took an eternity to smooth over, but finally Harry's mind was calm.

He opened his eyes and looked slowly around the room. Nothing jumped out at him, but that was okay, that was fine, it would come to him at some point, that was the way it worked, teasing out the tangles instead of hacking them off....

The Sorting Hat was on the wrong place.

Harry cocked his head to the side. When he had come into Dumbledore's office before, after the Welcoming Feast, the Sorting Hat had been on the far left of its shelf. Now, it was more in the centre of the shelf.

The Hat had been used to hide something in the past. Godric Gryffindor's sword had been in the Hat when Dumbledore's phoenix Fawkes had dropped it down to Harry during the fight with the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

Feeling hopeful for the first time all day, Harry carefully lifted the Hat up and placed it on his head.

"Hello?" Harry said.

The Hat stirred. _Yes?_ it said sleepily. _It's not time for another sorting is it, Harry Potter?_

"Not yet," Harry said. "But I'm looking for something, some papers Dumbledore may have been trying to hide. Did he hide them in you?"

 _Whatever makes you say that?_ the Hat asked.

"Because you helped me out once before, and I don't think anyone else knows that you can hide things in you," Harry said. "Do you have the notes? It's really very important, please."

The Hat shifted restlessly on Harry's head. _How am I supposed to know if I can trust you?_

"You can see into my head, can't you? You know I'm... being honest."

The Hat chuckled. _You were going to say trustworthy._

"I've been rifling the Headmaster's papers, I'm not sure you can call that trustworthy."

 _But at least you are honest._ The Hat went silent. Just as Harry thought the thing wasn't going to help him, something heavy fell on top of his head.

He whipped the Hat off and pulled out large sheaf of parchment, rolled up tight. It was in Dumbledore's hand writing. "Thanks, Hat," Harry said quickly, putting the Hat back on the shelf in the place it had been at the start of the year. Going over to the desk, he quickly unrolled the parchment.

In Dumbledore's handwriting, in the middle of the page, Harry spotted the word "Horcrux," and let out a breath. "This is it," he said, wondering why he felt so unhappy. This was what he had wanted, to find the notes on the spell.

Maybe because these notes hadn't helped Dumbledore.

Shaking his head, Harry rolled up the parchment. As he did so, a moving dot on the Map drew his attention.

McGonagall was heading toward Dumbledore's office.

"Shit!" Harry said with feeling as he grabbed the Map and the parchment, and bolted toward the door. He didn't have time to clean up the mess he'd made. Maybe McGonagall would think that Dumbledore had made the mess.

 _I doubt it!_ The door banged shut behind him as he ran down the stone steps, pausing by the gargoyles to make sure the corridor was empty. He heard footsteps around the corner, but he didn't wait to get caught. He ran.

Harry didn't stop running until he was at the end of the secret passage that led to the abandoned Hogwarts wing where he had practiced becoming an Animagus. He hurried to the same dusty classroom he had used before locking the door shut behind him.

Hunger and exhumation pushed at the edges of his vision, but Harry didn't have time for that. He needed to figure out how to destroy those Horcruxes. Even with the best of intentions, someone might let it slip that Dumbledore was badly hurt. Or...

 _Or he might die,_ Harry thought, the mere idea churning in his gut. _If that's so, I need to find the rest of the Horcruxes and destroy them, so I can kill Voldemort once and for all._

Grimly, Harry pushed two desks together and unrolled the parchment on top of them. He had work to do. 


	67. Cheating Death

* * *

When he saw Dumbledore at the teacher's table at breakfast the next day, chatting with McGonagall like everything was fine, Harry almost had a heart attack.

Somehow, he stumbled to the Gryffindor table and sat down without falling face-first in the jam. He'd been up for most of the night reading Dumbledore's notes, and was nowhere closer to knowing what had gone wrong with the Horcrux locket spell.

 _How could Dumbledore have gotten better so fast?_ Harry wondered, trying to be unobtrusive in his examination of the headmaster. _He almost died yesterday, there was no way he could have healed overnight!_

"Harry!"

Harry jumped, knocked his legs on the underside of the table and fell back cursing. "What's your problem, Ron?" he demanded as he rubbed his knee.

Ron dropped to the bench at Harry's side. "What's my problem? You didn't come back to the dorms last night, and we couldn't find you!"

Pulling slices of toast onto his plate, Harry concentrated very hard on not screaming at his friend. He'd only had an hour of sleep, when he passed out over the notes in the dark of night. Whatever Ron's problem was, Harry didn't care.

"I needed to talk to you!" Ron continued quietly, bending in closer and plucking at Harry's sleeve. Harry jerked back.

"I was sort of busy," Harry snapped. He bit into his makeshift bacon sandwich, wishing it was steak and almost raw, not this salty tough pork. "Whatever it was is going to have to wait!"

Ron sat back, glaring at Harry. "That so?" he said. "And if I said it wasn't about me, if it was about Ginny, then would you listen?"

Whatever Harry would have answered was lost as Dumbledore got to his feet, saying a few last words to McGonagall. Quickly, Harry shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and clambered up off the bench. Dumbledore moved very quickly for an injured old man, nimbly making it out of the hall before Harry could catch him.

Once Harry cleared the doors, he broke into a run, thanking his lucky stars that Monday morning breakfast was the least attended meal of the week. "Sir?" Harry called as Dumbledore disappeared around a corner up ahead. "Sir!"

Harry put on an extra burst of speed, careening around the corner and almost slamming into Dumbledore.

"Sir!" Harry said, stumbling against the wall. "What's going on?"

Dumbledore smiled at Harry benignly. "In what way, Mr. Potter?"

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Dumbledore hadn't called him Mr. Potter in years, not when they were alone. He sure as hell wouldn't do it after what happened the day before, in the Horcrux cavern.

Who would dare to impersonate Dumbledore? McGonagall would know-- Harry gave his head an imaginary shake. Of course McGonagall knew, she probably set the whole thing up... but why?

Harry breathed in deeply to steady himself, and caught a familiar scent. Not the thick green smell he associated with polyjuice, but something more bitter, more alive, more... girlish.

"You know, Tonks, Dumbledore doesn't call me 'Mr. Potter' anymore," Harry said coldly.

The Dumbledore standing in front of him crooked an eyebrow up. "Harry, then," Tonks said, not denying what Harry said. "Professor McGonagall was very busy this morning."

"Crash course," Harry said, fuming and feeling oddly betrayed. He'd saved Dumbledore's life yesterday, and they didn't even tell him they were going to pull this shit!

Tonks nodded, turning down the hall. "I think it best if we were to continue," she said quietly. "If Dumbledore is talking with Harry Potter, there is nothing to suspect, but if Harry Potter is berating Dumbledore..."

"You could just give me detention," Harry grumbled.

"I'm thinking about it." They walked along the corridor, Tonks nodding to the occasional passing student. Luckily, no one wanted to bother the headmaster. "How did you know?"

Harry stared straight ahead, his hastily swallowed breakfast feeling like lead in his gut. "Yesterday, with Dumbledore, it was... bad. Too bad to be fixed overnight."

"So Professor McGonagall told me." Together, they headed down an empty corridor along the outside wall of the school.

Harry gave Tonks a sidelong look. "You didn't see... him?"

Tonks shook her head, her silver beard waggling. Maybe it was the light, or a bad transformation, but her skin was starting to look almost grey. "All of this," she indicated her Dumbledore robes, "was set in place months ago, in case of an emergency."

Harry clenched his fists, trying to stay calm. "You people--" He stopped talking and focused on breathing. Standing so close to Tonks, he drew in her scent underlying the Dumbledore smell of the robes, and that odd bitter smell again. "You asked how I knew; it wasn't just yesterday. You should stay away from Reece Trevelyan, from Hufflepuff. You don't smell like Dumbledore."

Tonks stopped mid-step. "You can smell that well already? The first full moon isn't for weeks yet."

Harry leaned up against the wall, the faint edge of exhaustion dragging at his brain. "It's complicated. I was going to tell Remus when I saw him, but he's... fuck, I don't even know where he is or when I'm going to see him."

"Language, Mr. Potter," Tonks warned, earning her a glare. "Remus's location--"

"I know, undercover," Harry muttered. "But... if you see him, can you tell him I need to talk to him? It's not as clean-cut as you think. It's really, really complicated."

Tonks leaned back against the wall on the other side of the corridor, the light coming in the windows casting strange shadows on her lined face. "I'll tell him." Her face contorted in pain and she almost doubled over.

"Tonks?" Harry said, pushing off the wall.

She tried to straighten up, but then another convulsion hit her, and she fell to her knees. "I don't know what--" She broke off with a gasp, her voice changing. Under Dumbledore's blue and silver robes, Tonks’ body began to shift to other forms, not settling on any. "Something's... wrong." She clenched her mouth shut, trying to stifle a shriek.

"What's wrong?" Harry demanded, dropped to his knees beside her. Her forehead was burning up and clammy at the same time, her sweat smelling bitter. "Are you allergic to--"

"Stupid," Tonks gasped, back arching up as her body stopped shifting. It took Harry a second to realize that she wasn't talking about him. "Tea tasted... strange..."

Terror exploded in Harry's head. "No, this isn't going to happen!" he said quickly, pulling out his wand. He'd summon help, he had to, even in this corridor without any portraits and not a single soul in earshot. Why had they gone down here again? Was privacy really that important?

"Harry?"

Harry swung his head around, wand aimed at Ron and Ginny, who were running toward him. He lowered his wand instantly. "You have to get help!" he exclaimed, as Tonks fell onto her back, fingers scrabbling at the ground. "Someone poisoned her, I don't know--" his voice broke. "Go get help!"

Ginny didn't hesitate. She pulled her schoolbag off her shoulder and dumped it to the ground. "Gin, what are you doing?" Ron shouted. "You run faster'n me, go get a teacher!"

"Shut up!" Ginny screeched, tearing through the bag and emerging with something clenched in her fist. "Open her mouth, now!"

Not stopping to question why they were listening to her, Ron grabbed Tonks’ shoulders while Harry tried to pry the Auror's jaw apart. A convulsion shuddered through her body and her teeth clamped down into Harry's hand, almost biting his thumb off, but he got her mouth open.

Ginny darted in and shoved a small object into Tonks’ mouth, using her finger to push it down her throat. The convulsions stopped almost instantly, and her breathing eased.

Harry let go of Tonks’ head, cradling his bleeding hand against his chest. He looked at Ron, wide-eyed. "Ginny, what was that?" Ron demanded.

"A bezoar," Ginny said in a whisper. "It's supposed to stop most poisons."

At that second, Harry didn't care how Ginny knew that, or why she was carrying one around. All he knew was that she'd saved Tonks’ life. He leaned over and gave her a big hug, then quickly let her go. "Come on, we need to get Tonks to the infirmary, in case there's something else wrong," he said.

Tonks gasped something in between raspy breaths. Ron, who was the closest to her, frowned. "Robes?"

"She's in Dumbledore's robes," Harry said, picking up his wand and transfiguring Tonks’ robes to an anonymous black. "She almost dies and she's worried about her robes." He put his wand away and moved to beside the prone Auror. "Always on the job." That got him a tiny hint of a smile as he lifted her into his arms and stood up.

"Harry, you--"

"I've got her," Harry said, setting off toward the infirmary.

Ron shook his head. "I'll go on ahead," he said, running off before Harry could respond.

Ginny tagged along at Harry's side, staring at Tonks, who was passing in and out of consciousness. "Why was she being Dumbledore?" Ginny asked.

Harry had to concentrate on not tripping, and didn't respond for a minute. He'd never carried anyone like this, and while Tonks was a small woman, she was an adult and carrying her was extraordinarily awkward. "Long story."

There was no time left for conversation.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey met them in the hallway outside the infirmary, Ron out of breath beside her. "What happened?" she demanded, running her wand over Tonks.

"I went to talk to her after breakfast," Harry said, maneuvering Tonks and all her limbs through the infirmary doors without hitting anything. "She smelled bitter and she said her tea tasted strange." He reached the bed that Madam Pomfrey indicated, and heaved Tonks onto the surface with a little less grace than he'd have liked. He was strong, but she wasn't a feather. "She was looking like Dumbledore, and then she started shifting like crazy to all kinds of other people, then she looked like this."

"Her natural form," Madam Pomfrey muttered. "Mr. Weasley said that Miss Weasley administered a bezoar?"

Beside Harry, Ginny nodded. "I-- We-- In Potions class..."

"Well done," Madam Pomfrey interrupted. "You probably saved her life." Tonks’ eyes fluttered open.

"Is she going to be all right?" Harry demanded. "She has to be all right!"

"Mr. Potter, move!" Madam Pomfrey ordered.

Tonks arched up on the bed, her hands scrabbling at the sheets. Ginny screamed as Harry lunged forward, catching Tonks before she pitched off the bed.

"What is going on?" McGonagall asked, running down the infirmary. "Poppy--"

"Is Severus back yet?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, trying to pour a potion down Tonks’ throat. The Auror's convulsions slowed, but her breathing was laboured, her skin grey and going cold under Harry's hands.

"Come on, Tonks, it's going to be okay," Harry said, gripping her hand tight. Her fevered eyes focused on his face for only a moment, but it was enough. "You've fought off Death Eaters and all kinds of bad wizards, you can't even think about letting a bad cup of tea take you down."

Tonks let out a hiccoughing laugh, that changed to shivers as her eyes pinched closed in pain. "Not a... chance," she breathed.

"Good." Harry squeezed her hand while he pushed her straggly black hair off her forehead. He wished Remus was here for Tonks; he wished Sirius was there for both of them. Madam Pomfrey appeared at the bedside once again, another potion in her hand. "Why is this happened?" he asked. "A bezoar's supposed to be an antidote, right?"

Madam Pomfrey helped Tonks swallow the bright blue potion. "The bezoar works on most potions, not all," she said as she put the vial on the bedside table.

"Potter," McGonagall called, "We need to leave Madam Pomfrey to her work."

Harry glanced away from Tonks. McGonagall stood by Ron, who had his arm around Ginny's shoulders. Just as quickly, Harry looked back down. "I'm not leaving."

"Potter--"

"The bezoar's not working," he said. Tonks gripped his hand tighter, a shuddering running down her body. "She shouldn't be alone."

McGonagall was silent. Harry waited, body taught, for the command to leave.

"We'll be in my office, if anything changes," McGonagall said.

Ron's muttering voice, and Ginny's quiet replies, soon faded as McGonagall herded them out of the infirmary. Once they were gone, Harry summoned over a stool and took a seat by Tonks’ bed. The second potion Madam Pomfrey had given her seemed to have helped a bit. Her skin was still grey and cold, but the spasms had stopped, her breathing less laboured.

She kept her eyes closed, breathing hard. Harry sat, waiting for... he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. He hated feeling so useless, unable to help. It was exactly like with Dumbledore the previous day, waiting and not being able to help a damned bit.

Madam Pomfrey came back to Tonks several times, checking her pupils and her pulse and other things, then rushed back to her office. There probably weren't too many intentional poisonings at the school, Harry thought morosely, watching the matron go.

After about half an hour, Tonks curled up into a ball, crying out in pain. Harry shouted for Madam Pomfrey and summoned a pail to the bedside just in time. Tonks vomited into the pail for a very long time, until she was dry-heaving and crying at the same time. Madam Pomfrey helped the trembling Auror sit back on the bed, passing a cleaning spell over her.

"I'm going to put this under your tongue," Madam Pomfrey instructed, carefully slipping a small lozenge into Tonks’ mouth.

"Is that it? Is the poison gone?" Harry demanded.

Madam Pomfrey's hesitation gave him the answer before she even spoke. "We cannot be sure, at this time," she said.

"But why not?"

"We can't even be sure how she was poisoned in the first place."

"She said it was the tea, remember? Someone put something in her tea!"

"Mr. Potter, please lower your voice." Madam Pomfrey cast a look at Tonks, who seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. "She drank from the same teapot as Professor McGonagall and the other teachers. The chance that anyone could have put something in her cup in the Hall, without being seen, is incredibly small."

"Well, it had to happen somehow," Harry snapped softly.

Tonks mumbled from the bed. Harry hadn't heard what she said, but Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "I can't let you have any water until we know what is poisoning you," she said. "I'm sorry." As an aside to Harry, she said, "Call me if anything changes."

"I will," Harry said, going back to his seat. The echo of Madam Pomfrey's footsteps faded down the infirmary. Harry tried to give Tonks a confident smile, but it felt sort of watery. "Hey."

Tonks blinked. "Do me a favour?" she asked, slurring her words badly.

"Anything," Harry said quickly. "Anything you like."

"If I don't..." She coughed a few times. "If I don't make it out of this, you tell Remus that I--"

"Don't talk like that," Harry interrupted. "You'll be fine!"

Breathing hard, Tonks said, "They can't find Snape."

"Who cares? What about Slughorn? He's a potions master too! Why not him?"

"It's... complicated." A look of pain passed over her face. "Just tell Remus that I was sorry, okay?"

Harry wanted to scream at her to stop this, but he swallowed that impulse and nodded. "I'll tell him. Is... is there anything else?"

Tonks nodded, for the first time starting to look scared. "Mum and dad." She had to stop to catch her breath. "Tell them... I was just doing my best, you know?"

"I'll tell them that too," Harry promised.

Tonks let out a pain-filled moan. "Hurts," she moaned from behind clenched teeth.

Harry stared at Tonks, the strong and confident Auror reduced to tears of agony on the cold infirmary bed, and swore to himself that he'd find who had done this. If Tonks died, he was going to kill whoever murdered her.

The air currents changed in the room. Harry looked up as Snape slammed through the doors at the end of the infirmary, black robes billowing around him as he ran, and for the first time in his whole life, Harry was actually glad to see Snape.

"Move!" Snape shouted to Harry. The feeling of joy vanished. "Get out of my way, you stupid boy!"

"Why--"

"Mr. Potter, do as he says," Madam Pomfrey said, rushing over. "We have work to do and you cannot get in the way."

"But Tonks--" Harry tried to argue as Madam Pomfrey pulled him away from Tonks’ bedside.

"She will live," Snape said shortly. "Out!"

Madam Pomfrey gave Harry a push, and he stumbled back. _Please let Snape know what he's doing,_ Harry thought. _Tonks can't die._

Somehow, Harry made it out of the infirmary and found the stairs to McGonagall's office. The world was fuzzy and loud, and more than anything, Harry wanted to shift to his Animagus wolf form and curl up into a ball to sleep, but that was out of the question. He had to go to McGonagall's office, and then he had a poisoner to find.

At McGonagall's office, Harry didn't bother to knock. He pushed open the door, startling the group, which had grown to include Hermione and Luna.

McGonagall rose to her feet. "Potter?"

"Snape's back," Harry said. "He said Tonks'll be okay."

Ron dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Hermione touched his shoulder as she said, "Really? Did he say that?"

Harry nodded, distracted as McGonagall gathered herself up. "You five can stay here until your next class begins," she said, abruptly sweeping out of the room.

Luna walked to the door and pushed it behind McGonagall. "We met Ginny and Ron on the stairs, with McGonagall," she said as she walked back to Harry. "Are you okay? You look awful. "

"Thanks," Harry muttered. "I'm not all right. None of this," he gestured emphatically with his arm, "Is all right! If Ginny didn't have that bezoar, Tonks would be dead!"

"Shut up." Ginny, in the corner by the window, turned her face away from the group.

Ron looked up. "Ginny, you saved Tonks’ life! Why should Harry shut up about it?"

Ginny shook her head. "You don't understand," she said bitterly.

"Don't understand what?" Harry demanded. "Madam Pomfrey said that Tonks would have died if you hadn't shoved that bezoar down her throat!"

"You don't understand!" Ginny repeated, whipping her head around to glare at Harry. "I was cheating!"

"How the bloody hell could you have been cheating?" Ron shouted. "This wasn't a test, it was a friend of ours with her life in danger!" He got to his feet and moved across the room to his sister.

Ginny focused all of her angry attention on her brother. "You don't understand anything, you bloody idiot! I was cheating in potions class!" She gulped down a hasty breath. "We were supposed to make an antidote and I had no idea what I was doing and I read in my potions book, someone had scribbled in a note in the potions chapter to use a bezoar, so I went and got one from the potion stores but forgot to put it back after class!"

"That's not cheating, that's an antidote!" Ron yelled at her.

"I almost didn't do it!" Ginny pulled up, horrified. "I almost told Slughorn I didn't know, 'cause I knew I shouldn't cheat." Her hands began trembling. "I did it because it was _easier_ , and if I'd done things the right way Tonks would be dead and it'd be all my fault."

Luna crossed the floor to where Ginny was standing. "Sit down," Luna said, touching Ginny's hand. Ginny jerked away, a small action, but Luna froze in place.

Harry barely had time to wonder what was going on when Ginny took a deep breath and reached out for Luna's hand. She wrapped her fingers around Luna's palm, and squeezed. "Sitting down is all I seem to be doing today," she said.

Luna looked so relieved, Harry thought she might cry. "Except when you're saving people's lives."

"Luna's right," Harry said. Ginny didn't look up at him as she let Luna push her into Ron's abandoned chair. "You saved Tonks’ life, who cares if you cheated in class?"

"I still say it's not cheating," Ron grumbled. He leaned back against McGonagall's desk. "Why would anyone want to poison Tonks?"

"I have no idea," Harry admitted. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, wishing his vision wasn't so fuzzy. "She said her tea tasted strange, but all the teachers drank from the same pot."

"Does it have anything to do with where you were last night?" Hermione asked. Harry blinked at her, wondering why she was so in-focus with his glasses off. "Do you know why Tonks was impersonating Dumbledore? Where is Dumbledore?"

Harry looked down at his glasses, clenched in his fist. He took a deep breath, then pulled out his wand and cast a silencing charm on the door. "What I'm about to tell you cannot, under any circumstances, leave this room," he said as he shoved his glasses into his pocket.

"All right," Hermione said dubiously.

"No, I'm serious!" Harry exclaimed. "Not to anyone, not even the Order members!"

Hermione was beginning to look frightened. "What's happened?"

Harry tried to organize his thoughts into something a little more coherent than the mess in his head. "First off, Tonks was pretending to be Dumbledore this morning because yesterday, something happened to Dumbledore. He's hidden in the infirmary and Madam Pomfrey thinks he'll be okay in a while."

"How bad is he?" Ron demanded. "What happened?"

The memory of Dumbledore's injury flashed in Harry's head, but he pushed it away. He didn't have time to fall apart. "He's pretty bad. McGonagall told me yesterday I couldn't tell anyone, in case it would endanger the school, if people knew he was hurt."

"So why are you telling us?" Luna asked.

Ron waved his hand. "We don't count."

"Actually I’m pretty sure she meant you guys too, but I don't care." Harry ran his thumb over the edge of the table beside him, needing to touch something. "I guess they wanted to have a fake Dumbledore around in case anyone heard any rumours."

"Then we're looking for someone who was trying to poison Dumbledore," Hermione said decisively. "But why would this person chose this morning, of all times?"

"Are they always like this?" Luna muttered to Ginny.

Ginny nodded. "It's really rather annoying."

Harry's tired mind knew there was something he was missing, some connection he should be making, but what?

"Shouldn't we know how the poison was administered?" Hermione was saying. "That could tell us a lot of why--"

"Snape!" Harry exclaimed. Everyone turned to look at him. "That's it! He was gone from the school yesterday and this morning! Both Madam Pomfrey and Tonks said that they needed Snape to find out what Tonks was poisoned with! If he hadn't gotten back in time, Tonks would probably be dead!" _And Snape was gone because Dumbledore wanted him out of the way in case something happened with the Horcruxes... was it just luck that this happened today?_

"Who knew Professor Snape was gone?" Luna asked. "He didn't have office hours on Sunday, and he sometimes skips meals for days at a time. So many students wouldn't have known."

"We don't know it was a student," Hermione argued. "What student would dare to poison Professor Dumbledore?"

"What adult would it be?" Luna asked. "A teacher or an Auror wouldn't have needed to poison Dumbledore in the Great Hall over breakfast, they could have done it other times."

"Can we get back to what happened to Dumbledore yesterday?" Ron interrupted. "It might mean something." He looked expectantly at Harry.

"Right." Harry hesitated for only a moment before fumbling around in his robes for the tight roll of parchment, Dumbledore's Horcrux notes. He held them out. "Remember how I told you about the Horcruxes?"

Luna broke the resulting silence. "What's a Horcrux?"

* * *

Explaining to Luna about the Horcruxes took surprisingly little time. She blinked once and said, "That explains a lot."

"Right." Harry tossed the roll of parchment to Hermione. "So, Dumbledore wanted to meet with me to teach me to destroy the Horcruxes. Like I said, the diary and the ring are already broken, and we've got the locket, that's what hurt Dumbledore. It was like, booby-trapped or something, and the spell that's in there," he indicated the parchment, "backfired on Dumbledore."

Hermione unrolled the parchment and began to read. Ginny glanced at Hermione, then back at Harry. "Three out of seven isn't exactly an inspiring number."

"Four, actually. Dumbledore is pretty sure the fourth Horcrux is in a golden cup that used to belong to Helga Hufflepuff. The woman who owned the locket had the cup, too. Voldemort murdered her and stole the locket and cup both."

"Don't suppose Dumbledore knows where the cup is?" Ron asked from Hermione's side.

"Not that he told me."

"Of course."

"Ron," Hermione chided.

"What? This is crazy! Dumbledore says he wants Harry's help and then doesn't tell him anything!"

"He gave Harry his spell notes!" Hermione countered.

Harry felt his face go red. "Actually, he, um, doesn't know I have these."

Hermione shot him a glare. "You mean you stole them?"

"Borrowed," Harry said, standing up straight. "Oh, don't give me that look! Voldemort probably looking for the Horcruxes at this very moment! Dumbledore's injured, and we have no idea what's going to come at us next! This whole year is insane! Tonks getting poisoned, Reece--" Harry choked on his words. "Oh fuck!"

"What now?" Ginny asked.

Harry bit back a few choice curses for Dumbledore. "Tonks was poisoned because someone thought she was Dumbledore, right? Well, back when someone let Reece out of his cage on the night of the full moon, we didn't know why anyone would do it! I said something about looking at who was supposed to be out in the corridors that night, as someone that might have done it, but what if that wasn't it?"

"Harry, you're not making any sense," Hermione said.

"I know! What if it's the same person, who hurt Reece and let him out, and who poisoned Tonks?" He looked around expectantly, but only saw blank faces. "Dumbledore was in the corridors that night, what if whoever it was let him out to try and kill Dumbledore?"

"Are you talking about that first year Hufflepuff?" Luna asked. "Why would anyone put him in a cage?"

"He's a werewolf," Harry said quickly. "But back to my idea, it's not a good one, I know, but it makes sense!"

Luna looked at him, one eyebrow arched. "Is there anything else I should know?" she asked. In spite of her words, there was no accusing in her tone.

Harry looked at Ron, then Hermione. "You may as well show them," Ron said.

"Show us what?" Ginny demanded.

Before he could wonder if this was a bad idea, Harry shifted to his Animagus form. Ginny jumped up and let out an outraged squeal. "When did you become an Animagus?" she demanded. "Why didn't you tell us you were doing it?"

"He started practicing in September," Ron answered for Harry. "Something about being clawed up by a werewolf but not changing, in St. Louis. Yeah, it didn't make much sense to me, either," he added at his sister's glare.

"Dumbledore gave him a book to practice on," Hermione said. "He gave it to us, if you want to see."

Carefully, Luna approached Harry. He sat, nose in the air, tail waving back and forth on the floor as Luna stretched out her hand to touch him. "Do you like being an Animagus?" she asked, running her hand down his head.

Right at that moment, her touch was wonderful. Harry tossed his head in an approximation of a nod and yipped. Luna smiled as Harry budged closer to her, pressing his head against her hip.

Harry noticed that Ginny was watching at them with sad eyes. He whined softly, making Luna turn around. She held out her hand to Ginny. "Come feel this, his fur's really soft."

Looking as if she was about to face one of Hagrid's beasts, Ginny took the three steps to Luna and Harry. She reached out to touch Harry's head, then her hand ran down his neck to his back as she knelt next to him.

Up close like this, Harry could smell tears on Ginny's skin, even though her eyes were dry. How many tears had she shed that day? He whined again, a tiny sad sound in his throat. Ginny must have understood what he was trying to say, because she put her arm over his back and hugged him tight.

Pressed between Luna and Ginny like this was the closest he'd come to true comfort in weeks, and Harry took a moment to close his eyes and enjoy it.

"Perhaps we should think about what we're going to do next," Hermione said hesitantly. Harry opened his eyes to find her kneeling in front of him.

"You mean find who poisoned Tonks?" Ron asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I mean the Horcruxes."

Harry growled.

"Don't be like that," Hermione said. "We don't know if they're connected, the Horcruxes and the poisoning."

Harry tossed his head, baring his fangs.

"Fine, or letting Reece out of his cage," Hermione added, exasperation audible in her voice. "I say we have to concentrate on figuring out a way to destroy the Horcruxes, to stop Voldemort."

Harry transformed back to his human form. "And find the other four," he added. It was only after he spoke that he realized he still had his cheek pressed against Luna's hip. "Sorry," he said, pulling away quickly.

Surprisingly, Ginny didn't move away from him as fast as he thought she would. Giving him one last squeeze, she sat back on her heels. "There's five of us, what's to say we can't do both?" she asked.

"Ginny--"

"Don't you start that again," Ginny cut Harry off. "We've been through this. I know the Horcruxes, after all, I was possessed by one in second year, right?"

"I was going to say you were right," Harry finished his sentence. She looked only slightly mollified. "But finding the poisoner is the most important thing, right now."

"I disagree," Hermione said.

"I'm with Hermione," Ginny added. "We have to stop Voldemort. The teachers know something's up, they'll keep an eye on Dumbledore."

Ron was shaking his head. "We're talking about someone who tried to poison the Headmaster during breakfast, it's either brilliance or sheer desperation, and I'm thinking it's not brilliance."

Harry stood up in a fluid motion. "Why don't Ron and me go try to find out more about what happened to Tonks, while you girls look into the Horcruxes?"

"Us girls?" Ginny said sharply.

Harry fought not to wince. "That came out wrong," he said in a hurry. "I mean that Ron and I are utter pants at homework and figuring things out from a book." Ginny looked unconvinced. "I was staring at that thing all night, Ginny! I have no idea what it means! Other than that Dumbledore's crazy."

"We knew that," Ron muttered. "Are we going to stand here all day talking about this, or are we going to go do something?"

"Go do something," Hermione ordered. She held up the parchment. "We'll look at this. Meet in the library at lunch?"

Even though he was so exhausted he wanted to cry, Harry managed to nod. "See you there." He gave Luna and Ginny a quick smile, then dragged Ron out of McGonagall's office, removing the silencing spell as he walked through the door.

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear Ron's question. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, where are we going?" Ron repeated. "Do you have anything in mind, or were you just talking back there?"

Harry glanced behind him to make sure they were alone. "I do have something in mind. Something I didn't want Hermione with us for."

Ron's groan was drowned out as they clattered down the stairs. "Where are we going?"

"The kitchens," Harry said grimly as he pulled his glasses out of his robes and slid them onto his face. "There has to be a reason that the entire teaching staff wasn't poisoned this morning, and I'm willing to bet it wasn't luck."

* * *

The Hogwarts house elves were in a total tizzy when Harry and Ron popped into the kitchens. One small body detached itself from the chaos and flung itself at Harry's feet. Big tears ran down Dobby's cheeks. "Is Harry Potter coming to tell us of bad news?" Dobby demanded.

"Huh? Of course not!" Harry exclaimed.

Dobby jumped up and embraced Harry's knees. "Oh, Harry Potter brings good news!"

Ron was trying very hard not to laugh. "Yeah, Harry, tell them."

Harry gave Ron a very dirty look. "Tonks is going to be fine," Harry told Dobby. "She's fine." He removed Dobby from his knees. "Dobby, I need to ask you a question about this morning."

Dobby wiped his eyes on an ugly yellow sock that he had wrapped around his waist as a belt. "Dobby is answering all of Harry Potter's questions!"

"Right." Presented with such an opportunity, Harry's mind went blank. _Poison,_ he had to remind himself. _We need to find out about the poison._ "Dobby, do you know anything about what happened this morning?"

Dobby's ears drooped alarmingly. "Professor McGonagall did coming to see the house elves and asking us questions, but we did not knows!"

Ron awkwardly went down on one knee to talk to the small creature. "Hey, Dobby? What about if someone knew something, but didn't answer?"

Looking as shocked as Harry had ever seen him, Dobby shook his head so hard his knobby hat fell off. "We is house elves!" he exclaimed, pulling himself to his full height. "House elves is loyal to their family in all things! At Hogwarts, all house elves is loyal to the school! If a professor asks, we is telling!"

Harry swore under his breath. So much for an easy answer in the kitchens. "All of you?" he asked desperately. "What if something happened, a tiny detail, that someone may have missed?"

"No, Harry Potter," Dobby said, the very picture of regret. "There ma--" The house elf froze mid-word, his green eyes as large as tennis balls. If the situation hadn't been so serious, it might have been rather comical. "Harry Potter!" Dobby's squeaky voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "There is one house elf in Hogwarts that is not being bound to the school!"

"Hey, now we're on to something," Ron said, inching forward. "But why would Dumbledore use a house elf that belongs to someone else?"

"Let's find out," Harry said grimly, feeling as if he had just been kicked in the gut. Why hadn't he thought of it before? "Kreacher!"

A small, muttering house elf reluctantly detached itself from the swarming mass of house elves and staggered sideways across the room to Harry. "...is interrupting, is a bad, nasty master boy," Kreacher was saying.

When the elf was close enough, Harry's hand darted out and grabbed Kreacher's tea towel toga to drag him over. "What have you been doing, Kreacher?" Harry demanded, dropping the elf to the ground.

Kreacher didn't bother to get up. "Mean and nasty, the blood traitor, like the rest."

"You're not answering me, Kreacher," Harry said. All the anger he had at Kreacher mixed with the panic and fear that Tonks’ near-death experience had created. He wanted to reach out and hit Kreacher, or maybe shift into his Animagus wolf and bite the wretched house elf in half.

"Harry." Ron's voice, flat and steady, pulled Harry out of it. "Let's do this right, no messing it up."

Harry breathed in deeply. Ron was right, his anger couldn't be more important than finding out what happened to Tonks. Since Harry had inherited Kreacher from Sirius after his godfather's death, Harry was the only one who could order Kreacher to respond. "I've got some questions for you, Kreacher."

Kreacher resisted, but had to reply honestly to Harry's questions. After a great deal of arguing and screaming from Kreacher, Harry and Ron learned that it had been Kreacher who had set the Headmaster's dishes that morning, including a very special cup that someone had brought to Kreacher for just that purpose. The house elf was adamant that he hadn't seen the person's face, or recognized them, or heard their name.

The interview left Harry frustrated beyond belief. His earlier impulse to bite Kreacher in half was looking more and more attractive. Finally, Harry had heard enough. "Come on, Ron, let's get out of here," he said.

"Okay," Ron said, looking as disgusted as Harry felt. "What are we going to do with him?" He pointed at Kreacher, who was glaring up at Harry with an expression of the utmost loathing on his face.

Harry had a few choice ideas, but knew those were motivated by his anger and emotions. Finding out who poisoned Tonks would be done by listening to his head, not his heart. "I've got an order for you, Kreacher," Harry said evenly. Kreacher squirmed and tried to cover his ears. "You are to only accept orders from me, not random people in this school, and I order you to not harm anyone in this school, do you understand?"

"Yes," Kreacher whined, stamping his feet. "Listen only to the nasty blood-traitor master, only he."

Harry stormed out of the kitchens before he could say anything stupid. Dimly, he registered that Ron was at his side. Once they were back on the main floor, Harry stopped by a window and stared out at the grounds. "I can't shake the feeling that this is my fault," he muttered.

Ron hopped up on the windowsill. "The 'Tonks getting poisoned' part, or the 'saving Tonks’ life' part?"

"What?"

"On the one hand, if you and Dumbledore hadn't brought Kreacher to the school here, he wouldn't have put that poisoned cup at the Headmaster's place today. On the other, if you hadn't followed Tonks this morning, me and Ginny wouldn't have followed you, and Tonks would have died." Ron peered out the window. "Doesn't seem to be much point in angry at yourself for risking Tonks' life if you're not going to remember that you saved her life, too."

"Ginny saved Tonks’ life," Harry muttered. He really didn't want to talk about this, not when Ron was being all smart and observant.

Ron punched Harry in the shoulder. "What happened yesterday, with D-- I mean, with that teacher upstairs? Did you save his life too?"

Harry flushed. "That is totally a different thing, I was the only one there!"

"Who cares? You still did it, right?" Ron asked as he hopped off the windowsill.

"You don't understand anything!" Harry said, trying not to shout. "I did what I had to do, I couldn't let him die!"

"Like you couldn't let Tonks die, or let Reece run around the school in case he ate Hermione, or let Ginny die in the Chamber of Secrets or any of that?" Ron gave Harry a shove, making him stumble back. "When are you going to stop being such a prat about what you do?"

Even though Ron had several inches and quite a few pounds on Harry, that didn't stop Harry from giving his friend a mighty push into the wall. "I'm not doing anything!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to be doing this, but it keeps following me around! Ever think that maybe I'm the reason this is all happening?"

"Well, well, well," a cultured voice drawled above them. Harry and Ron sprang apart to see Blaise Zabini on the nearby staircase, looking rightly amused. "Lover's quarrel?"

"Why does all of Slytherin have gay sex on the brain?" Ron asked sideways to Harry. "First Malfoy, then Zabini..."

"A very good question," Harry said as he glared up at the Head Boy.

"As much as I hate to interrupt you two beating each other up, I think this warrants five points from Gryffindor for fighting," Zabini said, his sardonic smile gleaming. "That feels good. I'll have to do it again sometime." He whirled and stalked up the stairs.

"Prat," Ron muttered. "I can't see why Dumbledore made that arse Head Boy. He's not even on the Quidditch team."

"Neither was Percy," Harry said automatically. The encounter with Zabini had set off alarm bells in his brain, but he couldn't figure out why. What was he missing?

"And look how well that berk turned out," Ron muttered. "Come on, we'd better get up to the library before Hermione sends out search parties."

Harry trailed along after his friend, thinking furiously. He hated this feeling, as if there was a giant sign with the answer right in front of his face, but he couldn't focus on the letters.

"Are you okay?" Ron asked when Harry missed a step.

"Yeah," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just tired. I was up all night, and I didn't get a lot to eat yesterday. No big deal."

"You sure? You look pretty peaky."

"And you sound like your mum," Harry snapped, speeding up so he didn't have to talk to Ron anymore.

* * *

The girls were still hard at work in the library. Harry slid into a chair and picked up a huge book to avoid having to talk to anyone. After a while, the long night and longer day caught up with Harry, and his head nodded forward until it hit the desk. He immediately began to dream.

The dream was an odd one. He sat curled up in an armchair, watching a man lean back on the couch across from him, and was oddly content knowing the gun at the small of his back was fully loaded, one in the chamber.

"The police are letting me leave town, Anita," the man said.

Harry shrugged. "I didn't think they'd actually charge you for killing Olaf, Edward." His voice, high and female and very American, didn't waver. _Brownie points for me,_ he found himself thinking.

Edward shifted on the couch, never taking his eyes off Harry's face. "Not after they found his complete record."

Edward closed his mouth, waiting. Harry wanted to sigh at the theatrics. "Stop the show, Edward. What the hell are you talking about?"

"There were a few missing gaps in several unsolved murder cases across the country," Edward replied promptly. "Missing fingerprints, those sorts of things. The information was replaced after Olaf was dead. It painted a very nasty picture."

Harry's contentment quickly leaked away. "Did you replace the information?" he asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Edward moved his head to the side, a silent no. "The people Olaf used to work for took care of it."

Harry shot to his feet and paced across Anita's living room, with its bare walls and new carpet. "That makes me feel so much better, thanks," he said sarcastically. "Was this what you came over to tell me?"

"No." Edward moved forward on the couch to pour himself another cup of coffee from the tray on the low table. "Tell me about Harry Potter."

Harry swung around. He considered pretending that he didn't know who Edward was talking about, but if Edward was asking, he probably knew something. "What about Harry?" There, turn things back on Edward.

"Why are all the monsters in this town, that blond werewolf at the Circus of the Damned for example, so convinced that the kid stopped Olaf? Did he have something to do with the dark shape near your head when I came through the door?" Edward was watching Harry a little too steadily. There was no emotion in the man, only cold curiosity. "Where did he go after he left your place and went back to England at the beginning of September?"

"You're asking a lot of questions," Harry said, crossing his arms under his breasts. His left hand still ached, just this side of a cramp, and he hated it.

"That's because I can't find a lot of answers," Edward said. He set down his cup and propped his feet up on the coffee table. "The boy's life isn't right."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, realized something, and closed his jaw with a snap. Edward was annoyed. He was pissed off that he hadn't been able to find out about Harry, and it was sticking in his craw. Working to keep the smile off his face, Harry said, "So you haven't been able to find out anything about him?"

Edward raised one eyebrow, his gaze boring into Harry. "No, Anita, I have found out a great deal about him, but there's more information missing than what I can find."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Edward."

Edward looked at Harry for a moment. "Harry Potter came into being on the first of November sixteen years ago, a fifteen-month baby boy registered with the England records department," he said. "When asked why he didn't have a birth certificate from before, his aunt, Petunia Dursley, was emphatic that her sister and the boy's mother was a member of a cult that didn't believe in the government, and the Dursleys had been saddled with the boy after her sister's untimely death."

"Did she really say that?" Harry asked. He knew how horrible the Dursleys had been to their nephew, but to say something like that when the boy was only a baby...

"Not officially. The late registration set off a few flags with the local social services office, and a social worker dropped in on the family a few times to see how they was faring. The reports are pretty basic. The boy was clothed, no visible injuries, appeared to be adequately fed. He was smaller than his cousin, the Dursleys' son, but Petunia Dursley claimed that was due to the boy's father's tiny stature and his unfortunate malnutrition as a baby."

Harry clenched his aching fist in the cloth of his shirt. He wanted to ask Edward if the social worker actually bought that drivel, but he didn't want to let the man know that he didn't know any of this. "Sounds like a full record to me," he said instead.

"It's a full record for ten years," Edward corrected. "School records, optometrist visits. No hospital visits, however. Everything is fine and proper until September of the year that Harry turned eleven."

"What happened then?"

"He disappeared into thin air." Edward watched Harry's face very closely. "No record of him at any European school, no travel records by air or international ferry, no medical records, nothing."

"Perhaps you couldn't find it?" Harry suggested.

"It wasn't there, Anita," Edward said, perfectly calm. "The information doesn't exist. Until the boy reappeared at the end of the school year, back in Surrey. The pattern of him vanishing for the school year and popping up again in the summer continued until this year."

"When he came here."

"When he came here," Edward said softly. "This is the part where things get interesting."

"Define interesting."

Edward's lips turned up in a smirk, and he pushed himself up off the couch. "You know as well as I do how often the kid's name started popping up in the Monster Squad's police records," he called over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen, cup in hand.

Harry let out a tiny growl and followed. "It's RPIT, not the 'Monster Squad', and it wasn't as if Harry planned on any of this," he said. Nathaniel looked up from his shopping list as Harry came into the kitchen. Harry shook his head, and Nathaniel relaxed. "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"He's in town for three days, and he gets entangled in police preternatural business?" Edward shook his head. "Anita, the only people I've seen vanish this completely off the government radar are those ones who are working black ops, who have their records erased."

"Harry's only seventeen, he's not working in black ops," Harry said, going over to stand next to Nathaniel, pressing his side against the wereleopard in a long line.

"I know that," Edward said. He leaned against the counter, his change in demeanor the only indication that the conversation was about to shift. "I've started Peter on weapons training."

"You what?" Harry demanded. Peter Parnell was Edward's stepson; rather, the stepson of Ted Forrester, Edward's alter ego. "What the hell are you doing? He's not even eighteen yet, if Donna finds--"

"Donna knows what we're doing."

"The fuck she does!"

"Part of it at least." Edward looked pleased, as if Harry had done exactly what Edward wanted. "How old is Harry?"

The conversation was skipping around a little too fast. "What does that have to do with teaching Peter to use weapons?"

"They're the same age," Nathaniel said, hesitant as if he wasn't sure he wanted to involve himself in this conversation. "Edward's wondering why you're treating Harry different."

Edward just watched Harry's face.

"That is so not the point!" Harry exclaimed.

"A kid who can take out two magical attackers in a police station like he did, deserves a bit of attention," Edward said.

"In case you didn't read those reports closely enough, Edward, I got hurt in that little adventure," Harry snapped.

"And the boy didn't let that interfere in his work until he had eliminated the threat," Edward said, almost smiling. "An interesting reaction, for someone so young." He pushed up off the counter. "Since you're not going to tell me what's going on, Anita, I'm going to have to find out for myself."

"You haven't asked me anything!" Harry protested. "What could you possibly want to know about Harry?"

"I won't know until I find it out," Edward replied. He reached into his jacket, almost as if he was reaching for a gun. Harry pushed away from Nathaniel, hand automatically going to the gun at the small of his back. Edward froze, and so did Harry. "I'm not going to pull my weapon," Edward said.

"I know," Harry said, his hand wrapped around the handle of the Firestar, still in its holster in the back of his jeans. "If you were going to shoot me, it wouldn't be so obvious."

"So why are going for your gun?"

"It would be a hell of a thing to get wrong."

Slowly, Edward drew his hand out of his jacket, holding something paper between his fingers. "Becca drew this for you, and Donna FedExed it here," he said, tossing the paper onto the counter.

Heart pounding in his chest, Harry let go of the gun and picked up the paper. It was a home-made card, with glue and sparkles and "GET WELL ANITA" in big letters.

"Who's Becca?" Nathaniel asked.

"Edward's eight-year-old stepdaughter," Harry said. "Tell her thank you," he said to Edward.

"We'll finish this conversation later, Anita," Edward said, walking out of the kitchen. A few moments later, the front door slammed.

Nathaniel and Harry exchanged looks. "That was really weird," Nathaniel said, pressing his cheek against Harry's shoulder.

"Edward's always weird. When he stops being weird, start running." Harry set the card back on the counter before rubbing his temples. "Is it hot in here?"

"Not really. Do you want me to turn the heat down?"

Harry shook his head. "I feel a little bit strange."

Nathaniel leaned against Harry's back, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist. "The air went a little strange when Edward came in."

Harry went very still. "It did?"

Nathaniel nodded.

Harry stared out the kitchen window. The leaves in the backyard were starting to change colour, starting to die. A chill ran up Harry's spine. "I guess it did."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Nathaniel said against Harry's hair.

Harry tried to think back. "I think... when I saw Edward, I may have freaked out a little," he confessed. "Not a lot."

"I felt that," Nathaniel said. "Like you were being Nimir-Ra and calling to all the cats."

"Is that what it felt like? I didn't mean it like that," Harry said.

Nathaniel tightened his grip around Harry, burying his face in the crook of Harry's shoulder. "It felt really powerful and safe," he said, voice muffled. Nathaniel's breath sent delicious shivers over Harry's skin, and he pulled the young wereleopard closer to him. "You can do it whenever you want."

Harry sighed. "I wish I knew why Edward was so intent on finding all this stuff out about Harry."

"Harry? Oh, Harry, wake up!"

Harry sat upright before his eyes were even opened. "I'm awake," he mumbled, disoriented after being dragged out of his dream.

Hermione, who had been calling to him, gave him a skeptical look. "Your glasses are hanging off your ears," she said, pushing a large book toward Harry. "Here. Ron just brought over another load of books."

Blinking hard, Harry settled his glasses on his face, then opened the tome. It appeared to be written in gibberish.

A hand reached over Harry's shoulder and turned the book around, and the words came into focus. Harry glanced up. "Thanks, Luna."

She gave him a smile and laid her hand on his shoulder. He touched her fingers for a moment, then she went back to her seat beside Ginny.

Harry looked back at the book, not really seeing the words. He had been in another one Anita's dreams! Not a dream, though, more like he had dreamed of her life. He'd been her, doing what she was doing and thinking what she was thinking, like those other dreams when she'd been feeding the ardeur. But she hadn't been doing that this time... so why had the dream happened? Was it because of that power Nathaniel was talking about?

The importance of the mechanics behind the dream faded as Harry remembered what Edward had been asking. He wasn't really sure he wanted someone like Edward that interested in his life. What did it matter to the man if Harry had taken out a couple of Aurors, or where he was doing the school year? He wasn't an assassin like Edward.

Even though Edward was an ocean away, Harry couldn't shake the uneasiness.

"Harry?" Hermione asked quietly. "Can I ask you some questions about the Horcruxes?"

"Sure," Harry said, laying down his book. "I'll see if I can help."


	68. Dumbledore's Man

* * *

"He did _what_?" Harry's appalled words echoed through the library, earning him glares from the surrounding students, but Harry didn't care.

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, not looking at Harry. "Look, Harry--"

"Don't you dare 'look Harry' me!" Harry hissed. "You can't sit there and tell me that Michael Corner told Luna he was going to blackmail her about her diary by making her _do things_ , and not expect me to be a bit upset!"

He sat back in his chair, wishing Corner was there so he could wring the little bastard's neck. He spotted Madame Pince swooping toward them, and quickly grabbed his books off the table. Ron scrambled to his feet at the same time and followed Harry's sprint out of the library.

Madame Pince closed the library doors behind them with a thump. Harry made a rude gesture at the closed door, then continued running down the hall, just in case the librarian could see through solid oak.

Ron dragged Harry down a hidden staircase that opened into the old rose gardens. The enforced walk bled away most of Harry's hot anger, leaving in its place a much more dangerous resolve. According to Ron, Corner had tracked down Luna on the same morning that Dumbledore was hurt, and said horrible things to her.

 _Isn't it bad enough that he told Ginny about Luna's diary?_ Harry thought furiously. _Ron said that Corner said he would have made Luna do things other than his homework, and he wasn't talking about cleaning his shoes!_ Even the though of Corner laying a hand on Luna, groping at her, made Harry sick to his stomach.

Ron put his hand on Harry's arm and tried to push him over to a stone bench. "Harry, sit--" Ron broke off abruptly as Harry whirled on him, knocking his hand away. Whatever Ron saw in Harry's face made him take a step back. "Harry, you need to calm down."

Harry dropped his book bag to the ground, kicking it to the side. "I'm not going to fucking calm down, Ron! You told me what Corner was going to do to Luna--"

"Did you hear me when I told you that Luna stood up for herself?" Ron demanded. "She stood up to him! You know how good she is at hexes and stuff, she'd turn Corner into sludge before he could touch her!"

"That's not the fucking point!" Harry shouted. "She shouldn't have to deal with any of this!"

"She told Flitwick, remember?" Ron shoved Harry down on the bench. "I've never seen him so mad, Harry, it was downright scary."

Harry buried his head in his hands. "Damn it, Ron, I need to do something, I can't just let him-- I have to do something! What would you do if it was Hermione?"

Ron took his time in answering, although Harry stared at him expectantly. "I know Hermione would be able to take care of herself," Ron finally said, "But I'd probably hurt him myself."

"So you know what I'm talking about!"

"Yeah." Ron looked out at the rose bushes, a few hardy petals clinging to the dying wood. "Have you told Ginny?"

"You told me she already knows," Harry replied. "Frankly, I'm surprised that she hasn't hung Corner up from the ceiling herself."

"I'm not talking about that."

Harry frowned. "Then what are you talking about?"

Ron's face was getting red. "I mean about you and Luna."

Harry blinked a few times before Ron's meaning sunk in. "What about me and Luna?" he demanded coldly.

Squaring his rather broad shoulders, Ron said, "You're acting like she's your girlfriend, but last week you were acting like Ginny was your girlfriend. I know you're my best friend, but Ginny's my sister and if you do anything to hurt her, I'll... I'll have to..."

Harry's heart sank. How was he going to explain his relationship with Luna and Ginny to Ron, when he didn't understand it himself? "I'm not going to hurt Ginny," he said hesitantly.

"Yes, you are!" Ron exclaimed, springing up off the bench. "You can't change girlfriends like that, like they're interchangeable! People aren't like that!"

"They know, okay?" Harry burst out. "They both know what's going on, so it's not like anyone's keeping secrets!"

Ron gaped at him, rather like a fish. "That's..."

"That's what, Ron?" Harry demanded. He remembered what Luna said about the wizarding world's opinion of girls who liked other girls. If Ron was going to be like that, Harry was going to hit him, friend or not.

As Harry watched, Ron swallowed hard. "That's good, then."

Stomach unclenching, Harry slowly got off the bench. "I'm not sure what's going to happen, but above everything else, Ginny's my _friend_. Nothing's going to change that."

"Good," Ron said awkwardly. He handed Harry his school bag, not making eye contact. "You're Luna's friend too, right?" Harry gave a stiff nod. "Then that's all right."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of that cryptic pronouncement, and to fill the silence he rooted through his bag, looking for something to eat. "So, um, are we going to go back to the library?"

"Do we have to?" Ron pushed his hair back from his face, making it stand up on end. "The girls are in class, and I can't go looking through books for information on horcruxes that's not there any more. And you can't tell me you're having any more luck with Dumbledore's notes."

"I'm not." By common consent, Hermione had made five copies of Dumbledore's notes on the spell to destroy the horcruxes, for everyone to work on in their spare time, and bespelled the parchment to change into an old History of Magic essay if anyone but the five of them looked at the notes. It was an impressive combination of spells, and Harry had noticed Luna looking at Hermione with a great deal of respect.

"Then let's go see Hagrid," Ron said. "Just forget about the horcruxes for a little while."

They didn't have a little while, and Ron knew that. There had been no word on Dumbledore, Tonks was in the hospital wing recovering from the poisoning, and Harry still had no idea who had tried to kill Dumbledore. Even thinking about it made Harry bone-weary. "Yeah, let's go see Hagrid."

The gate on the rose garden was rusty and squeaked when Ron pushed it open, letting them out onto the Hogwarts lawn. A few students sat on the lawn, taking advantage of the clear but chill weather.

"Hey," Ron said halfway down the slope. "Is that Reece?"

Harry looked where Ron was pointing. "Yeah, it is. Come on." Harry veered toward where the little Hufflepuff werewolf was sitting in the lee of a large oak tree. "Hey, Reece."

Reece looked up for a moment. His eyes were puffy, as if he'd been crying, and his jaw was set stubbornly. "Hi."

"Where are your friends?" Harry wanted to kick himself the moment the words were out of his mouth, as Reece's face threatened to crumple. After a moment, the boy pulled himself back together.

"They had something else to do."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance. "What are you doing?" Ron asked, pointing at the black quill in Reece's lap.

Reece pulled back on himself a little, ducking his head shyly. "You've met my friend Ron, right?" Harry said, sitting on the ground, motioning to Ron to do the same. "You met him on the train."

Reece nodded, glancing sideways at Harry. When Harry smiled encouragingly, Reece's face broke into a huge grin. "I do."

"Good, I'd hate to think I was forgettable," Ron grumbled. Reece grinned wider. "So, did you break your quill?"

Reece shook his head, picking up the quill from his lap. "I wanted to practice the transfiguration spell we got taught in class, but it's not working."

"What are you trying to change it into?" Harry asked, taking the quill from Reece and running his fingers over the feather. It smelled faintly of the sky, and Harry wondered where on earth Reece had found a raven-feather quill.

"A paintbrush."

"Oh, I remember that one!" Ron exclaimed. "Go on, try again, we'll see what you're doing wrong."

As tactless as Ron's comment was, Reece obliged by setting the quill on the ground. His forehead furrowed in concentration, he spoke the incantation and waved his wand. The feather didn't even twitch.

"See?" Reece stabbed his wand at the feather in disgust. "Nothing!"

"You're saying the spell wrong," Ron said. "You're saying the last word like 'lee'. It has to be like 'lay'."

"Why?"

"Because that's the spell."

"But why does that matter?"

"I, uh..." Ron looked lost, so Harry stepped in.

"It's just the way it's done. It's the spell, if you say it a different way, something different will happen."

"But why?" Reece demanded. "The teachers say the magic's in us, that we're the magical ones, and our wands just channel that. What does it matter how I say the spell when my magic's going to be what's important."

Harry closed his mouth. He hadn't ever thought about it that way before. Reece had a point, one that Harry had no idea how to address. "That's just the way it is."

Reece rolled his eyes. "Adults always say that and it just means they don't know," he said scathingly. "The people around here say that lycanthropy is magic, but it's not, it's a preternatural disease and it's got rules. There aren't any rules on magic!"

The boy's soft Welsh accent danced over the large words as if they were nothing, making Harry even more impressed. When he was Reece's age, he hadn't ever heard the word 'preternatural'. But then, if his whole life was centered around being a werewolf, he might have been able to spout off knowledgeably. "There are rules here," Harry said weakly.

"But there shouldn't be," Reece protested.

"Vampires!" Harry exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "They're magic, and their power is constrained by rules."

Reece's eyebrows shot up. "So I can't do this spell because of vampire magic?"

"Stop being daft," Harry said. "You know what? You're going to talk to Hermione, the Head Girl, and she'll explain exactly why you need to say the spell right."

Reece let out a long-suffering sigh. "Fine."

"Now try the spell again, and say it right," Harry ordered.

Aiming his wand once more, Reece tried the spell. Even though he said the incantation perfectly, the feather didn't change. "Bugger."

Harry ignored the swearing child, and picked up the feather. "Where did you get this?" he asked, bringing it close to his nose. Under the feather smell lingered a faint familiar smell.

"I borrowed it from a third year in my house," Reece said. "I didn't have any quills at the start of the year, only pens from my mum."

Harry lifted his eyes to meet Ron's puzzled stare, and something clicked in his head. Now he remembered why the smell was familiar. "Hold on." Harry set the quill on the ground and pulled out his own wand. How did that spell go again? Harry pointed his wand at the feather and said, "I'm bored."

In the wink of an eye, the quill expanded outwards and became a whole, live raven. Reece squealed and scrambled back against the tree. "What is that?" he demanded.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed. "It's one of the twin's trick quills!"

"Ron's brothers have a joke shop in Diagon Alley," Harry explained to Reece. "They brought out a line of in-class pranks for last Christmas. This," he indicated the puzzled-looking bird, "Was one of them."

"They made live animals into quills?" Reece sounded horrified.

"No, not at all," Harry said. He reached out and carefully picked up the bird around the middle. It looked around, but didn't try to fly off or peck at Harry's hands. "It's just a raven feather, but it's enchanted to be transfigured into a bird and pretend to be alive. It's not alive. Smell it."

Very slowly, Reece crawled toward Harry and the bird, sniffing the air. He smiled, a little shakily. "I guess it's cool."

"You should have seen the pig line," Ron said. "Our mum chased a three-hundred-pound sow out of the kitchen and almost walloped the twins into next year."

Reece giggled as Harry set the raven down and said, "I'm busy." The bird changed back into a feather quill and fluttered to the ground.

"There's your problem right there," Ron told Reece, digging in Harry's bag for another quill. "You can't transfigure something that's already under a transfiguration charm, not at your level. Try this."

Reece tried the transfiguration spell on Harry's quill. It changed into a paintbrush easily, and he clapped. "Thanks!"

"No problem," Harry said. "Hey, want to see Hagrid?"

"He's the gamekeeper, right?" Reece said, jumping to his feet with a werewolf's grace. "Yeah, that'd be really cool."

Ron and Harry stood and the three of them began to walk across the lawn toward Hagrid's hut, Reece chattering in restored good humour. After a minute, he spotted something and darted away.

"Harry?"

"Ron."

"You noticed the kid used the wrong incantation and the wrong hand movement on that spell, right?"

"I noticed."

"Why?"

"Maybe he expected it work like that?"

"Or maybe it's something to do with what he is."

Harry shot Ron a warning glare. "This isn't because he's a werewolf. Remus was a werewolf at this age, and you don't see him doing weird spells."

"But Remus wanted to fit in, didn't he?"

Harry spun around. "What the hell does that mean?"

Ron kept walking. "It means none of his friends, like your dad or Sirius or-- or anyone knew he was a werewolf. If he could do different magic to start with, would he have kept it up?"

"But then how is Reece doing it?"

Ron gestured helplessly with his hands. "Both Reece's folks are muggles, right?"

Technically, his father was a werewolf, but that wasn't really any business of Ron's. "Yes."

"Remus's folks were magical. He grew up seeing how magic works, right? He probably never asked the kind of question Reece did."

Harry wasn't sure what to say at first. Asking Ron when the hell he got so smart seemed a little rude. "Why did you think of that?" he said instead.

Ron shrugged. "Got to thinking about Hermione."

"But Hermione's muggle born and she never wondered about changing magic like that."

"Hermione learned everything about magic out of books," Ron corrected. "If it's in a book, it's real to her. That's the way it goes. Reece is more like you."

Harry stumbled over the grass. "What about me?" he demanded.

"Magic works weird for you," Ron said, going bright red. "You're really good at some things, like Defence Against the Dark Arts and Charms, but bad at other things."

"You're completely mental!"

"You're missing my point!" Ron shouted. "Would you have been like that if you'd grown up in the wizarding world? Harry, you made a Patronus in third year, that's NEWT level magic!"

"There were Dementors after me! I had to learn it!"

"You shouldn't have been able to! And look at what you did this year with your Animagus!" Ron brought his voice low. "I know you said it was because of what happened in St. Louis, but did you ever think that it just happened because of this?"

Ron had put too much thought into this, and it was making Harry uncomfortable. "Look, doing a few spots of difficult magic has nothing to do with how I was raised," he said firmly. "It also has nothing to do with Reece's messing up that spell so spectacularly. So drop it!"

"Are you talking about me?" Reece asked, popping up at Harry's side. "Why?"

"Because you're so interesting," Harry said.

The boy stuck out his tongue. "I heard that the Auror lady ate some bad eggs at breakfast yesterday and her head swole up and her toes turned green."

"Where did you hear that?" Harry demanded as they started down the steps.

"Around. Is it true?"

"No, it's not true." Then Harry reconsidered. He couldn't very well tell the boy what really happened to Tonks, but he might be able to spread a bit of misinformation to change the rumours. "She ate something that was bad for her, but she's going to be fine."

"Good." Reece hopped along. "Is she going to be in the infirmary for long?"

"Don't know."

"Maybe you should take her flowers," Reece said. "When my mum was in hospital, my da took her flowers and she was happy."

Privately, Harry wondered what Tonks would say if she knew an eleven-year-old werewolf had a crush on her. "Yeah, she might like flowers," he said.

"Good." Reece jumped down the last step. "Are we going to be bothering Mr. Hagrid?"

"Nah, Hagrid likes it when we come by," Ron said. "And if he offers us tea, just nod and smile."

The hut door swung open, and Hagrid lumbered out, carrying a big bucket in his hand. "Hey, you there!" he called, waving. "Come t' see me?"

Harry had barely opened his mouth to respond when Fang tore out of the hut, barking his head off. He raced over the grass, straight for Harry and Reece.

Not thinking, Harry grabbed Reece by the shoulder and pulled the boy behind him. He planted his feet and drew himself up to his full height. "Fang, stop!"

The enormous boarhound pulled himself up a few feet from Harry, growling. Behind him, Harry could feel Reece's beast responding to the threat.

"That's enough!" Harry exclaimed, to both Fang and Reece. He glared at Fang until the dog stopped growling, and ducked his head. Harry squeezed Reece's shoulder, and after a tense moment, the boy relaxed against Harry, gripping Harry's robes hard.

Hagrid bounded up the hill, moving remarkably fast for someone so large. "Fang, what're ye doin'?"

"We're fine, Hagrid," Harry said, watching Fang to make sure the dog's act of submission was genuine. "We just wanted to come down to see you, and brought Reece along."

The boy crept out from behind Harry, watching Fang warily. "I'm sorry, sir," he said awkwardly. "I didn't know you had a dog."

"Why're ye sorry?" Hagrid asked, thumping a large hand against Fang's ribs. "He's usually not so loud. Sorry if he scared ye."

Harry walked over to Fang and held out his hand, hoping the smell of Reece on a familiar person would be enough to calm the dog. Fang sniffed Harry's palm, then licked him wetly. "Come here, Reece."

Looking as if he'd rather eat his quill, Reece edged over to the dog. He made some serious eye contact with the beast, then let the tension slump out of his shoulders. "Hi Fang."

Fang licked Reece's offered hand, then bent down to sniff his trainers.

Hagrid looked relieved. "Don't know what's up with 'im," he rumbled. "He ain't never done that with a student. Well, twice."

Harry really didn't want to know who those students were, and if Remus was one of those instances. The last thing they needed was Hagrid making the mental connection that Reece was a werewolf. "Hagrid, we thought we'd get some flowers for Tonks," he said quickly. "Know where we can look?"

"Flowers?" Hagrid repeated, surprised. "Yeah, there's a bunch o' wild flowers by the pumpkin patch. You going to get some for D--"

Ron coughed loudly, and luckily Hagrid shut up. Reece didn't seem to notice what Hagrid had been saying, he was too busy playing with Fang.

"Just some flowers for Tonks," Harry said. "Reece?"

"I'll get them!" the boy shouted, and ran toward the flowers growing wild against the fence, Fang in hot pursuit.

Once the boy was far enough away, Harry turned to Hagrid. "Have you heard anything about, um, you know?"

Hagrid shook his head. "Ain't heard nothing new. But that's good, right? He can't be gettin' worse."

"Hagrid's right, Harry," Ron said. "Come on, it's-- you know. He'll be fine."

Neither Ron nor Hagrid had seen the large hole in Dumbledore's chest, and Harry couldn't share their optimism. "He has to be," Harry said, half-wishing. _No matter if the five of us figure out where to find the horcruxes and how to destroy them, what chance do we stand against Voldemort without Dumbledore?_

Reece raced back over, a messy handful of flowers clenched in his fist. "Got them!" he exclaimed. "Let's go!"

"You can't go givin' 'em like that," Hagrid said kindly. "Got to tidy 'em up, make 'em look pretty."

"They are pretty," Reece countered. "I got her a bunch of daisies and some lupins."

"Some what?" Ron demanded.

"Lupins," Reece repeated patiently as he pointed at the alarmingly robust pink flowers. "That's what my mum calls them, and she should know."

"Why would she know?" Harry asked as Hagrid pulled a length of string out of his pocket and helped Reece bundle the flowers into a bouquet.

"She sat botany at Oxford!" Reece said proudly. "I did a project on flowers you can eat, at school last year, and she helped me." He held out his bouquet, and Harry obligingly admired it.

"Now, what's that?" Hagrid said, looking up the hill. "More visitors?"

Harry squinted up the hill, then pulled his glasses down to get a better look. When he finally figured out who was making his way down the hill, he let out a small growl.

"Who is it?" Reece demanded, instantly alert. "Is something wrong?"

Harry shook himself. "Nothing's wrong."

"So who's that?"

"That's the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour." Harry squared his shoulders. Why the hell was Scrimgeour doing at Hogwarts, so soon after Dumbledore had been hurt? Had he heard something was wrong?

"What's that?"

"What's that?" Ron demanded incredulously. "How do you not know what the Ministry of Magic is?"

"He's muggle born, Ron," Harry said, not really paying attention. " Scrimgeour is like the Prime Minister."

"Oh," Reece said, finally sounding awed. "Why is he here?" he asked as he edged closer to Harry

"I don't know."

The Minister of Magic strode down the steps on the slope, his limp barely slowing him down, followed closely by a strange Auror. When he spotted Harry, Scrimgeour gave a wave.

"Look, Reece, why don't you run on up to the hospital wing to see Tonks?" Harry suggested. "Now."

Reece gave him a look. "Okay," he sighed, then bolted up the slope, not bothering with the stairs.

"Ah, I remember being so energetic," Scrimgeour said as he came closer. "Harry Potter, just the boy I was looking for."

 _Fuck._ Harry glanced at Ron, who only shrugged. He didn't know what was going on, either.

"You must be Ronald Weasley," Scrimgeour said, nodding at Ron. "Arthur's youngest boy?"

"Yes, sir, that's me," Ron said.

Scrimgeour turned to Hagrid. "And Rubeus Hagrid. I understand you're a teacher now?"

"Yeah," Hagrid said rather flatly. "Teachin' Care of Magical Creatures."

Scrimgeour nodded. "Well, Mr. Potter, may I have a few minutes of your time?"

 _Double fuck._ Was there any way Harry could avoid this talk? He didn't want to talk to Scrimgeour at all, not with Dumbledore hurt.

However, he didn't seem to have many options. If he left Scrimgeour with Hagrid, the half-giant might let something slip about Dumbledore's injuries, and Harry couldn't think of a reason to have Ron come along for the talk.

"Sure," Harry said with all the joy of having detention.

"Hey, Harry, I'll run your stuff up to the castle," Ron said, holding out his hand. "Meet you at lunch?"

If Ron had been a girl, Harry might have kissed him. "Yeah, thanks," Harry said, handing his bag, which contained his notes on the Horcruxes, to Ron. The tiny metal box with the portkey to the Horcrux cavern was in his trousers pocket, but Harry wasn't letting that out of his sight for anything. "See you then."

Ron nodded sharply, then headed up the steps. Harry watched his friend for a moment, then his eyes slid back to Scrimgeour. "You wanted to talk, sir?"

Scrimgeour raised one bushy eyebrow, and indicated that Harry was to follow him. Hagrid waved goodbye as Harry followed the Minister up the slope.

Once they were on the flat part of the lawn, Scrimgeour waved his Auror away. "So, Harry," he said conversationally, "I hear I have you to thank for saving the life of one of my Aurors yesterday."

Harry bristled, not able to sense the trap, but knowing it was there, ready to snap closed on him. "Tonks really wasn't that bad," Harry lied, trying to remember if they had agreed upon any particular untruth for her injuries. _If she was hurt bad enough to have her life in danger, she should have gone to St. Mungo's. She didn't, so I have to pretend it wasn't that bad._ "Just food poisoning, I heard."

Scrimgeour's step never faltered. "Is that so?" he asked. "I wasn't aware that the Hogwarts house elves would ever serve bad eggs."

It seemed as if Scrimgeour had been listening to Reece's informant. "You'll have to talk with them."

"What I find interesting, Harry, is how Dumbledore is unavailable for consultation," Scrimgeour continued. Harry tensed. "According to Assistant Headmistress McGonagall, he is in the school but too busy to talk with me. Considering that one of the school's protectors was injured yesterday, I find that... interesting."

Fleetingly, Harry wondered if Scrimgeour was a Legilimens, and decided to slap up his mental Occlumency walls, just in case. "Dumbledore doesn't clear his calendar with me," Harry said, trying to sound politely puzzled. "I'm just a student."

"But you're not just a student, are you?" Scrimgeour asked, turning to face Harry. "Have you given any thought to what you're going to do after you write your NEWTs at the end of this year, Harry?"

Harry desperately wanted Scrimgeour to stop calling him by his first name, it was throwing him off. _Which is probably his point_. "No."

"No?" Scrimgeour's gaze bored into Harry. "I heard a rumour that you were considering becoming an Auror?"

There it was, Scrimgeour dangling Harry's dream in front of his eyes. But what was the cost? Harry suddenly felt sick, that Scrimgeour thought he could buy Harry's loyalty like this. "I'm not in Potions," Harry said, making every effort to stay calm, in control. His Occlumency was helping, but not enough. "I can't be an Auror without a Potions NEWT."

Scrimgeour inclined his head. "But there are other things you can do at the Ministry, if not as an Auror. Perhaps as a consultant?"

Harry slowly counted to ten in his head. _This isn't getting me anywhere!_ "Why do you want me at the Ministry?" Harry asked. "What does it matter to you what I do at the end of this year?"

The corner of Scrimgeour's eye twitched. He regarded Harry for a long minute. "You're a symbol in our world," Scrimgeour finally said. "In the fight against Voldemort."

"And you want that symbol under your control," Harry said coldly. "It doesn't matter what I can do, or how well I can fight dark wizards."

"You won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and your OWL results--"

"Cedric Diggory also won the Tri-Wizard Tournament," Harry interrupted. "Before he was murdered by Voldemort."

Scrimgeour clenched his jaw. "I'm offering you a chance to fight Voldemort, from inside the Ministry."

It would be so easy, to just give Scrimgeour the notes on the Horcruxes and let the Ministry deal with it. To have someone else take up the fight against Voldemort, to let Harry had a bit of a life.

It would be easy, but it would be so very wrong. The Ministry would never be able to comprehend the danger the Horcruxes posed, would never be able to mount a force in time to stop Voldemort. If they had, then Harry didn't doubt Dumbledore would already have gone to them.

"No."

Scrimgeour's glare grew hostile. "So you stay at Hogwarts? With Albus Dumbledore?"

"Albus Dumbledore has been fighting Voldemort for years," Harry said. "I'm staying here."

"Dumbledore's man until the end."

In that moment, Harry forgot all the doubts he'd ever had about Dumbledore. "There are worse things I could be," Harry said. He didn't finish the thought.

An air of anger began to gather around Scrimgeour. "Where is Dumbledore, Harry?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do." Scrimgeour leaned a fraction closer. "I think something has happened, and that by not telling the Ministry, both you and Dumbledore are placing everyone in this school, all these children, at risk."

"Dumbledore would never put anyone in this school in danger!" Harry exclaimed.

The unmistakable beginnings of the anger on Scrimgeour's face were wiped away when from across the lawn came the call, "Minister!"

Harry whirled around. It was Dumbledore, and he was walking toward them.

 _What? How?_ Harry could only stare. It was Dumbledore all right, standing upright and striding like he hadn't a care in the world. When the man drew near enough, Harry breathed in deeply. There was no smell of polyjuice, nor the girl smell that Tonks hadn't been able to mask. This person smelled like Dumbledore. How could he be better?

"Rufus, I hear you have been looking for me?" Dumbledore asked, stopping beside Harry. He laid one thin hand on Harry's shoulder in warning. "Terribly sorry, I was unavoidably detained."

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes.

"Harry, will you please excuse us, the Minister and I have much to discuss." Dumbledore said. "I'll speak with you later."

"Okay," Harry muttered, even though it was anything but okay. How the hell was Dumbledore standing upright and looking so merry? Giving Dumbledore one last look, Harry walked away.

* * *

"So he just walked over?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "I knew he'd be up and around in no time!"

"You don't understand, Ron, he was hurt too badly for that!" Harry protested. He bit savagely into his sandwich. "I wasn't supposed to let anyone know he was hurt, because if they knew, then the Ministry might come take over the school! So the Minster of Magic shows up, and all of a sudden Dumbledore's better?"

"If it keeps the Ministry out of Hogwarts, then fine," Ron said with a shudder. "You remember how bad it was with Umbridge here?"

Out of nowhere, Luna appeared and sat on the grass next to Harry. "Why are you talking about her?" she asked, pulling her robe primly over her ankles.

Scrimgeour forgotten, Harry stared at Luna. "Are you all right?" he asked urgently. "You're fine, right?"

Luna looked at him with amusement for a moment, but then the expression changed to worry. "The Minister didn't put a Tannite in your head, did he?"

"A what?"

"A Tannite," Luna repeated. "It's a tiny creature that lives in your ear and controls your thoughts. Are your ears safe?"

Ron cracked up. "She's fine, mate."

Harry punched Ron in the arm. "Shut it." He turned back to Luna. "But you're really all right? And how did you know I was talking to the Minister?"

"Ron told Ginny before lunch, and Ginny told me," Luna explained, unwrapping her lunch of half a sandwich and an apple. "They'd be out here right now, but Ginny wanted to talk to Hermione about something."

"About what?" Ron asked with interest.

"They didn't tell me." Luna took a tiny bite of apple. "They said they would be along shortly."

Harry frowned down at his roast beef sandwich. "This has been a very strange morning."

"With Scrimgeour?" Ron asked through a mouthful.

"Yeah. He knew Tonks had been hurt, and I don't think he bought the food poisoning thing."

"But she was poisoned with food," Luna reminded them. "I spend some time this morning in class thinking about that."

"What about it?"

"We decided yesterday that whoever poisoned Tonks, thinking it was the Headmaster, chose yesterday morning because Professor Snape had left the castle," Luna said.

"Yeah, and we couldn't figure who it was," Ron said.

Luna nodded. "I think it was a Slytherin."

Harry froze mid-chew.

"Students from other houses wouldn't necessarily know he was gone, on a weekend," Luna continued. "And I don't think a teacher or another adult, like an Auror, would try poisoning him in the Great Hall. They could just as easily do it in the staff room, or in his office, or some place where Dumbledore wouldn't be easy to find."

Ron's jaw was hanging open. "Wow," he said weakly. "Better be careful to treat her right, Harry, so she won't poison you in the night."

Harry turned on Ron, ready to yell at him, but Luna stopped him by laughing. "I wouldn't poison anyone," she said.

"You wouldn't?"

Luna shook her head, her face losing its smile. "I can't imagine I would ever be so afraid of someone that I would poison them."

"Afraid? You mean hatred, right?"

"No, I mean afraid," Luna said, looking up as Ginny and Hermione sat down on the grass. "If I hated someone, I would attack them to their face. If I poisoned someone, it would be because I was afraid."

Ginny gave Luna a quick sideways hug. "I can think of someone I'd like to poison," she said darkly.

"I don't want to talk about him," Luna said.

"Of course," Ginny said.

Hermione gave Ron and Harry a questioning look. Ron mouthed something to her, that looked to Harry like 'Corner'. An understanding expression crossed Hermione's face.

"So, um, what Slytherin would try and kill Dumbledore?" Ron asked into the awkward silence. "More importantly, why?"

"Voldemort?" Harry suggested. "Can you think of another reason?"

"How many have of the Slytherins have parents who are Death Eaters?" Ron asked.

"Oh, we can't go by that!" Ginny exclaimed. "It's not an inherited title! Remember Wormtail?"

"Oh, you mean the rat that spent years in our house? Who betrayed Harry's parents to Voldemort? Yeah, Ginny, I faintly remember him!" Ron shouted, ignoring Hermione as she tried to hold him still.

"Don't get mad at me!" Ginny yelled back. "I'm trying to tell you that it could be any of them!"

The siblings glared at each other.

"Unless we have any more information on who tried to kill Dumbledore, I have something to say about the Horcruxes," Hermione said tentatively

"What's that?" Harry asked, eager to have Ron and Ginny stop fighting.

"I think I know what the fifth Horcrux might be."

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. "You _what_?" he squeaked.

Hermione pulled a roll of parchment out of her bag. "It's not in the notes on the spell," she said nervously as she unrolled the parchment. Harry could see that it was the original of Dumbledore's notes, not one of the copies Hermione had made. "It's in this mess, here."

Everyone crowded around to look at the tiny scribbles on the edge of the parchment. Words were written in spidery handwriting, some crossed out or written over. "How can you make any of that out?" Ron asked, squinting.

"With this." Hermione pointed her wand at the words and spoke the words to an unfamiliar spell. A few of the words glowed gold, making it easy to read. "I found it in the library to help with the notes I made in preparation for our OWLs."

Harry took off his glasses and knelt in the grass to read the glowing words. "Ravenclaw... cherry and unicorn hair... Ollivander." He frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Don't you see?" Hermione exclaimed. "Cherry wood and unicorn hair are two things you find in a wand! It must have been Rowena Ravenclaw's wand, made of cherry and unicorn hair, and Ollivander must have had it before he vanished!"

"Are you sure that's what that means?" Ron asked. "Dumbledore might have been talking about something else entirely."

Hermione sat back and glared at Ron. "Because you have a better idea of what the fifth Horcrux is?"

"She's right, it's the best thing we have to go on," Harry said quickly, to diffuse a fight between his friends. "But how the hell are we going to find out? Ollivander's been gone for a while now."

"If it was Ravenclaw's wand, Ollivander must have either hidden it or taken it with him," Ginny mused. "Even if it wasn't the Horcrux, the wand of a Hogwarts founder would be a great treasure."

"We need to find out," Harry said.

"How?" Luna asked. "We can't leave Hogwarts, and if we ask anyone else, there is the risk that someone will learn what we are doing."

"So we need someone to look for us." Harry bit his lip. Remus was still undercover with the werewolves, Tonks was out of commission, and asking any of the adults in the Order of the Phoenix would be a bad idea. Unless... "Are the twins still in their Diagon Alley shop?"

Ron looked surprised. "I guess."

"They are," Ginny said. "Mum sent me a letter yesterday with family stuff in it. They're in Diagon Alley all week."

"Do you think we can ask them?" Harry looked expectantly at Ron and Ginny. "They're already in Diagon Alley, no one's going to wonder if they are poking into things, it's what they do. And we can trust them!"

Ron rubbed at his cheek, thinking hard. "Yeah, I say we can," he finally said.

"Exactly," Ginny agreed. "But if you ask them this, you're going to have to tell them it all."

"Fine," Harry said.

"I don't know..." Hermione looked helplessly at Ron. "I'm sorry, but it's the twins!"

"They're wicked smart," Ginny snapped, quick to defend her brothers. "They're sneaky and loyal and they'd help us stop Voldemort in a heartbeat, you know that!"

"They would," Ron said quietly, putting his arm around Hermione. "And Harry's right, they're already in Diagon Alley."

"I'll send them an owl," Harry said, digging in his bag for parchment. "Just ask them to look around."

Hermione, of course, objected to this course of events. After much discussion, Harry wrote the note and Hermione charmed it so only a Weasley could read it.

"That sort of spell borders on blood magic," Luna pointed out as Hermione finished the spell.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Hermione said, her voice high and defensive.

Luna shrugged gracefully. "I don't disagree.”

Harry held the parchment up. "I'll send this to Fred and George, and we'll see what they can find."

"I'm still not sure this is a wise idea," Hermione confessed. "What if someone intercepts the letter and only finds a blank piece of paper?"

They hadn't thought of that. Ginny solved the problem by plucking the paper out of Harry's hand and scrawling a quick note on the surface. "There," she said as she handed it back to Harry.

"What's a Tongue Twister?" Harry asked, taking a quick look before folding the paper up.

"New product," Ron said. "You eat it, and you start talking in rhyme for about an hour. It's right annoying, that is."

"And they taste like strawberry," Ginny added blithely. "Come on, Luna, let's go owl this."

"Shouldn't I--" Harry began.

"No, you shouldn't," Ginny interrupted. She softened the order with a smile. "It'd look rather shifty, you sending a letter from me to my brothers." With a giggle, she ran toward the castle, Luna right behind her.

"Things certainly do move quickly when those two are around," Hermione muttered.

"I have to go find Dumbledore," Harry said abruptly. "Scrimgeour has to be gone by now, and I have to make sure Dumbledore's all right."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Hermione asked.

Harry shook his head. "I don't even know if he'll see me. You two shouldn't waste your time. I'll be back in a bit."

He was on his feet and about to head off, which something hit him. _I'm an idiot,_ he told himself. "Hey, Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"That was brilliant work, with the Horcruxes and the wand and all that."

Hermione flushed, a grin spreading across her face. "Thank you."

Harry grinned back, then took off across the grass for the castle.

* * *

"Why are you so down?" Ginny asked Harry that night in the Gryffindor common room.

Harry dragged his gaze up from his homework. "Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let me see Dumbledore, and all she told me was that he was making progress," he said in a low voice. "And we haven't heard from the twins, and there's a Slytherin in this school who's trying to kill everyone, and I've got this stupid Magical Creatures essay due tomorrow and I'm not anywhere near being done!"

Ginny gave him a sympathetic smile as she reached across the table to pat his hand. The light touch was like a lightening bolt across his skin, and Harry had to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

"You'll be fine," Ginny said. "You usually are."

"But not like this," Harry protested. "Before, there was a point to doing my homework, but now I don't even know if I'll live long enough to take my NEWTs-- Ouch!"

Ginny's grip had tightened painfully on his hand. When he cried out, she let him go. "Don't say that!" she said fiercely. "That is not going to happen!"

"Ginny--"

"Shut up!" She sat back in her chair and glared down at her Potions homework, ignoring Harry.

Harry looked around the common room, to see almost everyone watching their little fight with interest. A good many people hastily tried to look busy as Harry glared at them.

Harry went back to his essay. How the hell was he supposed to know why an Augurey's quills repelled ink?

"Oy, Ginny!" Seamus called across the room. "Ain't that your owl out there?"

Craning his neck around, Harry saw tiny Pigwidgeon, Ron and Ginny's owl, perched on the edge of the windowsill, tapping at the glass with his miniature beak.

Ginny scrambled up and jumped over a few students on the floor, ignoring their protests. Within seconds, she had opened the window and grabbed Pig, then snatched the tiny roll of parchment out of his claw.

"Here," said a nearby second year with a cat on his lap. He held out his hand. "Try this."

"You can't give an owl cat treats!" another kid interrupted.

"It's an owl treat!"

"You're feeding your cat _owl treats_?"

"I just tell him they're made of real owls, he doesn't know the difference!"

Shaking her head, Ginny tossed Pig back out into the night and shut the window. She tried to be calm as she walked back across the room to Harry, but he could see the tiny vibrations of excitement in her hands.

"Look at this," she murmured as she sat back down and tossed the parchment on Harry's essay.

Harry flattened the note on the table, and began to read.

_Dearest sister, of course we would love to deliver to you a sample of Tongue Twisters. In light of your interest, we'll only charge you the employee rate--_

Harry looked up. "They charge you for their stuff?" he demanded incredulously.

She nodded. "What do you expect? They're in business."

Grumbling, Harry went back to the note.

_\-- as well as throw in a complimentary sample of the new Christmas line, but only if you use them at school as advertising._

We would be happy to deliver the package to you in person in Hogsmeade, next Sunday. Don't be late! We'll have so much to tell you.

Love,

Fred and George.

PS: May as well invite Ron alone, elsewise he'll whine.

"Did they get my message?" Harry asked uncertainly.

"Of course they did," Ginny said, taking back the note. "They didn't say they 'have' a lot to tell us, they said they 'will' have a lot to say!"

Harry raised his eyebrows.

"And even if they don't, we can get them to buy us tea in Hogsmeade," Ginny continued.

"Are you sure there's a Hogsmeade weekend?" Harry asked. "I haven't heard anything."

"McGonagall told us at dinner on Sunday, when you weren't there." Ginny gave him an odd sideways glance. "We can go like last time."

It took Harry a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "You mean, you and me and Luna?"

Ginny nodded.

Harry tried very hard to sound nonchalant as he asked, "Have you talked to Luna about... you know, stuff?"

"If you mean the diary, then yes," Ginny said, concentrating very hard on her book. "I can't... I mean, I'm not like that. We talked about that."

"Are you two okay?" Harry blurted out, even though he knew it was a silly question. Ginny and Luna had been acting like normal around each other all day.

"Yeah." Ginny gave him another odd look. "We've still got a lot in common, though, so we're going to keep on like this."

Harry desperately wanted to know what Ginny was talking about, what it was that she and Luna had in common, but before he could ask, Jack Sloper came over to ask Harry about Quidditch practices.

When Harry finally got rid of Sloper, Ginny had gone up to bed. Harry stared at her empty seat for a long time.

 _It's not fair!_ he railed. _I finally find someone who might be my girlfriend... well, two someones, and I've got Voldemort after me on one side and the Ministry on the other! I can't ever be normal!_

Well, he'd be as normal as he could. In between working on the Horcruxes and going to class and Quidditch, Harry vowed he'd spend time with Luna and Ginny, doing whatever it was that a boy did with girls.

Only problem was, Harry wasn't sure what the hell that was.


	69. Promises As Yet Unbroken

* * *

Harry stumbled down to breakfast very early on Tuesday morning . Outside, the skies had ripped open and torrents of rain poured down upon the school and surrounding countryside. The ceiling in the Great Hall showed the roiling clouds and lightening outside, thunder punctuating the flashes. Harry stared up while he ate his toast, wearily fascinated by the violence.

 _Maybe we can throw the Horcruxes into a lightening storm,_ he thought. _Anything would be more productive than staring at that stupid parchment, wondering when we'll hear from the twins._

With a sigh, Harry turned his attention to his eggs. Even the concept of a full breakfast wasn't enough to cheer him up. _At least I don't have any classes today, and it wasn't raining last night for Astronomy. Small favours and all that._

Noise in the sparsely populated Hall was at a minimum, most hushed by the storm. When several voices lifted in surprise, Harry glanced up in alarm.

A huge owl winged its way through the air, heading right toward Harry. Hastily, Harry cleared a place on the table for the owl to land. The bird touched down on the table with unexpected grace and lightness, glaring haughtily down at Harry.

"Are you an international post owl?" Harry asked the bird. It was very similar to the owl that had brought the letter from St. Louis. The owl gave Harry a look and clicked its beak impatiently as it held out its small letter.

"Right," Harry muttered. He took the letter with one hand. With the other hand, he held up a strip of bacon. "Are you going to wait out the storm?"

The owl crunched the bacon in its beak, then launched itself off the table. Harry watched as the owl headed out into the storm. He hoped it would be safe, and what could possibly be in the letter that made it so important for the bird to come all this way.

 _Let's find out._ Harry ripped open the envelope and pulled out the soggy letter. The ink hadn't run in the rain. _A ball-point pen? Who would be writing to me with a ball-point pen?_

The letter was from Anita.

Harry traced the curves of the letters in her name, confused. Why had she sent him a letter? Was something wrong in St. Louis? He checked the date on the top of the page. Anita had written this letter on Sunday, two days previous.

_Hi Harry._

_Are you doing okay? You probably are, you always seem to come out okay. I guess that's just how we start letters, like one of those things. No one ever really wants to know if you're not okay, they get all weird when you say you're not._

_I guess I'm sort of rambling. I do that a lot in letters. I'm not very good at writing things down, there's always something I'll forget. It's strange to tell someone something and not be able to see their face._

_I'm not really sure what I hope to accomplish with this letter. There's a lot of shit happening right now, and I'm not sure I can talk about it in here, because I really don't trust giving mail to a bird. You should get a post office box or something so I can send mail the normal way._

Harry stopped reading and took a bracing sip of tea. Anita was right; she did ramble. He glanced back at the writing. What didn't she want to put in the mail?

_This morning, Micah and Jason and Nathaniel and I visited Tammy Reynolds. She had someone she wanted me to meet, someone from your world. John Cassidy, he's in charge of the Aurors in the States. I don't know what to make of him. He's a bit of an odd character, but he reminds me more of Dolph Storr (who's in charge of RPIT, remember him?) than anyone else. At first I thought Cassidy reminded me of Dumbledore, but he's more straightforward that your headmaster. He said he didn't know why Dumbledore went into teaching. He also said that his department was under review to see why they missed a magical arms dealer, Nigel Spencer, living in St. Louis for so many years. As usual, the bureaucracy comes in months too late._

_Cassidy told me something weird, that your government hasn't accepted offers of help from the Americans to fight Voldemort. What's with that?_

_(As an aside, can Voldemort fly? The only other person... okay, vampire, who I know that uses the French word for death in her name, Belle Morte, really lives up to her name, according to Jean-Claude. She really is Beautiful Death.)_

_But Cassidy said that he couldn't go through normal channels any more to get information around. Is there a way I can get secured information to you? I can't bring myself to think that strapping a letter onto a bird and then tossing it across the Atlantic is in any way secure. Let me know. Soon._

_Tammy says hi. Tannis is teething and is pretty cranky. When did you start being magical? I'm wondering if the kid might soon start levitating or other weird crap. I suppose it'd be cool. Or else terrifying. When I started raising the dead when I was thirteen, it wasn't exactly cool._

_It's funny how much difference time can make. When I was a kid, raising the dead was scary and amazing. Now, it's just business._

_Which, by the way, is good. I was thinking, when you come to visit us over Christmas, you can come with me on zombie raisings if you want. Maybe you can use it as some extra-curricular magical school credit?_

Harry tried, and failed, to imagine asking McGonagall for credit after helping Anita raise someone from the dead.

_You are still coming for Christmas, right? Nathaniel is really holding onto that these days. We've decided to redecorate the house, painting and all that. Nathaniel suggested about half an hour ago that maybe we could knock out the wall between the kitchen and living room and dining room, make it one huge open space. At first I said no, but it makes sense, you know? Totally change things._

_Nathaniel is doing okay, he says. He and I had some problems over the last week, but I think we worked things out last night. Problems, hell, it was like the end of the fucking world, and as usual with him, I didn't handle it as well as I could have. I've known him since he was eighteen and I still don't understand him at all most days._

_I'd be lying if I thought that we really were fine. He's great at pretending he's fine, even if he's dying inside, because he won't want to worry me. But some things you can't pretend around._

_I guess I'm pretending I'm fine, too. As stupid as it sounds, I don't think that it's hit me yet, what almost happened with Olaf. I almost lost Nathaniel. I almost died. If I would have died, Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian would have died too._

_It's not making sense in my head. I can write that out and it doesn't mean anything. It has to mean something bad, but I don't know if I ever want to figure out what._

_I never thought I'd live a long time, not with my life. A few years ago, I realized that my life is like passive suicide and it didn't bother me then, but it's different now. There are so many people depending on me and it's just a lot to have to handle. Not all the time, but sometimes. I can't ever tell them that, it's not that they're a burden or anything. I..._

_I don't know what I want. Stupid, isn't it? I have everything I didn't know I wanted, and it's almost too much to deal with._

_Oh, hell. Don't tell anyone I said that. In fact, forget you read that. I really shouldn't mail this letter. Nathaniel is going to be fine, he really wants to see you, so you come to visit over Christmas. Jason misses you too, and Damian. We all miss you._

_I just realized I hadn't thanked you for your phone calls. Talking to you yesterday morning (I mean on Saturday, not the day before you get this) really helped. Next time, can you try and call when it's night here? Damian would probably love to talk to you. Call any time, and you can even call collect so you don't have to hang up so soon._

_You may notice that I haven't said anything about that dream thing you were talking about in that call. I'm actually never going to think about it again, and neither are you. Also: Don't do it again. It's really weird to think someone's spying on my day._

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," Harry said, rather indignant. "You try blocking it."

_Just stay safe and don't do anything stupid. All the advice I can give is to watch your back and don't take on the world by yourself. You're not the only person in the world who can fight the bad guys._

_Burn this letter. If I'm stupid enough to actually mail this thing, then you can't let anyone else see it._

_Stay safe._

_\--Anita_

_P.S. Stephen (who says hi) just came over and was talking about Paul and Suzanne's wedding at Christmas. You remember them, right? The newly infected werewolf and his fiancee who were involved in that mess with Be- maybe I shouldn't write her name in case anyone else reads this. But the wedding is going to be three days before Christmas, and I'm told you're invited. Yet another reason to fly over for the holidays._

Harry grinned. A Christmas wedding sounded really cool. It also sounded sort of familiar, but he couldn't figure out why. Maybe Paul and Suzanne had mentioned it while Harry was in St. Louis.

He grabbed an apple and bit into it before he looked back at the letter. Harry remembered talking to Tammy Reynolds about John Cassidy. She had said that Cassidy was a war hero, who had been important in the fight against Grindelwald. Why had that man gone to talk to Anita? What could he have given her? And why hadn't he sent it over himself?

Harry wished he was surprised that the Ministry of Magic was refusing foreign help against Voldemort. Scrimgeour probably thought that they could solve things all on their own.

 _Even the Sorting Hat knows we need to work together, it's been singing that for bloody years,_ Harry thought. _Why can't the Ministry see that?_

Harry wondered if he should tell Dumbledore what Anita had written about Cassidy, and the information Anita wanted to send over. Anita didn't like Dumbledore... but Harry didn't know anything about sending secured messages from someone who wasn't magical. Right now, Dumbledore was probably the only one who Harry could trust.

Besides, Harry really needed to talk to Dumbledore about all kinds of things, including how Dumbledore had walked down to talk to Scrimgeour the previous day, and about the Horcruxes, and about the possibility that a Slytherin was trying to kill the headmaster.

Harry stood up. It was still very early, but Madam Pomfrey would be in the infirmary, and she could probably tell him where Dumbledore was.

It wasn't a great plan, but it was something, and anything was better than sitting in the Great Hall, echoing with the rumbles of the outside thunder. Feeling very old and tired, Harry dragged himself out of the Hall, stepping around the rambunctious first years at the end of the Gryffindor table who were throwing toast at each other. A slice of bread flew toward Harry, and with his Seeker's reflexes, he reached out and grabbed it before it hit him in the head.

The first years froze, eyes on Harry, as if they had just poked a dragon. Harry sighed as he tossed the bread back onto the table, and turned away. "Bloody kids," he muttered to himself as he continued on. He and Ron and Hermione hadn't been that bad when they were in first year, were they? Harry was pretty sure he'd never actually thrown toast at anyone.

Maybe the next time he fought against Voldemort, he could throw enchanted toast at the dark wizard. Voldemort would never see it coming.

 _I need more sleep,_ Harry thought in mild disgust as he climbed the stairs.

He fingered the paper in his pocket. Anita's letter certainly had been surprising. Now that he had a chance to think about it, his mind went back to the part where she had talked about how Nathaniel wasn't okay, and how she wasn't okay either. How could any of them be okay? Harry had managed to push the memory of that room out of his head, had somehow managed to ignore the way Nathaniel's body had been ripped apart, how blood had covered every visible surface.

Suddenly queasy, Harry stopped against the banister. Nathaniel had the right idea, to totally change the room where it happened. Painting wasn't enough. But would anything be enough?

 _I wish I could help them,_ Harry thought, meaning the renovations only in part. He felt so useless, half a world away. _I can't fix anything over there, and I can't solve any problem over here._

Maybe Anita didn't want his help. Harry had told her, when he spoke to her on the phone, that Nathaniel might need to talk to a friend. Maybe that was what Anita was doing, telling Harry what was bothering her because she needed to talk to a friend.

_Does that mean we're friends?_

When Harry was growing up, he didn't have any friends. Everyone was too afraid of Dudley to be nice to Harry. Hagrid had been Harry's very first friend. Ron had been next, then Hermione. Ginny and Luna were friends now, too, in addition to being girls that Harry liked. Harry also supposed he could add Neville to that list of friends.

Six friends wasn't too bad, for a boy who had spent the first half of his life without any.

Then... this summer. Harry hadn't spend much time thinking about it, but he had gained so many friends from his time in St. Louis. Nathaniel and Jason, and Anita. He didn't know how he would ever be able to work out the family relationship with Damian, neither of them had any experience to draw on. Maybe they could be friends too.

 _And who else? The twins? Richard? Jamil? Jean-Claude? Can I think of them as friends?_ After a moment's thought, Harry took Jean-Claude off the list. He wasn't sure the vampire Master had any friends, besides Anita and Asher. But he left the rest of the mental list as it was.

Harry had horrible luck with family, but maybe he would have more luck with his new friends.

* * *

"Nice flowers."

Tonks eyed Harry over her Daily Prophet. "I hear I have you to thank for that."

"Me? It wasn't my idea at all," Harry protested. "Reece heard you were feeling poorly and wanted to do something to make you feel better."

Tonks tossed the paper onto the chair beside her bed. "Don't tell me that it was his idea to give me lupins."

"It was." Harry grinned at her. "You're feeling better?"

"Tonnes. Madam Pomfrey said I can go back to work after breakfast. No more of this lazing about."

Harry leaned against the end of her hospital bed. Tonks had her normal colour back, bright purple hair over a heart-shaped face. She was even dressed in her Auror's robes, ready to go.

"But you're really feeling better?" Harry pressed.

Tonks nodded. "There aren't any side effects from the poison." Her smile faded slightly. "Thanks to you."

"And Ginny," Harry said quickly. "She had the bezoar, which saved your life. I only ran quickly."

"Not 'only'," Tonks retorted. "Carrying someone like that is right hard work."

Harry shrugged, wishing that Tonks would drop this. "All those Quidditch muscles coming in handy."

"Uh huh." Tonks looked at him for a long moment. "I'll talk to Ginny when I see her. How is she doing with everything?"

"She's fine," Harry said slowly. "Why?"

"You know, the poisoning and this whole mess. Adding to that the Christmas wedding, which we were talking about over the summer, and--"

"Wait, what wedding?" Harry interrupted.

Tonks’ eyebrows went up. "Bill and Fleur's wedding? I thought you knew about it, Hermione said she'd told you. Ginny and Fleur don't get along at all, and when I talked to Ginny this summer, she was having a hard time figuring out how she wasn't going to kill Fleur before Bill marries her."

Harry's heart sank. "Bill and Fleur are getting married at Christmas? Are you sure?"

"Of course I am. Why?" Tonks frowned at him. "Harry, are you all right?"

"No, I'm not!" Harry exclaimed, as his stomach churned. He'd told everyone in St. Louis he would visit them over Christmas, Damian and Nathaniel and Anita were expecting him. Suzanne and Paul had invited him to their wedding. He had to go to America, but he couldn't miss a Weasley wedding, could he? "When are Bill and Fleur getting married?"

"The day before Christmas," Tonks said. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his face with his hands. "Is there any way I can be in two places at once?"

"We can splinch you, send half of you to the wedding and half somewhere else," Tonks said. "What are you talking about?"

Harry dropped his hands. "I forgot about the wedding."

"And you made other plans for Christmas?" Tonks guessed. "Well, you've got two months and a bit to find a solution."

"Stop being so bloody cheerful about this," Harry grumbled.

Tonks laughed. "It's not the end of the world! You'll find a way."

Harry snapped his fingers. "Maybe a Time Turner!"

"Oy, Harry, the Ministry's not going to give you a Time Turner to make it to a wedding." Tonks frowned. "In fact, the Minister might not be too inclined to give you much of anything."

"Was the Minster in to see you yesterday?" Harry asked. "He tracked me down at Hagrid's, but he didn't come here just to see me, right?"

"Nah, he wanted to see me." Tonks grimaced, changing her hair to pitch black in her annoyance. "Wanted to know why I was laid up. He acts like he's still in charge of the Aurors, not the Ministry."

"What did he want to know?"

"Why I was poisoned, what it was, if I had any idea of who it was. We're lucky that the poison didn't kick in until after I was out of the hall. Having an Auror poisoned is very different from having the Headmaster poisoned."

"I wasn't going to call it lucky," Harry said. "Not a lot of luck in any of this."

Tonks shrugged, her hair changing to an indigo blue and growing long, falling over her shoulders. "My mum had a saying, that the only luck you're ever guaranteed is bad luck."

"Sound cheerful."

"She was born a Black, Harry, there wasn't much cheer for her growing up."

Whatever annoyed comment Harry was about to make about the Black household stopped in his throat when Madam Pomfrey came bustling out of her back office. She didn't look too happy to see Harry there.

"Am I ready to go?" Tonks asked, almost bouncing on the mattress. "I can go, right? I feel great."

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "Yes, Miss Tonks, you are free to leave, but I want you to come back here immediately if you feel light-headed."

Tonks fairly saluted as she hopped off the bed, catching her foot on the dangling sheet and almost careening into a cabinet. "Right!" Giving Harry one last smile, she sped out of the infirmary.

Madam Pomfrey rounded on Harry. "I suppose I know why you are here."

Harry tried his best to look innocent. "If it's not too much trouble?"

"Wait here."

Harry tried his best to be patient as Madam Pomfrey disappeared into her office. He really needed to see Dumbledore, there was no way around it. He had so much to tell him, about Hermione's idea that one of the missing Horcruxes was Rowena Ravenclaw's wand, and that they suspected a Slytherin of attempting to kill Dumbledore.

More than that, he needed Dumbledore to tell him it was going to be okay. It was stupid and childish, but Harry found himself needing reassurance. He had to be strong for everyone else, and he was terrified of failing them.

"Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey said, dragging Harry out of his unhappy thoughts. He bolted across the room. "Only a few minutes," she said quietly once he was in earshot.

"How is he?" Harry asked just as softly.

Madam Pomfrey met his gaze steadily. "Be quick."

What scared Harry the most was that she hadn't even tried to reassure him.

* * *

The hidden room gleamed with candlelight, holding back the dark of the outside storm. Lightening flashes through the large window did nothing to calm Harry's stomach. "Um, sir?"

The figure on the bed looked at the door. "Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but quiet. "Please, come in."

Harry shuffled over to the edge of the bed. He tried not to let his surprise show, no matter how much it was choking him. He'd known Dumbledore was old, but lying here, the man looked beyond ancient. "How are you?"

Dumbledore smiled. "We both know how I am. How are you?"

"Me? Oh, I'm good. Sort of. I mean, I'm not bad, I'm not hurt or anything and my scar isn't hurting and everyone is okay--" He stuttered to a halt when Dumbledore lifted his hand. "Sorry."

"No, Harry, it is all right." Dumbledore focused his blue eyes on Harry's face. "What did Minister Scrimgeour want with you?"

Harry glanced at his hands. "He..." _Screw it, Dumbledore wouldn't want me hiding anything from him, like I hate anyone hiding things from me!_ "He said he'd give me what I wanted." Harry looked up, not sure what he'd see in Dumbledore's face. "That I could be an Auror, even without potions, fight Voldemort from inside the Ministry, be on Scrimgeour's side." Harry found it impossible to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I told him to shove it."

A spark of his customary humour came back to Dumbledore's face. "That would explain the bee in Rufus's bonnet."

"He was also poking around about how Tonks was poisoned," Harry added. "What did he say to you? How were you out there while you were so badly hurt? Was it someone with Polyjuice?"

"No, that was I." Dumbledore smoothed a blue-veined hand down the blanket. "There are potions, charms to make oneself appear in better health. Unfortunately, they tend to be a strain on an already strained body."

The thunder rumbled outside as Harry's heartbeat sped up. "But... you're going to be all right. Right?" _You have to be!_

"Madam Pomfrey informs me I will make a full recovery," Dumbledore reassured Harry. "In time."

Time was the one thing they didn't have. "I think one of the Slytherins is trying to kill you," Harry blurted out. "Kreacher said someone gave him a mug that I think was used to poison you, I mean Tonks, and it would make sense because only the Slytherins knew Snape was away--"

"Harry." Dumbledore fixed him with a quelling stare. "I am about to ask you for a promise."

"What?"

"Look no further into the matter of the attempted poisoning."

Harry took a step back. "What? But sir--"

"Harry, promise me."

Harry almost fell back on the force of habit to do as Dumbledore asked. Then a fragment of a conversation he'd had with Ginny and Luna popped into his mind. "I can't do that."

"Harry--"

"What if your poisoner was the one who set Reece loose on the last full moon?" Harry demanded. "There is no way I can let that go! Reece is just a child! Hell, this school is full of children who can't defend themselves, and the poisoner seems to have no qualms about letting innocent kids get hurt in his attempt to kill you!"

Distantly, Harry was aware that the door had opened, that Madam Pomfrey was trying to shush him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Dumbledore was inexplicably trying to stop him from helping.

"Harry, the person who has done all these things is now under supervision. No more attempts will take place," Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore's words hit Harry like a blow to the gut. "You know who it was," he breathed. "Who was it?"

"You do not need to know."

"Yes, I do!" Harry shouted. Reece had almost eaten Snape, Tonks had almost died, so many things had almost happened, and now Dumbledore wasn't going to do anything to his attempted assassin. "Please!"

"No."

Harry shrugged off Madam Pomfrey's restraining hand. "You can't do this!" he pleaded. "I have to do something!"

"And I have asked something of you. I have asked you to trust me."

Harry strode over to the window and glared out at the storm. Could he do what Dumbledore was asking? Just assume that the assassin was under watch, and not exact any retribution for what had happened to Reece or Tonks?

 _Can I even trust Dumbledore anymore?_ Harry asked himself. _I..._ His shoulders slumped. _If I can't trust Dumbledore, I can't trust anyone._

_Maybe that's the point._

"Can you guarantee that no one else will get hurt?" Harry asked, turning back to the bed.

"I can, as much as I can guarantee anything," Dumbledore said. His voice was rapidly getting weaker.

"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. "This interview is over."

Harry let out his breath, and hoped that he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life. "I do as you ask, sir."

"Good." Dumbledore eased back onto his pillows. Deep lines were etched in his face, from pain or exhaustion. "Harry..."

"Look, everything else is under control," Harry quickly said. "You can trust me on that."

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. "I do."

Harry let Madam Pomfrey push him out of the room. He couldn't bear to say good-bye.

* * *

 

"Harry!"

Harry whirled on his heel, his soaked robe spattering water all over the hall. "What?"

Jack Sloper and Andrew Kirke, the Gryffindor Quidditch beaters, hurried down the corridor. "We need to talk to you."

"Why?" Harry was soaking wet after a horrid run across the grounds to hand in his Care of Magical Creatures essay before lunch, and he was tired, hungry, and cold.

"It's about Quidditch."

Harry blinked and resisted the urge to turn the two of them into hot water bottles. "What?"

Sloper and Kirke exchanged looks. "We think you should pay more attention in practices," Kirke said.

Harry felt his face go blank. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," Sloper said. "You've been distracted too much over the last little while. We're never going to beat Slytherin if you and the Weasleys aren't in the game!"

Harry took a step toward Sloper. The other boy was about Ron's height, and Harry had to look up, but still the boy paled. "You want me to pay attention to the game," Harry repeated.

Images ran through his head: Tonks’ pale face as she asked him to tell her parents she was sorry, Cedric Diggory's shade asking Harry to take his body back to his parents, the images of his mother and father in the Mirror of Erised, Voldemort's horrid face as he tortured Harry in the Ministry hallway.

Harry stepped closer to Sloper, too close. "It's a game," he said, enunciating clearly. "If you have any problems with my captainship of the team, you take it to McGonagall, but until then, get the fuck out of my face!"

Sloper stumbled back, breathing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, but Kirke grabbed his arm and pulled him way. As they reached the far end of the hall, Harry Kirke said, "It's not worth it."

Harry stared down the corridor after the Beaters. _Why can't they understand?_ he fumed. _If Voldemort wins, there won't be any more Quidditch, or school, or any of it! How can they expect me to have my mind on Quidditch when Voldemort's got the Horcruxes and can't be killed?_

Giving the wall an unsatisfying kick, Harry stalked off, his robe flapping wetly against his legs. Everything about this day was horrible... except for Anita's letter, which he still had no idea how to answer, and--

He froze mid-step. Was that crying?

It didn't sound like a cat's cry. Who would be crying in the hallways during lunch? Probably a first-year student, Harry thought, all dreams of a hot lunch evaporating as he went to investigate the origin of the sound.

The door to a storage room down the corridor was half open. Harry squared his shoulders. He hated dealing with crying girls; he didn't know how to reassure anyone on a good day, especially when someone was sobbing.

"Hello?" he said, giving the wood a rap with his knuckles. "Is anybody in there?" He pushed the door open. "I... Hermione!"

Hermione lifted her head from her knees, eyes red with crying. She rubbed at her cheek with her hand as Harry rushed into the room, dropping to his knees.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "Are you hurt? Did someone try to hurt you? Do--"

"Harry, stop," she said weakly. "I'm fine." To emphasize her point, she sniffled.

"You're not fine! You're crying in a closet! You never cry!" Harry sat back on his heels, digging in his pocket. He pulled out a soaked handkerchief and held it out to her.

She looked at the wet cloth. "I'll be okay." She pushed her hair back from her face and took a few deep breaths. "How are you?"

"Hermione!"

"All right!" She met Harry's eyes for a moment, then dropped her eyes to study the dusty floor. "I... You're going to think it's silly."

 _Probably_ , Harry thought, then mentally kicked himself. If Hermione had been reduced to tears like this, it wasn't silly. He wasn't helping. "I'm not going to think it's silly."

She gave him a weak smile. "I talked to Professor McGonagall this morning. She wanted to tell me that I failed the last Transfiguration assignment."

Hermione spoke so quietly that Harry thought he had misunderstood her. "You what? You never fail anything!"

"I know that!" Hermione burst out. "Don't you think I don't know that?"

"I know you know!" Harry bit his lower lip. "Wasn't it a mistake? Maybe you did the wrong assignment, or read the wrong chapter..."

His voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head. "I failed it, that's all."

"But why?"

Hermione shook her head again. "I was working on the Horcruxes and I didn't have time for the assignment."

Harry's heart sank. "Hermione--"

"No, don't say it!" she said sharply. "Don't say the Horcruxes aren't important! We have to stop Voldemort! What do you think he'll do to people like me if he wins? People like my parents? That's so much more important than a ridiculous essay!"

Harry held his hands out. "What did you tell McGonagall about the assignment?"

Hermione slumped against the wall, resting her head against her hand. Harry finally noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was paler than usual. "I told her my mind was elsewhere, and if I messed up badly this year, I could always take the NEWTs next year."

Harry ogled at her. "Are you sure McGonagall doesn't think you're possessed?"

"That's not funny!"

"I'm not trying to be funny!" Harry gestured wildly, hitting his hand against a shelf. "There's three constant things in my life since I was eleven: Voldemort keeps trying to kill me, Dumbledore's crazy, and you have this love affair with school!"

Hermione tried to glare at him, but the corner of her mouth upturned slightly. "You shouldn't joke about that."

"I know," Harry said gravely. "The Headmaster being an utter loony is not laughing matter."

Hermione giggled before she could stop herself. "Stop it!"

"Nope. If I can't find at least the tiniest bit of humour in the fact that people have been trying to kill me since I was a baby, I may as well get a room next to Lockhart at St. Mungo's."

"We'd come visit you on alternating weekends," Hermione offered.

"Thanks."

Hermione shifted against the wall. "It's just..." She looked at Harry out of the corner of her eye. "You're not going to try and tell me to pay more attention to my work?"

"What? Hell no." Then, realizing that may have sounded wrong, he added, "We're trying to protect everyone from Voldemort, not just me."

"That's not what we're doing," Hermione said, a strange darkness in her eyes.

"What do you mean? Of course it's what we're doing."

"No, Harry." Hermione got up on her knees, facing Harry. "We're not trying to find a way to save everyone, we're trying to find a way to kill Voldemort."

"It's the same--"

"It's not the same thing!" Hermione exclaimed. "You don't believe that anymore than I do! And the worst part is that I think it's something we have to do! We have to do this!"

"I know," Harry mumbled. "I just wish..." He wished for a lot of things to be different, but that wasn't going to change anything. "I wish none of this was happening."

Hermione shimmied forward until her knees were against Harry's, and leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "Me too."

Not really thinking, Harry hugged Hermione, feeling her hug him back, and wondering what it might have been like to have a sister like her. _I guess I do,_ he thought. _We're family, and nothing will change that, no matter what Voldemort throws at us._

"Harry, why are you so wet?" Hermione asked after a minute.

"Oops." Harry let her go. "Sorry, I had to drop off my essay at Hagrid's hut."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And on such a lovely day, too."

Harry grinned at her. "You should have seen Ron, he fell into a mud puddle. Covered in dirt from head to foot. He went to shower off before lunch."

"Hrm." Hermione pressed her lips together. Harry recognized all the signs of a Hermione lecture, and he was glad that at least she was back to normal.

"Come on, maybe we can still get some food," Harry said quickly, holding out a hand. Somehow, they both stood up in the tiny closet.

Just then, outside the open closet door, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil walked by. They both noticed Harry and Hermione at the same time. Lavender opened her mouth, but Parvati grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

Harry sighed. "Well, Hermione, shall we come out of the closet at last?"

Muggle enough to recognize the reference, Hermione laughed. "You know what they're going to be saying," she said when she sobered up.

"Yes, that they found us in some romantic love tryst, unbeknownst to Ron," Harry said. "Is there anything those two won't gossip about?"

"You and Luna and Ginny," Hermione said promptly, ducking out of the room. "Ginny threatened them with drastic consequences if they did, and they seemed to believe her."

"Huh?" Harry hurried after Hermione. "What would they be saying about us?"

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you're always around Luna and Ginny, and you're _Harry Potter_. Please don't tell me you're this daft."

"I'm not daft!" Harry objected. "But what's so interesting about the three of us? We're just..." That line of thought was dangerous, so he changed track. "I still spend all kind of time around you and Ron, and no one's been saying we're part of some kinky threesome."

"That's because they're used to us," Hermione said practically.

"Wait." Harry caught Hermione's arm and turned her around. "What the hell should I do?"

Hermione looked up at him, removing his hand from her sleeve. "Since when have you worried about gossip?"

"I don't. But this is..."

"Then don't listen to this."

Harry eyed her. "You're not going to give me some lecture about being stupid?"

"No." Hermione set off again. "I'm not _Ron_ , for goodness sake. I'm perfectly aware what Ginny and Luna can do to you if you mess things up."

Harry almost tripped over his own feet. "Thanks, Hermione, I had no idea how much you cared."

"You're welcome," she said archly. "Now hurry, or else you'll miss lunch."

Harry watched her head bob down the hallway for a minute, before he ran to catch up. "Hey, Hermione, how much do you know about sending secret letters across the Atlantic?"

* * *

"So, are you going?"

Harry frowned down at the textbook in his lap. "Am I going where?"

Ginny shook her head. "Going. To the Halloween party?"

"I guess." Harry vaguely remembered McGonagall mentioning something over dinner to do with Halloween, but he'd been too busy not falling asleep in his pudding. "When is it?" He punctuated his question with a sneeze.

Ginny handed him a handkerchief. "Close to Halloween?"

"Hmm." After a minute Harry looked up. "When's the full moon?"

"The week before," Ginny said, sounding rather exasperated with Harry. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Ginny raised her eyebrow.

"Well, not nothing." He sighed and dumped his book into the low table in the Gryffindor common room. "It's just been a really fucked up day, and I've got all this bloody homework and Hermione doesn't know any way to send a Trans-Atlantic letter without guaranteeing it won't be intercepted by the Ministry." He let his head thump back against he couch.

Ginny closed her potions book. "Why not another one of those far-distance calls?" she asked.

"Long-distance," Harry corrected absently. "Although everyone here calls them trunk calls. But no, I can't."

"And I'm sure there's a reason for that, not just you complicating your life?"

Harry glared at Ginny. "Do all girlfriends normally act like this?"

Ginny poked her shoe against Harry's shin. "Since when do any of us do 'normal'?" she demanded.

Good point. "I can't leave the school with Dumbledore... well, like he is now. I'll find another way." He paused. “What else were we talking about?"

"Halloween. Are you going to the dance?"

"Dance?" Harry wracked his brain. "What dance?"

"McGonagall said it'd be a great chance to work on inter-House interaction," Ginny said. "A costume party, like a Muggle Halloween party."

"That doesn't sound like McGonagall." Harry glanced around the mostly deserted common room.

"No, it sounds like Dumbledore." Ginny giggled. "McGonagall did look rather pinched when she said it."

"Trust Dumbledore to come up with a great way to distract everyone from the task at hand," Harry muttered.

"I don't know about that," Ginny said, going back to her book. "I think everyone might enjoy it."

"Because they'd enjoy getting killed by Voldemort so much more!"

"What is wrong with you?" Ginny demanded. "What's wrong with wanting to have one fun night?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and dropped them on top of his discarded book. "I don't like Halloween, okay? The Wizarding world may think of it as a some great holiday, but..." He concentrated very hard on his fingernails. "It's the day my mum and dad died, and maybe I've been thinking a lot about them recently."

A warm hand settled on Harry's back as Ginny joined him on the sofa. She smelled warm and alive and safe. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry said, a little too forcefully. "Don't ever be sorry." He took her hand and rubbed circles on her palm with his thumb. "With all this work we've been doing on the Horcruxes, and the prophecy... Sometimes I think it'd be almost funny if it was inevitable that I'll die on Halloween like my parents."

"Stop thinking like that," Ginny whispered in his ear. Her breath tickled his cheek. "You're not going to die."

Harry desperately wished he could believe her. He didn't want to die, but something about seeing Dumbledore that morning, so wiped out and so frail, had shaken Harry badly.

_If that's what happens to a great wizard like Dumbledore, how the hell am I going to make it out of this alive?_

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

Ginny snuggled closer to Harry. "The Halloween party might take your mind off things a bit," she offered.

"You think so?" he said, unable to keep from smiling at her. She was really persistent. "It might be fun."

"I think so." Her eyes were wide as she watched him. "I take it you're not going with anyone?"

"No, I'm not." Suddenly, Harry felt awkward. Was he supposed to ask her to the dance? Was that what she meant? She wanted him to ask her? Why wouldn't she ask him, if she wanted to go? Girls were so confusing.

"Would, um, would you like to go with us?" Ginny asked.

"Sure!" Harry said, relieved. "Wait, who's 'us'?"

"Luna and me." Ginny tried to pull back, but Harry held onto her hand. "If you're okay with that."

"I'm more than okay with that," Harry blurted out. "But I wasn't sure you... is it like a date for you two?"

Ginny went pink under her freckles. "It's not a date," she said in a rush. "Not like that. I talked to her after dinner in the library, about a bunch of stuff. We sort of agreed that it would be neat to go to the party together. Not together-together, but at the same time. Maybe with similar costumes."

Harry had to rein in his imagination. "I'd like to go with the both of you," he said. "As long as you're both fine with it."

"We're fine!" Ginny twisted her hand free to slap him on the leg. "She likes boys too. She told me herself."

"Boys?" Harry echoed, feeling an odd twinge in his gut at the plural. "Who?"

Ginny groaned. "You really are thick sometimes!"

"You don't have to go rubbing it in!"

The burgeoning argument was interrupted as the portrait opened up, and Hermione and Ron tumbled in.

"Oh!" Hermione squeaked when she saw Harry and Ginny on the sofa. "What are you two doing down here?" She smoothed down her rumpled hair with her hands, while Ron tried to straighten his robes.

"We're not the ones breaking curfew," Ginny said pointedly.

"Right," Ron said, careful not to look at Harry or his sister. "Night, then." He pulled Hermione toward the stairs to the dorms.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked after they had vanished.

Ginny let out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not sure. But let's talk loudly so I don't have to listen to my brother making out on the steps!"

Harry started laughing. When he caught Ginny's eye, the corners of her mouth turned up and she started laughing as well.

"That wasn't even funny," Harry gasped after a minute, collapsing back on the sofa.

"No, it wasn't." Ginny curled up along his side, her body a warm weight against him. "Halloween?"

"Is at the end of the month."

"The party's on Friday, actually. Halloween's the next day."

"Why?"

"I have no idea."

"Hrm." Harry stared at the fire, the warmth from the room and Ginny's body seeping into his bones. He never wanted to move again. "So you and me and Luna?"

"Yes."

"It's not usual."

"No, it's not."

"I'm not complaining."

Ginny rested her cheek against Harry's neck. "Neither am I."

"But why are you okay with this?"

Ginny took a long time in answering. "Because it's Luna. I don't know why it's like this, but it is."

"Another mystery in our lives." Harry tentatively touched Ginny's ear. When she didn't object, Harry stroked her hair, marveling at how silky the red strands were under his fingers. "I like this mystery."

"Me too," Ginny murmured. "She's coming with us to Hogsmeade next weekend, too."

"Sounds like fun."

"I hope so." Ginny propped herself up on an elbow, leaning over Harry. She was close enough to kiss. "We need all the fun we can get."

Something dark lurked in her eyes, and Harry wished he knew how to take away her pain. "It'll be okay," he whispered. "I promise."

"You can't promise that," Ginny said.

"Yes, I can," Harry said, then he lifted his head and kissed her.

It had to be okay. Harry refused to imagine a world where it would be any other way.


	70. The Other Boy

* * *

Harry crumpled the shirt in his hands and threw it on the bed. Weeks of exhausting, futile research on Horcruxes, and what had they learned? Nothing.

Mind fixed firmly on Horcruxes, just as it had been for the last two weeks, Harry pulled his last shirt over his head and looked in the mirror.

"Little tight, isn't it, dear?" the mirror said, bored.

"Yes, it's a little tight," Harry said through clenched teeth. He stripped off the shirt and flung it onto the pile on the mattress. Why the hell did everything have to fall apart at once? No news on the Horcruxes, his class standings were tanking, Dumbledore was nowhere to be found, and to top it all off, he was supposed to be going to Hogsmeade with Ginny and Luna in less than an hour and he had nothing to wear.

Suddenly depressed, Harry slumped on his bed. If he put aside the mess with the Horcruxes, which was consuming his every thought, Harry would have given anything for Jason or Nathaniel to be there at that very moment. They'd know what to do for a date with two girls. They'd be able to help Harry find something to wear.

 _Or maybe they'd tell me to stop distracting myself with stupid stuff and get back to work on the Horcruxes._ Harry pulled off his glasses and buried his face in his pillow. _I've spent enough time over the last few weeks running and helping Hagrid and on Quidditch just to distract myself from how much I don't know about these stupid things. Why can't Dumbledore be around so I can talk to him?_

At the heart of it, Harry knew that was the real problem. Everyone he had enlisted on the Horcruxes, Hermione and Ron and Luna and Ginny, all looked to him as if he knew what was going on, as if he had some kind of plan to destroy the Horcruxes once they were found. Harry felt like he was lying to them, when he said things would be okay.

 _How can anything be okay when it's going to be impossible to defeat Voldemort?_ Harry wondered for the millionth time. _How can I destroy someone who has broken his soul up into seven pieces? How can I fight someone who's that crazy?_

An old saying flitted across his mind, about fighting fire with fire, and Harry snorted into his pillow. The idea of bringing in someone as crazy as Voldemort to beat Voldemort was quite possibly the worst idea ever.

After a few minutes, the cold air on his skin was enough to goad Harry into movement. With a sigh, he hoisted himself up off the bed and went back to his trunk. But as he dug around in the depth of his possessions, the idea wouldn't leave him.

What kind of fire could they use to fight Voldemort? They'd been focusing on the Horcruxes for so long, that maybe they were losing sight of the real goal. Harry had thought they needed to destroy the Horcruxes before they could kill Voldemort, but what if that wasn't the only option?

A spark of an idea was glowing small and tiny in the back of Harry's mind. He tried to chase it down, but every time he came close, it eluded him. Finally, he gave up in disgust. _I'll figure it out after Hogsmeade,_ Harry promised himself.

In the end, his vanity won out over comfort. Harry pulled on a skin-tight brown t-shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his khaki pants. At least he wasn't wearing a shirt where he would burst the buttons, and anything was better than Dudley's second-hand clothes. Giving himself the once-over in the mirror, Harry had to admit that he didn't look bad. He wished he'd been able to keep the tan he'd acquired in St. Louis, and that he had clothes that didn't show so much of him, but it wasn't _bad_. With his cloak on over his clothes, no one would be able to tell how tight his shirt was.

The reflection in the mirror gave him an unhappy smile. His whole life felt like a lie these days. He couldn't talk about his vampire grandfather, or being an Animagus and the werewolf thing, or about how he didn't know how to stop Voldemort.

He wished he could talk to someone who would understand.

He wished he could call Anita, just for a few minutes.

Harry froze, his fingers deep in the fabric of his grey cloak.

_Anita._

The tiny idea in his head crystallized, cold and painful. In all their searches for information in the library, they hadn't found any information on Horcruxes or on necromancy of any kind. Why hadn't Harry thought to ask Anita, the only necromancer he knew?

 _Stupid!_ Harry berated himself as he tossed his cloak over his shoulders. _I can't believe I missed something that was right in front of my face the whole time!_

In the common room, Gryffindors milled about, in the time before going down to Hogsmeade. The first and second years were caught up in the excitement, and the noise in the room was incredible.

Harry pushed his way through the crowd over to Hermione's side. "Is there a telephone in Hogsmeade?" he asked without preamble.

She looked up at him, startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Telephone?" he said. "Lets you ring up other people and carry on a conversation?"

"I know well what a telephone is, Harry," Hermione snapped back. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What put you in such a foul mood?"

"Never mind that," Harry said. "What about the telephone?"

Hermione stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "It's a Wizarding community, Harry, of course they don't have any telephones. They wouldn't need them."

"Fuck," Harry swore under his breath, burying his face in his hands. Frustration bubbled up in his chest. It was like he was trying to shovel sand with his hands, and every dead end was another tonne of sand blocking his way.

Hermione caught his elbow and dragged him over to the side of the room. "Harry, what is the matter with you?" she demanded. "Why do you all of a sudden need a telephone?"

Harry shook his head. "It was just an idea I had," he said. "Hey, do you think anyone will notice if I cut out on Hogsmeade and go to Edinburgh?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Only Ginny and Luna, which if I recall correctly, you were supposed to take to Hogsmeade," she reminded him archly. "And the Weasley twins, whom you arranged to meet today to ask them about the you-know-what."

Harry's stomach lurched. He'd forgotten all about meeting the twins. He hadn't heard from them since he asked them to try to find Rowena Ravenclaw's wand. What was he going to do?

A tap on the arm pulled Harry back. "What's going on?" Hermione asked again.

"I had an idea, that's all," Harry muttered.

Hermione stared at him for a long minute. Harry was not reassured by the expression on her face. "Were you going to call St. Louis?"

"How-- What are you talking about?" Harry stuttered.

With an annoyed huff, Hermione pulled Harry to the portrait hole and out into the corridor. She marched him along the hall until they came to a deserted section, where she let him go and put her hands on her hips. "All right, why are you suddenly so determined on calling St. Louis?"

"Why are you so convinced that I want to call St. Louis?" Harry demanded.

"Who else would you call?" Hermione pushed her hair back over her shoulder. "You don't have anyone else."

Even though her voice was soft, her deduction bit at Harry. "Why is this so important to you?" he asked. "Maybe I wanted to talk to someone, to get a second opinion, what's wrong with that?"

Hermione's face grew dark. "You've never wanted a second opinion before."

"Before what?" Harry exploded. "What is wrong with you today?"

"Nothing's wrong with me, you're the one who's changed!" Hermione snapped.

Harry gaped at her. Where had this come from?

"You're always out running around, sneaking into the Restricted Section, barely getting yourself out of trouble!" Hermione shook her head and stepped back from Harry. "And now you're about to go off and talk to _her_!"

Comprehension finally hit Harry. "What does this have to do with Anita?" he asked. "So what if I'm going to talk to her? It makes sense! The--" Harry quickly looked around, to make sure no one could hear. "The Horcruxes are linked with necromancy, and she's the only necromancer I know. Not asking her would be stupid!"

Hermione paled at his words. "Have you not listened to a single thing I have said in the last seven years? Necromancy is forbidden!"

Harry gave her a look. "Like we never bend the rules on--"

"I'm not talking about sneaking around, or using a Time Turner!" Hermione exclaimed. "This isn't a rule you can bend! It's evil magic, all of it, and--"

"Stop it!" Harry said, stepping back. His heart was pounding so hard suddenly that it hurt. "Necromancy isn't evil magic, we've had this discussion before and I'm not going to have it again! It's not magic that's evil, Hermione, it's what people do with that power. It's the reason Dumbledore isn't evil, but Voldemort is. The choices they made, the way they use their magic. Same as with necromancy."

"But you can't deny that users of certain types of magic have demonstrable tendencies--"

"Stop quoting from textbooks!" Harry put his hands on his hips, mostly so he had something to do with his hands besides making fists in frustration. "This isn't about books, it's about what happens in real life!"

Hermione glared at him. "That is exactly my point! What do you think will happen to you if the Ministry finds out you're talking to a necromancer? That you're asking her for information on necromancy?"

"Nothing, Hermione, that's what I think will happen," Harry said without thinking. "If they banish me, or send me to Azkaban, then who's going to stop Voldemort?"

Hermione blinked. "You can't be serious," she said after a few seconds of breathless silence. "You can't possibly be telling me that you've bought into this mess that you have to be the one to stop Voldemort, and damn the costs!"

"Who else is going to do it?" Harry asked. "When was the last time you saw Dumbledore? The Ministry isn't doing a damned thing--"

"Dumbledore hasn't abandoned us," Hermione said desperately. "And in spite of their politics, the Ministry is stacked to the brim with highly trained witches and wizards, some of whom were in the fight against Grindelwald. And then there are the rest of us!"

"What, a school full of frightened children?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Killer idea."

"I'm talking about us, about me and Ron and Luna and Ginny," Hermione told him. Harry knew her well enough to know she was furious: she had clenched her hands and she was almost vibrating with contained emotion. "Who decided that you had to do this yourself? Who made you Executioner?"

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed out loud at hearing Anita's nickname coming from Hermione's lips. "So that's what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer to Hermione and backing her against the wall, too close. He lifted his hand to her throat, using one finger to trace the edge of the chain on her necklace, the necklace he had given her. "You can't stand the thought that you're friends with a killer?"

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers. "You're not a killer," she said in a shaking voice. "You're not."

"Yes, I am," Harry said just as softly. He picked up the silver pendant, fingertips brushing the warm skin on her chest. "I killed Bellatrix Lestrange." He lifted his eyes from the pendant to Hermione's face. "I killed Quirrell when I was eleven, and no one said a word."

"That was different."

Harry let the pendant slide out of his hand. "No," he said. "It really wasn't." He backed away. "You may not like it, but you can't blame this on anyone else." He spread his arms wide. "This is the way I've always been."

Hermione was shaking her head. "It's not..." Her voice broke. "This isn't who you are."

Harry let his gaze drift up the wall, up the faded tapestry that hung on the stone. "In the end, does it really matter?"

He kept staring at the wall, even as Hermione brushed past him and hurried away. Above him, the dragon on the tapestry flamed the wizards over and over again, the threads glittering with dragon flame. The wizards' death throes were a little too realistic.

 _In the end, does it matter?_ Harry wondered. Every time things got bad between him and Hermione these days, they ended up fighting. He wasn't having real conversations with Ron any more, not the way they used to.

 _I haven't changed, not really,_ Harry told himself. _The whole world's changed. We have to stop Voldemort before he hurts more people, and it's not pretty or nice, but it has to be done. Someone has to stop him._

He couldn't tell his friend that. He couldn't tell them that he didn't expect to walk away from this fight with Voldemort.

More than that, he couldn't tell them that the thought of dying didn't frighten him anymore.

* * *

"So, are you going to tell us what's wrong?" Luna asked as they walked down the street in Hogsmeade, passed on all sides by excited children.

"Nothing's wrong," Harry said automatically.

On his other side, Ginny snorted. "Yeah, and we believe that as much as all those other times you said it."

Harry shook his head. "I just had a difference of opinion with Hermione, nothing big."

Ginny leaned forward to look at Luna. "They had a fight," she clarified.

"We didn't have a fight," Harry protested feebly. "We had a difference of opinion."

"Hermione never just has a difference of opinion with anyone," Ginny retorted. "Go on, now, tell us what it was about and you'll feel better."

 _You're on a date with a killer who's not thrown into spasms of terror at the mention of necromancy, how's that?_ Harry glanced around them, unconsciously taking in the worried way the adults moved in the streets, how the Aurors were stationed at the corners of buildings. "Just an old argument, that's all."

Luna slipped her hand into his. "Do you want to go find her now?"

"No, that's... that's not a good idea," Harry said. He was faintly proud of how he managed to keep his voice level. Hermione had made it clear she didn't want to talk to him, when he'd approached her in the Hall before the Hogsmeade trip, and he was out of energy to deal with it. "I'll see her later."

Luna tightened her grip, making Harry feel just the tiniest bit better.

"Do you want to go look for your Halloween costume?" Ginny asked, changing the subject. She bumped her shoulder against Harry's arm. "We have less than two weeks to figure it out."

"Huh?" For Harry, two weeks to decide on a costume seemed like a terribly long time. "Not really..." From the look on Ginny's face, it was clear he had missed something. He quickly thought that through. "But if you want to go look at stuff, that would be fun."

Ginny beamed at him, and he let out a quick breath in relief. Why were girls so complicated? "Come on, Luna, this'll be fun," Ginny said, catching Luna's hand and pulling her along, away from Harry.

Harry had to hurry across the wet street. He finally caught up with the girls inside of the dress shop. They wedged their way along the racks, squeezing in with a large number of Hogwarts students. Glancing around, Harry realized he was the only boy in the shop. "Hey, Ginny?"

"Yes?" she asked, wistfully fingering a length of sparkling blue cloth.

Harry felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest, as he watched Ginny stroke the beautiful costume he knew she couldn't afford. The part of his brain still capable of rational thought knew she would be angry if he offered to buy her a costume for the party, but he wanted to do anything to take that look of longing off her face.

"Harry, what are you going to wear?" Luna asked, saving him from making a fool of himself. "If we're going together, we should match."

"Match?" Harry echoed.

Ginny pulled herself together and gave Harry the once-over. "We can all go as Quidditch players," she suggested.

Luna shook her head as she leaned toward Ginny. Harry watched Luna whisper in Ginny's ear, her lips moving a hairsbreadth from the pink shell of the other girl's skin, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him, that had nothing to do with the close-packed shop.

Ginny's face brightened, and she laughed as Luna pulled back. "That's brilliant!" Ginny exclaimed.

"What's brilliant?" Harry asked, wanting to be in on the joke.

Luna turned to him. "Can you dress as a Viking?" she asked. "Like Damian?"

Harry hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure?" he asked, not sure how to respond.

"Yes, I'm sure," Luna said, linking her arm with Ginny. "You dress as a Viking, and we'll go as witches from that era."

"Except we'll have better teeth and hair," Ginny said with a sly grin.

"And a better sense of hygiene," Luna added. "Wait here, Harry, we'll be back in a few minutes."

The girls vanished into the crowd, and Harry was left staring at the spot where they had been. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened. "Apparently I'm going to the dance as a Viking," he muttered.

He wondered what Damian would say when he found out that Harry was going to a costume party as a Viking. Would he mind? He'd probably have a few choice words on the logic of that, emphasis on _few_. Anita would probably have a lot more to say.

With that thought, Harry's good mood was punctured. He hadn't figured a way to get to a phone to call Anita, to ask her for her help with the Horcruxes, and he had a desperate sense that he was running out of time.

He needed to get word to her somehow. An owl was out of the question; anyone could intercept it. If Harry could have found Dumbledore, he might have asked the man to get a message out of the school, but even though the Headmaster was healed and around, Harry hadn't been able to talk to him in weeks.

Harry wedged himself in against the wall and watched the bustle of girls move around the shop. If Hermione's reaction that morning was any indication, there wasn't anyone at Hogwarts who Harry could ask for help.

 _No one I can ask to do this for me,_ he thought, pushing down the increasingly familiar panic. _I wish... I don't even know what I want anymore, other than to stop this._

"Hi, Harry," came a giggling voice from his left.

Automatically, Harry straightened up as he turned. "Hello," he replied as his eyes found the speaker. It was Romilda Vane, a sixth-year Gryffindor, with several of her friends.

"What are you doing here?" Romilda asked.

Harry pasted a smile on his face. "Waiting for someone," he said.

The determined look on Romilda's face never faltered. "Are you going to the Halloween party?" she asked.

"Yes, I am."

"In fact," Ginny said, coming around the group of girls, Luna in tow, "We're all going." She gave Romilda an unfriendly glare.

Romilda pressed her lips together. Before she could say anything, Luna put herself between Ginny and Romilda, seemingly by coincidence. "We have to go," Luna said in a dreamy voice. "We have twins to meet."

"Yeah, we're going to be late," Harry said, placing his hand on Ginny's lower back, a gentle touch. She shook herself slightly, but part of the tension in her bled away. After a moment, Ginny let Luna guide her out of the shop, Harry just behind them. As much as he wanted to, Harry resisted looking back at Romilda.

Once outside the shop, Ginny pulled ahead. "I'm going to The Three Broomsticks," she said over her shoulder. "I'll see you there."

Harry's protest died on his lips when Luna dug her elbow into his side. Once Ginny was out of earshot, he turned to Luna. "What was that about?"

"Romilda has a crush on you," Luna said calmly. She pulled out her wand and shrunk her shopping bag, before slipping the bag into her pocket. "And she knows you like Ginny, and she's not being very nice about it."

Harry stopped in his tracks. "How can she do that?" he sputtered. "That's--"

"That's the way it is," Luna continued. She hooked her hand through Harry's arm and moved them along the street. "Ginny's able to deal with it. She's never liked Romilda, and Romilda has never liked her."

"But they live in the same dorm," Harry said, trying to understand. "How do they live together if they hate each other?"

Luna shrugged. "What would you do if you had to live with someone you didn't like?"

Harry remembered back to fourth year, and those horrible weeks when he and Ron were fighting. It had been terribly uncomfortable in the dorm. "I dunno, fight?"

Luna sighed. "I don't understand boys."

"The feeling's mutual," Harry grumbled.

Giving his arm a squeeze, Luna said, "It'll be okay. Ginny can take care of herself."

Harry glanced down at Luna, her blue eyes wide. He thought he detected a faint hint of worry in her gaze, but he didn't know if he should say anything. "Yeah, I guess she can."

Luna smiled. "She's smart like that." Then she looked back at the street. "What are the twins like?"

"They're okay," Harry said. "They like to tease, but normally only with the family. You should be safe. Just don't eat anything they offer you unless Ginny says it's okay."

With that, Harry opened the door to the pub. He let Luna go ahead of him and took a moment to close the door behind him.

When he turned around, he saw Fred and George at the bar, talking with Elsa.

 _What the fuck is going on?_ Harry thought furiously, his mind already racing. It took him a moment to realize that something was wrong with the situation, besides Elsa chatting with the Weasley twins.

 _Why the hell does she look the same age as the twins?_ Harry wondered if he was mistaken, if the young woman he was looking at was a case of mistaken identity, when she glanced up at the door. It was certainly Elsa. She saw him and gave him a tiny smirk, before turning her attention back to the twins.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?" With enormous effort, Harry tore his gaze off the blonde witch, and focused on Luna. "What?"

"I see Ginny and Ron," Luna said, pointing across the room. "Do you want to do join them?"

"Sure," Harry lied. He glanced at Elsa once more. "Let's go."

Pushing their way through the crowd of people was a good excise to avoid talking, which was just as well, because Harry was at a total loss for words. Elsa in Hogsmeade was not a good thing. Elsa in disguise and talking to the Weasley twins in Hogsmeade was, in Harry's mind, several times worse.

 _Has something happened in St. Louis?_ he wondered, panic growing in his gut. _I haven't had any dreams with Anita recently, maybe something happened and no one told me. Maybe--_

His increasingly frantic train of thought came to a screeching halt when he and Luna arrived at the table. Tucked in the corner, out of sight from the door, was Hermione.

"Hi," Harry said stupidly as Luna sat beside Ginny. "Uh, what have you been up to?"

"Just walking around," Ron said, nudging Hermione. She looked up, and nodded awkwardly.

 _Okay._ "So, who wants drinks? My treat."

"How about a butterbeer?" Ron said. He nudged Hermione again. "What do you say?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes, that sounds nice," she said. It sounded forced, but at least it wasn't the start of an argument.

"Right," Harry said, relived. "Ginny? Luna?"

The girls exchanged a look. "I'll have a hot chocolate," Ginny said.

"Tea," Luna said, and smiled nervously.

That sounded easy enough. "I'll be right back," Harry said. Without taking off his cloak, he wound his way between the occupied seats to the bar in the direction of the twins and Elsa.

"Hey, Harry!" Fred called as Harry came close. "Almost didn't recognize you! How's it going?"

"It's good," Harry said, stopping beside George. "How about you?"

"Can't complain," George said with a grin at Madame Rosmerta as the woman placed two glasses on the counter, and took Harry's order with practiced ease. "We were just explaining the intricacies of the English joke shop hierarchy to this young lady."

Elsa, leaning against the bar in a well-cut robe, smiled lazily at Harry. "I never knew that jokes could be such serious business," she said in a thick German accent. She held out her right hand.

 _Is she left handed?_ Harry wondered frantically. He didn't want to let Elsa shake his wand hand, just in case... No, she wasn't going to hurt him in a crowded pub. Probably.

He shook her hand, feeling the slight bones in her hand steady under his fingers. If she was wearing a glamour, it sure felt real. "Harry Potter."

Elsa's smile grew slightly feral. "Mr. Potter, I have read so much about you," she breathed. "Elsa Christensen."

Harry took his hand back, resisting the urge to wipe his palm on his cloak. "A pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Fred picked up the drink mugs. "We'd best be getting back to our table," he said. "Remember, Elsa, if you're ever in Diagon Alley, come by the shop."

"We always have discounts for pretty visitors," George added.

Elsa smiled at the twins as they left, then turned to Harry. The smile never left her face, but now it seemed fake. "Buying drinks for the pretty girls?" she mocked in an undertone, accent gone.

"For my friends," Harry corrected, leaning on the counter and waiting for Madame Rosmerta to come back. "Why are you here?"

Elsa let out a low chuckle that was far too grown up for the child's body Harry knew was in there somewhere, a sound that made Harry think things that were completely inappropriate and just plain _wrong_. "Going on a lion hunt," she whispered, inching closer to him. "Maybe I was wanting to ensure my investment was safe."

"That doesn't explain why you were talking to my friends," Harry ground out.

"Perhaps I wanted some companionship," Elsa said. "You too have figured out the adage that two heads are better than one."

Harry clenched his jaw for a moment. "Leave them alone," he said. "Just leave the twins alone."

"Why?"

"Because it's like a lie," Harry told her, not sure why he was so upset. "It's a lie to them, and it's not fair to anyone."

Elsa gave him a strange look, but miraculously, she didn't say anything.

"Look," Harry said, making himself push his discomfort away. "Can you get a message to Anita?"

Elsa arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like an owl?"

"Just talk to her about the Horcruxes," Harry said as quietly as he could. "It's her kind of magic, right?"

Elsa's feral smile was back. "Dear me," she mocked. "The dear little paladin, seeking redemption in forbidden magic's arms."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.

With a snort, Elsa pushed herself away from the bar. "It means, Harry, that you are not going to get out of this in one piece," she whispered in his ear, her breath moving his hair. A shudder ran down his spine as he managed to stop himself from shoving her away. "And I will not be there to pick up the pieces."

With that cryptic pronouncement, Elsa left. Harry stared at a gouge in the wood of the bar. "Never asked you to," he muttered.

"Pardon me, dear?" Madame Rosmerta asked as she placed the tray with his drink order on the bar.

"Nothing," Harry said. "But thanks."

She smiled at him. "Go on, then, join your friends."

 _What if I'm not sure my friends want me to join them?_ Harry wondered, but he obligingly picked up the tray and carried it across the room. When he reached the table, Fred was tormenting Ginny with something small with purple feathers. George and Ron were snickering, Hermione rolled her eyes with long-suffering resignation, and Luna was watching the whole affair with wide eyes. Harry caught Luna's eye, and winked.

"So, Harry," George said, as if continuing a recent conversation, "What do you think of the Appleby Arrows' chances in the standings this year?"

Harry shrugged as he passed Ginny her hot chocolate. "I haven't been paying much attention to Quidditch this year," he confessed.

"What?" Fred said, pressing his hand over his heart. "Is the world ending, with Harry Potter not paying attention to Quidditch?"

Harry knew it was a joke, but he still felt the pressing panic flutter in his chest, panic that he wouldn't be good enough, fast enough, and Voldemort would win. He faked a smile. "World's not ending yet."

"There are other things in life than Quidditch," Hermione added.

"Oh really?" George asked. "Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione snapped, lowering her voice under the din of the crowd. "How about Voldemort trying to take over the Wizarding World? Or wanting to kill off all muggle-born, how's that for a distraction from Quidditch?"

Ron put his arm around her shoulders. "Hey, Hermione, it's okay," he said.

"It's not okay, Ron," she told him, still glaring at George. "It's never going to be okay until this is over."

Harry poured himself some tea and took a bracing sip before setting his mug on the table. "Were you two able to find out that information we asked about?" he asked the twins.

George looked between Hermione and Harry, a frown playing on his face. "Yeah, we did, but first we want to know why you want to know it."

Harry shook his head. "No, first we talk about Olivander, then we can go somewhere else and talk about this."

"Why--" Fred began, but Ginny cut him off.

"Just tell us, will you?" she demanded. "We'll tell you afterward."

"The twins exchanged a glance. "All right," Fred said, leaning in. "So you wanted to know about a wand of cherry and unicorn hair in Olivander's possession that might have belonged to the illustrious Rowena Ravenclaw?"

"A task not made easy by the old man's disappearance from London," George added.

"But we persevered..."

"Working long hours into the night..."

"Sometimes without food or rest."

Ginny snorted. "You had me until the food part."

George raised his eyebrows. "You're one to talk about food, darling sister."

"The wand?" Ron said, tapping his bottle against the table. "Before we die of old age?"

"Right." Fred shifted his chair closer to the table and leaned in conspiratorially. "You have to understand, this took a great deal of research and fancy footwork."

"But, in the end, we learned a great deal." George pulled a small book from his pocket. The object appeared very old, and when George opened the cover, Harry could see that the contents were handwritten. "This here is a journal from an innkeeper in Wales, about a hundred years after Hogwarts was built."

"Tells the story of an up-and-coming wandmaker named Olivander," Fred continued. "Seems he had a great treasure of a wand, built by a real master of the craft. The journal says the wand was once owned by a witch of incredible power."

"Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked, pulling the journal out of George's grasp.

"Very likely," George said. "But here's the best part. That Olivander was so proud of this wand, that whenever he set up shop, he placed it on a purple cushion and set it at the front of his workspace."

"A tradition that seems to have been kept up in the family, even when the current Olivander's son was killed in their shop in the years before You-Know-Who came to power last time," Fred finished. "So? How did we do?"

Hermione said something, but Harry wasn't listening. His mind was racing, trying to remember why this story sound so very familiar.

 _Who was it, talking to me about wands from Olivander's shop?_ Harry wondered. He glared at his cup of tea, as if the amber liquid would give him the answers. _It was recent... something to do with Snape..._

Realization washed over Harry like an icy wave. _Neville!_

What was it Neville had said, that day back in September? It had been after the Defence Against the Dark Arts class when Snape attacked Harry, and Harry had used Neville's wand. _Neville said he got the wand from Olivander, the wand from the cushion at the front of the shop! He said it was very powerful and it didn't feel like any other wand he'd ever used! Neville has to have Rowena Ravenclaw's wand!_

The momentary elation of solving the puzzle fell away, as Harry's mind completed the last part of the puzzle. _The fourth Horcrux is in Neville's wand. No, the fourth Horcrux **is** Neville's wand!_

_How the hell can I tell him that?_

"Harry?" Luna laid her fingers on his wrist. "Are you okay?"

Harry blinked and looked up. Everyone was staring at him. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just trying to remember some stuff."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but didn't say anything. On her other side, Fred rapped on the table. "All right, our side of the bargain is done. Spill."

All eyes fell on Harry. "What?"

"It's your story," Ron said.

"Only because you can't think of a way to say it without sounding like an idiot."

Ron grinned. "Neither can you, but that never stops you."

Ginny shook her head. "Why are boys like this?" she asked Luna.

The corner of the blonde's mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "They can't help it."

Harry set down his teacup, somewhat pleased that his hand didn't shake. "We somehow muddle along," he said, wishing he could smile the panic away. _Neville's wand might have a piece of Voldemort's soul in it, and I'm supposed to be calm?_ "But yeah." He tried to think of how to explain the Horcruxes to Fred and George. "So."

"And?" Fred asked.

"Yes," George retorted.

Harry took a deep breath and plunged in, keep his voice quiet. "So Voldemort decided it would be a good idea to cheat death by breaking his soul into pieces and stick those pieces into a number of... I don't know, things, so if his body was destroyed he wouldn't die."

Fred and George blinked in unison.

"And Voldemort stuck his soul into things that had some kind of meaning, because he's, you know, insane. Dumbledore has the first three Horcruxes, but he thinks there are a total of seven pieces and we need to find the remaining four."

"And you think the wand is one of them?" George asked slowly.

"Yup." Harry poured himself more tea. "And we can't figure out how to destroy them, or even think of where the rest might be, or how we're going to stop Voldemort. And how was your summer?"

"Harry," Hermione chastised. "There's no need to be flippant."

"I don't know, I like it," Harry told her, an edge of his inner turmoil slipping out into his voice. "Sure I can be dour and 'end of the world' like some people, but that gets old after a while, what do you think?"

Ginny pushed her chair back from the table in a clatter. "Hermione, Luna, let's go shopping," she said brightly.

Luna slowly stood. "I do need to go to the... um..."

"Bookstore!" Ginny finished for her. "Come on, Hermione."

Hermione pulled her cloak around her shoulders and stood up, glaring at Harry. Without a word, she stalked off. Luna gave Harry a look he couldn't decipher, and followed her.

Ginny took a moment to hug the twins, and swat Ron on the shoulder. "Have fun talking," she said to them. Then she turned to Harry. "Do you want us to talk to her?"

 _And say what? Tell her that I'm not turning into Voldemort?_ "No. But thanks."

She smiled at him, so breathtakingly beautiful in that instant, and then she was gone.

Fred let out a low whistle. "You sure do have a way with the ladies, Harry," he said.

"Emphasis on the plural," George said. He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What's up with our sister, mate?"

"Lay off, guys," Ron said before Harry could reply. "It's okay."

George turned on him. "Oh, really?"

"Really." Ron leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. "Harry, what is _with_ you and Hermione?"

"Ask her," Harry said shortly. "She's the one with the problem."

Ron gave him an unfriendly look. "No, I'm the one with the problem, and that's you being a pain in the--"

"As much fun as it is to watch you two bicker," George interrupted, "Can we get back to the part about these Horcruxes?"

"No, I want to talk about Harry's girl problems instead," Fred said. He set his elbows on the table. "Let's talk about this thing you have with older women."

Harry was starting to wish he had gone with the girls, even if it meant another fight with Hermione. "If you're talking about Elsa, I was just there and she was..." _She's a four-hundred-year-old witch and a vampire's human servant and most of the time she looks twelve._ "I don't know, girls do that stuff sometimes."

"What about that woman at the train station, back last month?" George asked.

"Huh?"

"Short, muggle?" George fixed Harry with a glare. "Seem to recall you kissed her before you bolted for the train?"

"What are you-- Oh, Anita. What about her?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Don't ask Harry about this kind of stuff, he gets stupid," he told the twins. "Anita's the friend he spent the summer with in St. Louis."

"Good friend," George said. "Didn't know muggles were allowed onto the platform at King's Cross."

"She's not really a muggle," Harry began, but then he caught movement across the room. Neville Longbottom was standing at the bar, paying Madame Rosmerta as he pulled on his cloak. All rational thought fled, and Harry found himself getting to his feet. "I'll see you guys later."

"No, I think you should stay," Fred said, all joking gone from his voice.

Harry glanced down. The twins had similarly serious expressions on their faces. _They probably want to talk about the Horcruxes,_ Harry thought. "Look, talk to Ron, I have to go." To Ron, he said, "I'll meet you guys back at school, there's something I need to do."

Without waiting for Ron to answer, Harry pushed his way through the crowd and followed Neville out onto the street. He hung back while Neville said goodbye to the people he was with, and headed down the street.

"Neville!" Harry shouted, running after the other boy. "Hey, got a minute?"

Neville nodded. "I saw you talking to the Weasley twins, how are they?"

"Oh, they're fine." Now that Harry had Neville, he had no idea what to say. _Your wand has a piece of Voldemort's soul in it_ seemed out. "Are you going anywhere?"

"I was thinking of heading back to school. I have a herbology project to work on."

"Can I go with you?"

Neville frowned, then shrugged. "If you want."

"Yeah, I do." The boys turned in the direction of Hogwarts, silent as Harry tried to figure out what to say.

He had to tell Neville about the Horcruxes, he knew that. Sure, Dumbledore had been hesitant to talk about them, but Harry had told Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Luna and the twins, and the world hadn't ended.

 _Does it really matter if everyone in the whole world knows?_ Harry wondered. _It won't change the fact that we can't find them._

_Although it might tip Voldemort off that we know about them. That would be bad._

Harry sighed. He really had no choice, and Neville would keep his mouth shut. Neville was good with secrets. "Hey, Neville, I've got something to tell you."

Neville took the story, which lasted the entire walk back to Hogwarts, surprisingly well. Or at least that was what Harry thought as he followed Neville into one of the greenhouses.

Once the door was closed, Neville tore off his cloak and threw it at the table. Harry stayed by the door, shocked into stillness. Neville paced down the length of the row. After a minute, he turned back and pulled out his wand. With a shaking hand, he set the wand on the table, staring at it as if it was a poisonous snake.

"You think that You-Know-Who put a piece of his soul into my wand," Neville said.

"Well, before it was your wa--" Harry shut his mouth when he saw the look on Neville's face. "Yes."

Neville was breathing hard. "Take it," he said abruptly. "Take it, burn it, I don't care!"

"Neville--"

"How did you expect me to react?" Neville shouted. "I thought the wand was powerful because of me, because I was getting stronger! Now you tell me that it's because the man who destroyed my parents left a bit of his soul in the wand?"

"It's Rowena Ravenclaw's wand!" Harry exclaimed. "That might be why it's so powerful! The other Horcruxes just feel like normal objects, not weird at all!" He kicked the table leg. "Besides, I don't think burning the wand would help."

Neville crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at his wand. "You said that You-Know-Who had to kill someone to make one of these Horcruxes?"

"Yeah." Harry slumped against the table.

"So he killed someone near this wand." Neville backed away from the table, and went over to a tray of tiny sprouts. The green leaves let out a crooning when Neville brushed his fingers over them. "He actually killed someone."

"He killed a lot of people."

"But he killed someone just because of this wand," Neville stressed. "Not because he was angry, or scared, just because he could gain something?"

Harry looked at his shoes. "Yeah."

"Why does this stuff have to be happening to us?" Neville wondered. "Hasn't it been enough?"

Harry shrugged. "There's no point in thinking like that."

"Why not?"

"Doesn't change anything." He pushed himself up off the table. "Look, you should keep the wand."

Neville shook his head. "I don't want it."

"Neville..." How could Harry explain? "Until we can figure out a way to destroy these things, we need to keep them safe."

"Can't you put it with the others? The ones Dumbledore has?"

Harry could have said yes. He could have taken the wand and gone down into the Horcrux cavern, but some strange feeling made him hold his tongue. "You can't just not have a wand, people will notice."

"I'll get another..."

"And if Voldemort finds out that suddenly a wand's missing, and that wand might be here at Hogwarts? Come on, Neville, right now he probably thinks that Olivander has the wand! If he thinks that, he won't look here, and we have a chance at keeping this one from him!"

"All right!" Neville shouted. "I'll keep it!" He didn't move toward the wand.

"Fine," Harry said, feeling deflated. "Look, I have to go."

"Right." Neville waited until Harry was at the door before saying, "You told me that one of the Horcruxes was in a diary?"

"That's right," Harry said, pausing at the door. "Why?"

Neville looked up finally, his eyes burning. "And the diary made Ginny go crazy?"

Harry's mouth went dry. "Not exactly..."

"Right." Neville set his jaw. "I'll keep that in mind."

Without a word, Harry turned the door handle, and left the greenhouse, walking back into the cutting cold air.

* * *

"It's been a week."

"I know."

"You should talk to her." Luna paced along beside Harry. "She's your friend."

Harry shrugged. He was jittery and restless and he couldn't stay still, which was why Luna had agreed to go for a walk after breakfast with him. The pouring rain outside had kept them in the castle. "If Hermione wants to be mad at me, it's her problem."

"No, it's not," Luna said. "It's our problem."

"Why is it your problem?" Harry asked, perplexed. He was finding it hard to think. _It can't be the full moon tonight,_ he told himself as he looked down at Luna. _I'm not going to be a werewolf, even if Reece clawed me up last month. Richard did it too, and I was fine._

"Because it makes you sad, and you're my friend," Luna said practically. She stopped at the end of the corridor and leaned against the wall, looking up at Harry. "We have enough going on without seeking discord among our companions."

Her choice of words was so perfect, so _Luna_ , that Harry smiled. He stepped closer to her, but she didn't move away or tell him to stop. So near to her, Harry could smell the soft floral scent of her hair, could feel the warmth from her body through her robes.

Luna's eyes grew wide as Harry stared at her. "What?"

Harry shook his head, leaning closer. "Just thinking."

"About what?" she whispered.

Harry wasn't thinking, he was reacting, feeling, and what he wanted to feel right then was Luna. "This," he breathed, then kissed her.

He concentrated on keeping the kiss light, his lips brushing over hers. She responded, tentatively kissing him back.

Encouraged, Harry put one hand on her waist, feeling the curve of her hip under her robes. A million thoughts crowded into his head, making him want to do things that he suspected Luna wouldn't allow, not standing in a public corridor in the school on a Friday morning--

"Potter! Lovegood!"

Harry broke the kiss and whirled around, putting himself between Luna and the interloper. Professor Snape was barreling down on them, glaring and furious. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Having a private conversation!" Harry shot back.

Snape sneered. "If this is how you define talking, Potter, it's amazing no one's killed you yet!" The teacher switched his sallow glare to Luna. "Lovegood, get to class!"

Luna jumped at the sound of her name, and hurried away. She threw Harry an apologetic glance as she vanished around the corner.

Snape drew himself up. "Twenty points from Gryffindor, Potter," he said, sounding disgusted. "Now get to class."

Harry didn't move.

Snape took a step towards Harry, his eyes narrowing. "You'll soon be singing a different tune, boy," he sneered. "Thirty points."

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry stepped around Snape, his eyes never leaving the man's face. He couldn't explain why, but he knew that if he stopped watching Snape, the man could attack, and that was something Harry could not allow.

It wasn't until Harry was far away from Snape that he allowed himself to relax a fraction. He didn't want to think about how easy it was from him to switch from the lust of kissing Luna, to wanting a fight and bloodshed.

His mood was not improved as he neared the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Immediately outside the closed door stood Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin cronies. Malfoy looked paler and even more ferrety than normal, and Harry didn't think twice as he veered toward the other boy. He hadn't forgiven Malfoy for his crack about Reece the previous month.

Before Harry could get close enough, Hermione suddenly appeared in his path, and he had to pull up short to avoid running her down. "Harry," she said, "Hi."

Harry looked at her, then at Malfoy, then back at Hermione. "I thought you weren't talking to me. Remember?"

She flushed a bright red. "Can you come with me?" she pressed, stuttering slightly.

Harry let out a breath. He somehow managed to dampen his desire for a fight, and trailed along after Hermione, past the gaggle of Ravenclaws, to where Ron was leaning against the wall beside Neville. "Hi," Ron said.

"Hey." Harry gave Neville a nod. "So, what's up?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. "How do you feel?" Ron asked.

"Why does every conversation we've had in the past three days always start with that?" Harry snapped. "I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than fine. Am I going to have to tattoo that on my forehead?"

Ron didn't look convinced. "Are you sure? You were all jumpy this morning."

Harry was tempted to bang his head into the wall, but managed to restrain himself. "I'm always jumpy like this before Defence."

Another shared glance. "Maybe it's the.... um, you know?" Hermione said weakly.

"The what?"

"You know," Ron supplied. "The..." He glanced over at Neville, who was watching the bizarre exchange with bemusement. "The 'grr'."

Harry sighed. "It's not that."

"Are you sure?"

"Remember how we had this conversation a month ago?"

"Remember what happened the night after we had that conversation?" Ron retorted.

Harry had to think hard about that one. The day of the last full moon, he had stood in the moonlight and didn't change into a werewolf. What happened after that?

_Oh, right! That thing with Reece biting me!_

"It's not that," Harry said earnestly. "Promise."

"How can you know that?" Ron asked.

Harry looked around, trying to think of a way to prove to Ron and Hermione that he wasn't going to turn into a slavering beast. His eyes fell on Hermione. "Give me your necklace," he said. "The one I brought you from St. Louis."

Hermione didn't move.

The pit of Harry's stomach dropped. Hermione had worn that silver locket since Harry had given it to her, but they had been avoiding each other all week. Had she taken the necklace off?

While Harry was worrying, Hermione slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out the tangled chain. She held it out to him without a word.

Carefully, Harry took the necklace from her palm, fingers brushing her skin. Without looking at her, he untangled the chain, then ran his thumb over the silver pendant. It felt cool in his palm, the metal inert.

"See?" he said after a minute. "Right as rain." He handed Hermione back her necklace just as Snape stormed down the corridor.

"Everybody, inside!" Snape snapped, flinging the door open.

Harry saw Ron roll his eyes at the teacher's dramatics, and a tiny bit of tension in Harry's chest eased. Things still weren't right with Hermione, but at least she was talking to him again. He'd just ignore the fact that she only done it because she was worried he might become a werewolf.

As he pushed into the classroom, Harry walked past Malfoy. Something about the way the other boy was standing triggered a tiny spark of remembrance in Harry's mind. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out where it was from.

 _Something about... I don't know, something!_ Harry thought, confused at why he couldn't remember what he wanted. _What could it be?_

"Quills and ink only to the desks!" Snape was saying. "No books, no bags, no parchment!"

"What's happening?" Harry asked Ron as they dug in their bags for quills.

"I dunno, maybe notes or something?" Ron suggested.

"Then won't we need parchment?" Harry said, distracted as Hermione put her necklace back around her throat.

Snape solved the mystery by rearranging the desks with a wave of his wand. "Sit!" Once the class was seated, he handed out parchment to the students, then whipped his wand in the direction of the chalkboard. A piece of chalk began writing out sentences. "You have until class is over to finish this test. Begin!"

Harry gaped at Snape. There had not been a single class since school started where Snape didn't have them running around, learning new curses and defences. They'd never had a written test. Why now?

Confused, Harry picked up his quill and uncapped his inkwell before looking at the test questions on the board. The quills of other students were already scratching on paper when Harry finally focused on the words.

_1\. Explain Inferi._  
 _2\. Explain the identifying characteristics of Inferi._  
 _3\. Explain how to stop Inferi._

Harry frowned. Had they ever gone over this in class? He was drawing a blank.

 _Well, Inferi are sort of like the zombies Anita raises, right?_ he reasoned. _At least I know how to deal with them._ Harry let his gaze linger on the back of Malfoy's pointy head, then settled down to writing.

* * *

Harry lay still on the sofa in the Gryffindor common room, eyes tracking Ginny as she walked across the room. He kept watching her as she bounced over to the sofa and landed beside him. "What are you doing?" she asked brightly.

"Nothing," he said, shifting his weight to let her cuddle up to him. "What are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Not homework, that's for sure. It's Friday night."

"No potions?" he teased.

She made a face. "I don't need to. Slughorn is a way better teacher than Snape."

"Looks better in a dress, too," Harry said.

Ginny twisted around to give him a look. "What are you on about?"

"Beats me."

She frowned at him, then cuddled back down. Her hair smelled like smoky rosemary, and Harry breathed in deeply. It was like home, and he couldn't figure out when rosemary had ever smelled so good.

"Luna told me what happened this morning," Ginny said.

"Mmmh?"

She edged away so she could look at Harry. "That you, you know. Kissed her."

"Oh." Harry blinked at her. "Is that... you know?"

"It's fine," Ginny said quickly. "I'm just feeling a little left out, that's all."

Harry bit his lower lip. "You're a very strange girlfriend, do you know that?"

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Your point?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I guess that was my point."

"Good, then."

In spite of all that, Harry wasn't expecting Ginny to kiss him in full view of the entire Gryffindor common room, but he wasn't in any mood to argue with her.

A gagging sound pulled Harry back to reality. Ron was standing by the end of the sofa, making faces. "McGonagall wants to see you, Harry," he said when he could get the words out.

Harry contemplated letting her wait, but even his logic-impaired brain knew that was a bad idea. Giving Ginny an apologetic grin, he hoisted himself off the sofa and headed after Ron.

McGonagall and Tonks were waiting in the hall outside Gryffindor tower. Tonks gave him a small wave of welcome. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said. "Mr. Potter, with us."

"Sure," Harry said. "Later, Ron." Following the Professor and the Auror down the hall in silence was tolerable for only a few minutes. Then Harry said, "How's it going, Tonks?"

"Going good," she said in response. Her lavender hair bounced down her back as she walked, and Harry was having a very hard time remembering that she was Remus's girlfriend and he _had_ two girlfriends and he wasn't really allowed to look as she walked, but-- "... and you'll be seeing less of me after Halloween."

"Why?" he blurted out, taking quick steps to walk beside her.

"Changing of the guard," Tonks said with a laugh. "The new Aurors are going to be here next Thursday, and we'll be heading out the following Sunday."

Harry did some quick math in his head. "So you're going to have a double shift here during the Halloween party?"

"Yes."

"Why? Are you expecting trouble? Is something going to happen?" He almost tripped over his own feet. "Where are we going?"

Something flickered in Tonks' eyes, but she didn't respond. McGonagall cleared her throat. "We are going to the infirmary," the Professor said.

"Again, why? Ma'am," he amended quickly.

"Mr. Potter..."

"Is it the full moon thing?" Harry pressed. "Is something wrong with Reece?"

The look McGonagall gave him could almost be described as pity. "No, Mr. Potter. It's not Reece."

Harry couldn't think of a way to explain he wasn't a werewolf, not without sounding like he was in denial, so he stayed silent for the rest of the walk to the infirmary. It was easier that way.

Harry was expecting Reece and Madame Pomfrey. He wasn't expecting to see Dumbledore, and it made him pull up short.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said. Reece's head shot up, and even at this distance Harry could see that the boy's eyes were a bright grey, instead of the normal brown. "Thank you for coming."

Harry didn't say anything as he strode across the infirmary to Reece's side. The young boy was still dressed, but he was hunched over himself. The change wasn't far off.

"You will need to take this," Dumbledore continued, handing Harry a wooden spoon.

"For?"

"It's a portkey, Harry," Dumbledore said as Reece pressed himself against Harry's side. "It will take you and young Reece here to a cavern underneath Hogwarts for you to spend the evening."

Harry looked at the spoon. How many caverns were there under Hogwarts, anyway? "I need to talk to you about something, sir," Harry tried.

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps in the morning?"

"Sure, I guess." Harry wanted to insist on talking to Dumbledore at that very moment, but Reece shuddered against Harry. They were out of time.

"Albus, I must insist on this being a bad idea," McGonagall interjected. "What if something goes wrong--"

"Reece isn't going to eat me, are you?" Harry asked the boy.

Reece pulled enough of himself together to shake his head. "No, won't eat... Harry..." He shuddered again.

"Sir?" Harry said, alarmed.

"The phrase to activate the portkey is 'Earl Grey'," Dumbledore said.

"Of course it is," Harry said, taking a hold of Reece's arm. "Earl Grey."

The portkey hooked into Harry and yanked him bodily out of the infirmary, dumping him onto the ground in a dim cavern.

"Great." Harry got to his feet as Reece pushed away from him and shifted, his clothes ripping as his body changed into the form of a werewolf.

Harry tossed the spoon onto a ledge, then shrugged out of his robe and his shoes. He quickly changed into his Animagus form, felling relief wash over him as the world became sharper, greyer, and alive with smells.

A few feet away, Reece stepped out of the pool of shifter fluid and shook himself. He was in full wolf form, and was only slightly smaller than Harry. _Oh yeah, in a few years he's going to be a monster,_ Harry thought as he bounded over to Reece's side.

The young werewolf opened his mouth and rolled his head, but Harry was having none of it. He opened his own mouth and managed to get a loose grasp on Reece's nose with his jaws.

Reece shook his head, but he let Harry hold him, the mark of a dominant wolf, for a heartbeat. Then Harry pulled back and Reece tossed his head again and raced off, following a scent.

 _Why couldn't Dumbledore let us outside?_ Harry wondered, chasing after Reece. _Reece could hunt and it'd be better than being stuck in a grey waterlogged cavern._

The next moment, Harry caught the scent that had captivated Reece. It was unmistakable in the damp and gloom in the cavern: Fresh, rain-bitten air.

Reece was already scrabbling at the hole in the rocks. Harry pushed him aside, then changed back into his human form. "Wait a second," he said, pulling his wand. He used a charm to enlarge the hole in the rocks, then peeked outside.

The hole opened onto the rocky slope beside the lake, and there was enough dirt on the ground to let Harry know they could get down to the Forbidden Forest safely.

He pulled his head back inside and tucked his wand away. "Follow me, okay?"

Reece gave a panting yip. Harry shifted back into wolf form and crawled out of the hole, then Reece hurried out of the cavern and took off down the slope.

 _So much for waiting for me,_ Harry grumbled, tearing after Reece. Running in wolf form, silent and easily, cleared his head like nothing else had for weeks. He managed to pull along side Reece, then barked and veered toward the Forest.

Harry ran into the trees, kept running past the darkened corners and enticing smells, until he reached a moon-lit clearing in the trees. There, he pulled to a stop and pointed his head to the sky.

Reece's howl joined Harry's own as they claimed the Forest as their own.


	71. The Killing Moon

* * *

"Nice hat, Dean."

Dean threw a pillow across the room at Ron's head. "It's a Muggle pirate hat!"

"Looks like something Hagrid would use to feed the animals," Ron said, batting the pillow away.

"Harry, back me up here!" Dean pleaded.

"It's a pirate hat," Harry said distantly, staring down at the cloak on his bed.

"See?" Dean grabbed his transfigured cutlass and headed out the door. "Don't be long, you'll miss all the food."

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, heading after Dean. "Just put the cloak on, no one's going to care if your costume isn't perfect."

"Yeah." Harry shook his head. "Look, I'll be down in a few minutes, why don't you go and see Hermione?"

Just as Harry thought, that got Ron moving out the door. Once Harry was alone in his dorm room, he went to the trunk at the end of his bed to fetch his Invisibility cloak. He couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that hung over him.

 _It could just be that you're freaking out over Halloween for the obvious reasons,_ he chided himself as he layered his Invisibility cloak, inside-out, with the Viking cloak he was wearing to the Halloween party. _Just because Voldemort killed my parents on Halloween in order to get to me and kill... me..._

Harry's fingers slowed. For all that he's told himself he didn't need to talk to Dumbledore about the Horcruxes, Harry hadn't forgotten about the creation of a Horcrux. Voldemort only made them with important murders, Dumbledore had said.

Like cutting through two highly trained and desperate wizards to get to their helpless baby?

Harry found he was sitting on the floor, and he had no recollection of how he got there. It couldn't be true, he couldn't be a Horcrux. He _wasn't_ a Horcrux!

 _I don't have a piece of Voldemort's soul in me, I don't! A person can't be a Horcrux._

But Ginny had worried she was a Horcrux, and she would know what it was like to have a piece of Tom Riddle's soul riding along inside her.

Harry grabbed a handful of bedspread and pulled himself upright. He pushed his hair out of his eyes, and as his shaking hand moved over his forehead, he brushed against his scar.

His scar. His connection to Voldemort for years, sending him emotions and visions from the evil wizard. His scar, which he had received when Voldemort tried to kill him when he was a baby.

Harry couldn't help himself. He laughed, and if it was bitter and hard, there was no one around to hear.

 _Six Horcruxes down, one to go._

Harry slumped on the bed, energy suddenly gone. This couldn't be it. It couldn't end like this. He was supposed to be one of the good guys, and in the books, the good guys didn't have to be destroyed to vanquish evil.

Only this wasn't a book. This was his life, what remained of it anyway. Hadn't he wondered, back in St. Louis, if he was going to survive the fight with Voldemort?

 _Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_.

The prophecy scratched at his mind. Maybe Nathaniel's interpretation of the prophecy was right, that Harry had to die in order to defeat Voldemort.

 _Diary, ring, locket,_ Harry recited dully in his head. _Goblet, wand... and me._ Six Horcruxes down. All they needed to do was find the golden goblet now, the one that belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, and the seventh Horcrux, and they'd have the key to destroying Voldemort.

Harry vaguely wondered where the seventh Horcrux could be, and how they could destroy them, and if he had to die to stop Voldemort.

He didn't want to die.

The door creaked open. "Harry?" Ron said hesitantly. "What's taking... What happened?"

Harry looked up at his friend, standing in the doorway in his lion costume. "What?"

"You look like someone just died." Ron let go of the door and came a few more steps into the room. "What happened?"

Harry forced himself to stand up. So he might have to die to defeat Voldemort. He'd been thinking about that for years, it shouldn't lay him out to have it shoved in his face. Even if it meant he had a little bit of Voldemort's soul wedged in him like a diseased splinter. _There are strange likenesses between us,_ the ghost of Tom Riddle had once said in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Nothing happened, Ron." Harry flung his double cloak over his shoulders, invisibility side in, then went over to the mirror to check his appearance. "Nothing's changed."

Harry had promised to take Ginny and Luna to the Halloween party. He'd promised to destroy the Horcruxes and defeat Voldemort. He always kept his promises.

Taking a last look in the mirror, Harry pulled off his glasses and tossed them on his bed. The image in the mirror was eerily similar to the image of his dead father, the way his ghost had looked in the graveyard when Voldemort had come back to life. The resemblance wasn't comforting.

"Come on, let's not keep the girls waiting," Harry said, turning from the mirror.

Ron caught Harry's arm as he tried to pass. "What is it?" he demanded. "You were fine a few minutes ago."

"I'm still fine," Harry said, pushing Ron away.

Ron glared, managing to look fierce in his lion costume. "Stop it! You're not fine, you haven't been fine in weeks!"

Harry backed up until he hit the wall. "You-- Just let it go, Ron."

He expected Ron to argue with him, but the red-head just stared at him for a long moment. "You know I'm your friend, right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah." Harry blinked hard to get rid of the sudden stinging in his eyes. "Maybe tomorrow? We could talk or something?"

"You're on." Ron clapped his hand on Harry's shoulder and pulled him towards the door. "Now, we need to get down there before Hermione comes looking for us."

Harry wanted to say something else, to apologize for what was to come, but the words stuck in his throat. He let Ron drag him out of the room.

Every step felt as if he was moving closer to the end.

* * *

In spite of all the chaos in his head, when Harry saw Ginny and Luna, he almost tripped over his own feet.

Ginny laughed when she saw his expression. "I think we win," she told Luna.

"What are you wearing?" Ron demanded of his sister. He yelped when Hermione hit him on the arm. "What?"

"Leave her alone!" Hermione settled her headdress on her hair, managing to look prim in spite of the flimsy toga. "They look wonderful. What are you?"

"We're the Norns," Luna said matter-of-factly. She smiled up at Harry. "Your costume is quite nice."

"Um... yeah." Harry shook his head. "I like yours, too."

Ginny laughed again and took Harry's free arm. "Very Viking. But I thought Viking warriors wore skirts?"

Harry gave her a look as he took Luna's hand. "Stop it."

Hermione fell into step beside them as they started towards the stairs. "There were three Norns," she pointed out.

"What's a Norn?" Ron asked, confused.

"The three sisters in Viking mythology who sat at the base of the Tree of Life and wove the threads of everyone's lives into the Tapestry of Time," Hermione told him.

"Three witches," Ginny corrected. "But since you're the only one who would know that, we're not going to bother with a third."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ginny. Ron, recognizing the danger signs, took Hermione's arm. "So, do we know what Dumbledore's got planned for the party?" he asked.

"When I walked past the Great Hall after dinner, I saw a flock of bats flitting about." Luna squeezed Harry's hand. He wondered why her palm was so clammy. "I wonder if the ghosts will be there?"

"Probably," Ron said, tromping past a group of costumed Hufflepuffs on the stairs. "Nearly Headless Nick said they'd make an appearance."

"I wonder what else we'll get," Ginny said.

"Hopefully no trolls," Harry spoke up, getting a firm nod from Ron. "And no ogres. No giants."

"Ghouls?" Ginny said hopefully.

Harry couldn't suppress a shudder. Remembering the smell of burning ghoul, after he and Anita had been attacked in the graveyard in St. Louis, was enough to kill any vestige of an appetite. "I certainly hope not."

"You're no fun." 

"Ghouls aren't fun," Harry protested as they swept into the Great Hall. In the hours since dinner, the Halloween decorations had multiplied. Glowing jack-o-lanterns hovered in the air, shadowed by the aerobatic displays of hundreds of bats. Candles and cobwebs hung from every surface, giving the Hall a haunted, ancient appearance. Tables laden with food and drinks ringing the already crowed room.

"My kind of party," Ron exclaimed when he spotted the food. Hermione just shook her head.

"Do you want to get food first?" Ginny asked, bumping her hip against Harry.

Harry looked at Luna, who shrugged a bare shoulder. "If you want," Luna said.

"Sure." Harry let Ginny and Luna drag him towards the food. They were almost at the table when Harry spotted a familiar purple and silver wizard's hat near the front of the room. "Hey, I have to go talk to Dumbledore," he said, twisting away from Ginny's grip. "I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

He didn't stop to hear Ginny's response as he waded through the crowd. He skirted a group of excited fifth-years and ducked around Professor Sprout, and finally spotted Dumbledore at the end of the teachers' table.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said as Harry drew closer. The headmaster raised his glass in a toast. "How are you?"

"Fine, sir." Now that he was here, he had no idea what he wanted to say to the man. "Um, how are you?"

"Quite well," Dumbledore beamed. "Would you care for a couple of ice mice?" 

"No, thanks," Harry said, feeling his stomach twist at the idea of food. Mentally, Harry was kicking himself. What had he expected? To tell Dumbledore out in the open that Harry suspected he was the sixth Horcrux? That Dumbledore would dismiss the idea as wrong? Harry managed to stop himself from walking away, and asked, "Would I be able to speak with you tomorrow?"

A flicker of seriousness interrupted Dumbledore's good cheer. "Of course," Dumbledore said, not letting the distraction seep into his voice. "Come see me after breakfast."

In spite of everything, relief washed over Harry. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Dumbledore. "Thank you, sir." 

Dumbledore held up his glass again. "Now, I believe there are two young ladies eager for you to rejoin them," he said, indicating behind Harry.

"Thank you, sir." Harry gave Dumbledore a nod and stepped away from the teachers' table. He glanced around the room on his way back to the girls. The costumes made it difficult to tell who was who, but at least everyone's face was clear.

 _So no Death Eaters at the ball tonight,_ Harry thought grimly. He pushed the dark thoughts to the back of his head as he rejoined Ginny and Luna.

"Now what?" Harry asked, wrapping an arm around Luna's waist. He squeezed her gently, until he realized that the dagger he'd stuck in his belt was digging into her side, and he eased up.

"Now what what?" Ginny shot back, eyes sparkling. "Oh, they're going to start the music!"

"Great." Harry was less enthusiastic. To girls, music usually meant dancing, and he was still traumatized by having to dance at the Tri-Wizard Ball. Even though Sylvie had showed him how to dance at his going-away party in St. Louis, he knew he'd trip over his own feet.

The music started. A few couples drifted out onto the dance floor, hanging near the fringes. Ginny turned to Harry and Luna with a happy smile. "Want to dance?"

"You mean in front of people?" Harry blurted.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Dance with him, Luna," she ordered.

"What are you going to do?" Luna asked as Ginny skipped back.

"Going to go for a dance with a friend!" Ginny spun around and wound her way through the crowd. "Hey, Neville, dance for old times' sake?"

Harry watched as Neville looked up, frowning. The other boy had been frowning a lot since he'd learned that his wand was probably a Horcrux. "Pardon?"

"Dance." Ginny held out her hand. After only the slightest hesitation, Neville took the offered hand, and bowed low over it. "Great!"

Harry wrapped his arm around Luna's shoulders as Neville and Ginny spun their way onto the dance floor. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. It couldn't be jealousy, because it was only a dance and Ginny wasn't his property. But seeing how Neville's hand rested on Ginny's hip made Harry let out a tiny grumble.

Luna laid her hand on his chest. "Harry?" she said, drawing his attention. "Would you like to go dance with Ginny?"

"No." Harry stepped back and formally took Luna's hand. He was going to dance with Luna, damn it, and he wasn't going to let anyone see how much it bothered him that Ginny wasn't in his arms. He wanted them both and he knew it wasn't possible, at least not forever. But at least for the next little while, if even only for a day, he'd be with them in any way they wanted. "I want to dance with you."

* * *

"I need some air."

"What?"

Harry leaned closer to Ginny and shouted over the music, "I have to go get some air! I'll be right back!"

Ginny nodded, then screamed as Luna spun her back into the mob on the dance floor. Harry shook his head as he fought his way to the side of the room. The teachers had retreated to the end of the Hall, letting the dance continue at its fever pitch. McGonagall looked particularly pinched as someone increased the strength of the _Sonorus_ spell on the music, but Dumbledore continued to tap his foot in time with the music while talking to Professor Slughorn.

Harry threaded his way along the gutted food tables toward the Entrance Hall. He had almost reached the doors when a hand caught him. "Harry!" Hermione called, breathing hard. "Are you leaving?"

"Getting some air," he told her.

She tugged on his cloak, pulling him back into the Great Hall. "Are you okay?" she asked, loud voice strangely anonymous under the deafening music. "You're looking rather melancholy."

"I'm fine," Harry lied.

"Harry." Hermione glared at him. "You've been acting really weird since--"

"Since I came back from St. Louis, I know." Harry kicked at the wall. He didn't want to deal with Hermione and her continued rant about how he'd changed. Especially not tonight.

"Since we met the twins in Hogsmeade!" Hermione yanked off her headdress and pushed her straggling curls out of her face. "Since you took off early to talk to Neville about something, which was directly after the twins told us about the wand!"

Harry looked away.

"Is that it?" Hermione pressed. "You think Neville might have an idea about the Ravenclaw wand, the--" She cut herself off before she said the fateful word. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah." Harry took a deep breath. He hadn't told anyone about the possibility that Neville's wand was a Horcrux, but... but. If Harry was a Horcrux, was contaminated by a piece of Voldemort's soul, then he had to consider the very real possibility that he was compromised. "I think it's his wand."

Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, _no!_ " she breathed.

Harry nodded. "And there's more... sort of." He tried to say that he thought he was the sixth Horcrux, but he couldn't admit it out loud. "Look, I'm going to talk to Ron about something tomorrow, can you be there?"

Hermione nodded. "Harry--"

He stepped back, suddenly feeling the press of the room on all sides. "I have to go outside," he said again. He didn't quite run out of the room, but it was damned close.

The Entrance Hall was dotted with talking couples, and a few people who were doing more than talk. Harry sped past them, wincing when he heard Snape taking points off Ravenclaw. _Better them than me,_ Harry thought. He ducked into an alcove and flipped his cloak around, Invisibility side covering him from head to foot.

Feeling better already, Harry continued outside. Two Aurors stood on the steps, talking absently. Neither of them noticed anything as Harry hurried down the steps on silent feet. The air was crisp and clear under the light from the gibbous moon.

Sucking in deep breaths of air, Harry meandered along the outer edge of the castle. The night was quiet, with the soft sounds of evening.

Harry didn't want to die.

He didn't know what would happen after he died. Maybe there'd be the heaven that the preacher always talked about in church, on those boring Sunday mornings growing up with the Dursleys. Maybe there wouldn't be anything at all, just like falling into a deep sleep from which there was no end. Hell, maybe there was no point to being alive at all, and all this pain and suffering had no goal, no reason.

It didn't make any sense. If there was no point, then why did everyone cling so hard to life? With a sudden intensity, Harry wished Anita was there, so he could talk to her about this sort of stuff. She was the only person who had a life as dangerous as his, who talked to him like he wasn't a kid. She'd know what to say. She'd know how to stop Voldemort.

But that was a futile wish, Harry knew. Anita was never going to come to Hogwarts, and writing her a letter or calling her just wasn't the same. Still--

Harry froze. The normal night noises had just stopped.

The world held its breath, but for what? Harry adjusted the hood of his Invisibility cloak and peered around. _Yes, Potter, leaving your glasses up in your dorm room for vanity's sake, fucking brilliant plan!_ Harry chastised.

Then, around the side of the castle, in the distance, something moved across the grass.

Harry had to clench his teeth to keep from screaming. Whoever it was, wasn't moving normally. The person's movements were jerky, like a puppet with too few strings. The skin on the back of Harry's neck stood up as he watched the figure's progress across the lawn. What was it? Was it an Inferi? Why was it so close to the castle?

Harry knew he had to go and fetch the Aurors. They'd know what to do, that was their job. But, he told himself as he took a deep breath, he had to know more before he told them.

Quickly, Harry shifted into his Animagus form. Even before his paws hit the ground, he knew two things. First off, as soon as he changed into a wolf, something was pulling on him hard. That something wanted him in the Forbidden Forest, and it wanted him there _now_.

The other thing was even more chilling. With his wolf sight and sense of smell, Harry had no trouble identifying the broken figure moving toward the woods.

It was Reece.

Harry let out a low growl. There was no way that the power in the woods was getting Reece. Reece was _his!_

Without another thought, Harry tore silently across the lawn, the ground silver shadows under his paws. He was going to bring Reece back home, and nothing, not even Voldemort, was going to stand in his way.

If Reece was hurt, or dead... Animal fury and rage swept through Harry. Harry was going to kill anything that hurt Reece. Reece was just a pup, a little kid! He was under Harry's protection, and Harry had let him be taken from the castle!

No matter how fast Harry ran, Reece's broken pace was too fast for Harry to catch up. The boy disappeared into the blackness of the trees before Harry could reach him.

Harry dropped his nose the ground, scenting out Reece's trail over the forest floor. Over a patch of gravel, Harry found a spot of blood on a sharp rock. Reece was in bare feet, Harry realized, and he'd cut his foot on the rocks.

Pointing his nose in the direction of the growing blood trail, Harry ran.

He heard the voice drifting up over the rise. It was a thin voice, high and just _wrong_ , singing a terrifying song. Harry ducked behind a tree and changed back into his human form.

The moment he shifted back, waves of terror crashed over him, driving him to his knees. The sing-song voice pierced Harry's skin, driving the fear into his flesh.

His fingers dug into the dirt as Harry desperately tried to cling to sanity. All he knew was cold and fear and terror... and Reece was even closer to whatever was causing this.

Harry reached down into himself for a reserve of strength he didn't even know he possessed, and pulled his Occlumency around him like a shield. His concentration wavered and almost failed, but he remembered the hot animal rage he'd felt when he'd realized that someone was taking Reece, and with one last push, he slammed his mental shields into place.

He could finally breathe again. The voice was just a voice, still creepy but no longer overpowering. If it had a voice, then it had a body, and if it had a body, then Harry could defeat it and get Reece back.

Pulling his hands out of the dirt, Harry drew his wand. The sharp pain in his left hand made him look down. In the moonlight, Harry could see that he had broken two of his nails, down to the bleeding quick. The cloth of his Invisibility cloak brushed his arm. Harry tore the cloak off.

The song stopped abruptly, settling an awful silence over the forest. Cautiously, Harry crept forward. As much as he wanted to rush in there and tear Reece away, he had to think. Whatever was causing this was probably powerful enough to squash Harry like a bug if he was stupid. For Reece's sake, Harry couldn't be stupid.

"Little pup." The voice sent shudders down Harry's spine. "Will you be my pet?"

A whimper. Reece.

Harry peeked over the edge of the rise. In the shadowy moonlight, he could see Reece on his knees in front of a... Harry didn't want to call her a 'woman', because that would mean she was human, and the figure standing in the moonlight certainly wasn't human at all. She was skeletal, smaller than Reece himself, with spider-web silver hair and long, bloodstained fingers. The ragged fabric of her dress floated in the still air. It took Harry a moment to realize that she floated an inch above the ground.

The creature grabbed Reece's hair and hauled him to his feet. The boy's eyes were wide in the moonlight, the cords in his neck straining as he tried to breathe.

Harry almost tore over the ridge, before he noticed the too-still figure in the dark behind the woman. The utter lack of movement told Harry what kind of creature he was dealing with, and a memory of a conversation with his grandfather slammed home with startling clarity exactly _who_ he was dealing with.

Vampire.

Moroven, Damian's maker. Night hag, mora, a vampire that fed on fear in the same way as Jean-Claude fed on sex.

And she wasn't alone.

Harry counted two others in the shadows, watching Moroven hold Reece. The only shred of luck was that the wind was blowing in his face, which meant the vampires hadn't scented him. Yet.

Moroven stroked a finger down Reece's cheek. "It has been too long since the wizards have let me have a wolf to play with," she whispered. Her free hand continued down. With a violent movement, she ripped open Reece's robes to bare his chest. Reece shrieked as Moroven raked her fingernails down the boy's chest, leaving bloody claw marks down to his belt. With a flick of her wrist, she turned Reece in her grasp, pressed his back to her front, and pulled his head to the side, stretching out his neck in a long line.

Harry didn't know what do to. If he attacked now, Moroven could rip Reece's throat out, but how could he wait?

Moroven grabbed Reece's arm and stretched it out, away from his body. "Scream for me, pet," she whispered in Reece's ear. He clamped his mouth shut, and in spite of all that was happening, Harry was impressed by the boy's strength.

Then Moroven broke Reece's arm with a loud wet crack, and he screamed.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, running over the rise. His wand was out and pointed at Moroven. He wasn't going to be able to cover all three vampires and he knew it. He was being stupid and they were all going to die, but there was no way he could let that monster hurt Reece any more. "Let him go!"

Moroven wrapped her arm over Reece's chest and hugged him to her. "Let go of my new pet?" Her whisper was as mocking as it was terrifying. "But I've only begun to enjoy him."

"I said, let him go!" Harry focused on Moroven. Why hadn't he learned more on ways to fight vampires?

Moroven licked Reece's cheek. "They say a child's tears are the sweetest nectar," she said, smiling with bloodstained teeth as Reece let out a sob.

Harry wanted to throw up. "Let him go back to the castle, and you can play with me," he managed to squeeze out. "I thought you liked Vikings."

All expression wiped from her face. "Who are you?" she demanded.

One of the vampires behind Moroven crept into the moonlight. There was something very wrong with his face, as he'd been taken apart and put back incorrectly. He lifted his head and sniffed. "Smelled like Damian," the vampire said, his voice like rocks rubbing together.

Moroven jerked Reece's head back to an almost unnatural angle. "You dare come before me and not bow in my presence?" Her eyes began to glow, her hair blowing in an invisible wind. "On your knees!"

The power of her voice drove Harry to the ground. He tried to stay upright, but the pressure on his shoulders grew heavier until he was curled almost double on the dirt.

"You are the boy Voldemort wants," Moroven continued. Harry managed to lift his head. She smiled at him, fangs sharp. "You are the reason I have come."

"What, feeding off fear and tormenting children is just a diversion?" Harry said haltingly.

Moroven grabbed Reece's arm above the bend of the bone, and squeezed until the boy screamed again.

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, aiming his wand at Moroven's head. He didn't know any spell to make her stop without catching Reece in the crossfire. "Stop it! Let him alone!"

Moroven let go of Reece's arm. Over the boy's panicked sobs, she called, "I know what you want."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "I want you to let Reece go!"

"Reece." Moroven patted the boy's bleeding chest. "Is that your name, pet?" When Reece didn't respond, she grabbed his throat, choking. "Is it?"

"Yes!" Reece managed to say, his face mottled. Harry was about to fry Moroven, anything to get her off Reece, when the vampire suddenly released the boy. He fell to the ground and rolled to the side, gasping.

"Damien was my favorite, for many years," Moroven said liltingly to Harry. "I miss him, but I will give him one last gift, through you."

"What gift?" Harry said warily, inching closer to Reece. It was too late to summon his broom, or call for help. He was going to have to get Reece away from the vampires on his own.

"I will give you what you want." She spread her arms wide, her hair and dress spreading out behind her in a macabre halo. "You can have what you want."

"Great." Harry moved another inch closer to Reece.

The other vampire in the shadows, almost normal-looking after the other vampire, stepped into the light.

Holding Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup.

"Only one," Moroven sang, floating down to Reece. "You keep one, and the other is mine."

Harry stared at the cup. Even with the silver moonlight washing out the colors, he'd have recognized it anywhere. "What would I want with some stupid cup?" he said, trying to bluff.

Moroven hissed, the skin drawn tight on her face like a mask. If she reached up and tore off her face, Harry was going to start screaming himself. "Christoff's bitch is not as discrete as she likes to believe! You seek this as you seek the other treasures of Voldemort, hidden in _my_ lands!" Her bare feet touched the ground. "Pick one! The other is mine for all eternity!"

The last known Horcrux was in his reach. If he destroyed it and the others, then Voldemort would only have one chance at coming back, and Dumbledore could stop that from happening. If Harry had to die to stop Voldemort, his death would mean something, instead of being a futile waste.

Reece was staring up at Harry with wide, pain-filled eyes.

If he stopped Voldemort, Harry could save countless lives. Muggles, wizards, witches. No one else would die because of Voldemort. All he had to do was to take the cup from the vampire's hand. All he'd have to sacrifice, for the future of the Wizarding world, was one little boy.

Harry reached out and grabbed Reece's robes, hauling the boy to his feet in one fluid motion. "Run!" he shouted, putting himself between Reece and the vampires. " _Stupefy!_ " 

The broken vampire flew backwards into a tree. Harry didn't stop to see what Moroven would do; he whirled and ran after Reece. The boy wasn't letting his broken arm or bare feet hold him back. He tore ahead of Harry, running as fast as he could. Harry ran hard, wand clenched in his fist. Around him, screams of fury echoed off the trees. _So much for an honest deal._

There was no warning before the vampire fell from the sky, pushing Harry down before attacking Reece. Harry crashed into the ground, a tree root catching him in the face. Something gave way painfully, but there was no time for screaming. Harry managed to lift his wand and choke out, " _Incendio!_ "

The vampire on top of Reece flew off the boy and burst into flames. As the figure burned alive, something fell to the ground, glinting gold in the firelight.

The cup.

Well, Harry wasn't going to look a gift Horcrux in the mouth. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed the cup, dancing back before the flaming, screaming vampire could reach him. Shoving the cup into his shirt, hauled Reece to his feet. "Can you run?" he asked the boy.

Reece managed to nod. Harry told himself that the grey tinge to Reece's skin was just the moonlight. "I..."

Harry shoved Reece. "Don't talk, run!"

The boy stumbled, but doggedly took off again. Harry spared a glance at the burning vampire. One vampire down, but that left the broken vampire and Moroven. Did the stunning spell work on vamps? Did it really matter if Moroven was still loose and after them?

 _Stop thinking and get back to the castle!_ The vampires had drawn Reece into the woods for a reason. Something about the castle held them off. If it was Dumbledore or some other kind of magic, Harry didn't care. He had to get Reece out of the woods and away from the vampires.

 _And don't forget about me!_ Harry reminded himself as he stumbled over a tree root. _I want to be safe too!_

Up ahead, Harry spotted a break in the trees, and the most welcome sight ever. The lit window of Hagrid's hut.

Less than a hundred feet from the hut, something slammed into Harry. Claws tore at him, raking through cloth and skin and down to bone. Harry couldn't even find the air to scream as he was ripped apart.

Someone else screamed, a high screaming roar. The broken vampire was hauled off Harry, suspended in the air for a drawn-out moment. Harry saw Reece, half-shifted, tearing at the vampire, but it wasn't going to be enough. The vampire was already turning on Reece, hands curled into killing claws.

Harry lifted his hand, barely registering that he didn't have his wand, and pushed all his fury at the vampire. _Burn,_ he thought as blood filled his mouth.

The vampire flew back, bursting into flames before exploding.

Barking sounded close to Harry's ear as he choked on copper blood. "Harry!" sounded a familiar voice. "Harry, what happened? Oh, look at ye-- Harry!"

Harry tried to tell Hagrid it was okay, that he'd saved Reece and he had the Horcrux, but he couldn't breathe. Then suddenly Hagrid was lifting him oft the ground and things in Harry snapped and shattered.

The pain vanished as everything went black.


	72. Ten Silver Bullets

* * *

"When does your plane leave?"

Jason leaned against the kitchen counter, glancing at his watch. "In about five hours. It's the red-eye. I should probably bail in a bit, to head to the airport."

"One of us can give you a ride," Micah offered. "Save you having to leave your car in the long-term lot."

"Maybe." Jason shrugged. "I'd hate to be a bother."

I looked up from my coffee cup, startled. "Who are you and what have you done with Jason Schuler?"

"Ha ha," Jason shot back. "I just meant that I don't want to inconvenience you."

"No, he doesn't." Micah dried his hands and walked across the kitchen to place his hands on my shoulders. "He wants to drive himself and doesn't want to annoy the alphas in the room."

I gave Jason a glare. "Then why didn't you just say so?"

"You've been kind of touchy recently!"

"Touchy? _Recently?_ "

From his chair beside me, Nathaniel stood up without a word and walked out of the kitchen.

What the hell was that about? Jason and Micah looked as clueless as I did, so I dismissed the weird conversation I'd been having with Jason, and followed Nathaniel. I found him curled up on the couch, staring at the far wall.

I sat beside Nathaniel, my leg brushing against his hip. "What's wrong?" I asked in the softest voice I could muster. "You've been acting upset all day."

Nathaniel shrugged, picking at the fabric of the couch.

I bit my lower lip. I hated it when Nathaniel was upset, but it had been happening more and more since...

 _Of course it's been happening more since Olaf!_ I chastised myself. _What kind of fucked-up thing to wonder about is that?_

Carefully, I laid my hand on Nathaniel's knee. He sighed so quietly I almost missed it, but it was something. When he didn't object, I slid closer to him, pulling his back against my chest, putting my arms around him as I spooned him on the couch. He relaxed boneless against me, breathing hard.

I kissed his cheek, feeling the ends of his newly-shortened hair brush my collarbone. "What's wrong?" I asked again.

Nathaniel entwined his hands around mine, his thumbs brushing over my scars from Olaf's silver nails. "I've got this bad feeling," he finally said.

"What kind of feeling?"

"It's like..." Nathaniel was silent for a minute. "Like it should have something to do with Damian, but it doesn't."

I sent a thought out to Damian. He was in the basement, newly awake.

"Damian's fine," I said.

"I know." Nathaniel's grip on my hands tightened. "And it's not even him, it's--" He cut himself off.

I held Nathaniel tighter. "Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel swallowed hard. "It's you."

"What's me?"

"It's like something bad's happening and it's coming for you."

I made Nathaniel turn and look at me. "Nothing's going to happen to me," I said.

_Then why do I feel like it's all going to end soon?_

It took me a moment to realize that Nathaniel had been speaking inside my head. I had no idea what to say to him. What can you say to something like that? I could have lied to him and told him that we'd be fine, but we both knew that I couldn't promise any such thing.

Micah came into the living room, followed by Jason. Jason immediately flopped into the couch behind me and reached around me to give Nathaniel a hug. I squeaked as he squeezed me a little too tight. "Jason, let me go!"

Jason loosened his grip, but didn't release me or Nathaniel. "But it's so cuddly here."

Nathaniel smiled. "It is," he shyly agreed.

I looked desperately at Micah. "Help me out here?" I begged.

He pretended to consider that, then came over to the couch and sat in my lap, squishing me down. To make matters worse, someone started to tickle me.

"No fair!" I squirmed around in the pile of lycanthropes, and couldn't stop laughing. "Go pick on someone your own size!"

Out of nowhere, the air in the room rippled in a small sonic boom. Micah and Jason rolled off me and I was on my feet when the air flashed amethyst purple, then crackled back to normal a split second later.

"What was that?" I gasped, pulling my Browning from the shoulder holster.

Jason's eyes were huge and scared. "That's what happened when Harry's teacher appeared this summer," he said.

The tiny sliver of worry that had been living in my stomach ever since I'd last talked to Harry exploded into full-fledged panic. "Maybe it's someone else," I said.

The doorbell rang.

I gripped the Browning so hard the metal cut into my hand. I didn't want to answer that door. I'd been through so much in the last few months, had almost lost so many people. I wasn't sure if I could deal with whatever this was.

"Anita?" Micah said.

I swallowed my fears down, reaching out for Damian and that elusive calm he gave me as my vampire servant. "I'll get it."

With Micah at my side and Jason a step behind us, I opened the front door a crack. Harry's headmaster, Dumbledore, was standing on the porch.

"Odd time of night for a visit," I said around the pounding of my heart in my throat. "Hogwarts not keeping you busy?"

"May I come in?" Dumbledore asked, looking so grave.

 _No!_ I wanted to scream at him. I wanted him to leave, to go far away. The irrational part of my brain told me that if Dumbledore went away, didn't speak, then everything would be fine. Harry would be fine.

Micah pulled me to the side and pushed the door open. "Please do," he said. "Anita, come on." Keeping hold of my arm, Micah guided me back into the living room. "Why are you here?" Micah asked once we were in the living room.

Dumbledore sighed. The man had looked old before, but now he appeared ancient. "Something has happened with Harry," he said.

I desperately wanted to ask if Harry was okay, but I knew the answer to that. Dumbledore wouldn't make a magical trip across an ocean if Harry was happy and healthy.

I put my gun up before I shot something. "Is he dead?" I asked, wondering how my voice could sound so flat.

Dumbledore met my gaze. "Not yet."

Jason sat down heavily on the couch beside Nathaniel and made a whimpering noise in the back of his throat. Nathaniel wrapped an arm around Jason's shoulders. "You didn't come here to tell us that," Nathaniel said.

"Why else would I have come?" Dumbledore asked.

"Because Anita can fix it," Nathaniel said. He sounded so certain, so convinced. "Whatever's wrong, Anita can fix it, that's what she does."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Harry is indeed badly hurt, and I am not certain he will recover. Young Mr. Graison is correct, however, Ms. Blake." Dumbledore held out his hands. "Harry's affinity with the wolf has been growing since he returned to Hogwarts. You are the female alpha in his pack, however, and if there is anything you can do..."

"And if there is not, then he should have someone with him when he dies."

I whirled around at Damian's voice. I hadn't even realized he'd come up behind me. My vampire looked cool and unflappable as always, holding himself as still as the dead. "What are you talking about?"

Damian looked at me with Harry's emerald eyes. "When a warrior falls in battle, if his life cannot be saved, a fellow warrior should be at his side when he passes the gateway to Valhalla."

I wanted to scream at Damian to show an emotion, something at the news his grandson was dying, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Why are you so sure he got hurt in a fight?" Jason asked, still hunched over.

Damian turned to the werewolf. "Because he is Harry."

Micah put his hands up. "If Anita is going anywhere, then you have to tell us exactly what happened to Harry," he demanded.

Dumbledore inclined his head. "The details are not clear at this point, but we do know that Harry was out on the grounds of the school, and was attacked by a vampire."

"Which vampire?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Moroven."

Damian's panic surged through me before he could shield himself. The fear of loss didn't abate, which meant the feeling had to be mine, right?

I punched open the marks with Jean-Claude and Richard. I didn't bother to explain myself in words, just pushed the memory of the last ten minutes at them.

 _Can you help Harry?"_ Richard demanded, his wolf growling through our connection.

_I think so, with the munin, right? I've done it before with members of the pack._

Jean-Claude was more hesitant. _What if Harry is too gravely injured? What if you cannot help?_

 _What are you taking about?_ Richard asked Jean-Claude.

Jean-Claude's frustration bit at me. ' _"Moroven does not leave survivors. She is ruthless and vicious and she does not let her inured prey escape. She either kills on the spot or she takes her captives back to her castle, as she did with Damian those many long years ago. Something about Dumbledore's story bothers me._

 _Me too,_ I told them before Richard could interrupt. _But if there is even the slightest chance that I can help Harry, then I have to go._ I looked at Damian. _He's family._

 _He's pack_ , Richard growled softly. _Do you need me to go with you?_

 _Non,_ Jean-Claude interrupted. _Going into Moroven's territory is dangerous, if not suicidal. The wolf is her animal to call and I cannot protect you, mon ami, from such a distance. Anita's necromancy may safeguard her from Moroven's powers._

_Then I'll take Damian, he's Harry's grandfather--_

_You cannot!_ Jean-Claude shouted in my head.

Flabbergasted, I couldn't form the question.

 _I apologize, ma petite, for my outburst._ Jean-Claude sent a wave of distracted reassurance to me. _Part of Damian's ransom from Moroven was that if he ever sets foot in her lands again, his life is forfeit. And she will not let his life slip through her fingers quickly._

 _And if Damian dies..._ Richard couldn't finish the thought.

_Then Anita dies as well, along with Nathaniel and the two of us._

I didn't understand how Jean-Claude could be so calm about this. _What about Nathaniel?_

_We do not know how long you will be gone, ma petite. We may need to feed the ardeur while you are gone._

_You can't let her go alone!_ Richard interrupted, appalled.

_I do not intend to let her go unassisted. Take Jason. He is my wolf, both Richard and myself can send our power to him to assist you in your time of need, ma petite._

_But Jason's supposed to go visit his parents,_ I whispered.

Jean-Claude's frustration threatened to overwhelm me. _Harry is at death's door and your life may be in peril, do you think for an instant that Jason will not stand by your side?_

I blinked hard. _What if this doesn't work?_

 _We will be with you, ma petite. We will not let you fail._ Jean-Claude's words were echoed by a growl from Richard.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, guys, here's the plan," I said. "Jason's coming with me." I paused for a heartbeat, waiting for Jason to protest, but he just sat up. "Damian and Nathaniel will stay here in case there's an issue with the ardeur. Jason and I will go and do what we can for Harry."

Dumbledore nodded at my pronouncement. "We need to go now, if we are to go at all," he said.

"Okay," I said, already backing out of the room. "I'm going to get my stuff." I turned and bolted before anyone could say anything.

There was an empty gym bag on the floor of my bedroom. I tossed it on the bed and threw in a pair of jeans, a shirt, four pairs of socks, and some underwear. Did I need more socks? I wondered, frantically tearing through the drawers. Which did I need more of? Socks or knives?

Without a sound, Micah appeared at my side. He pulled the socks out of my hands. "You have enough socks, Anita," he murmured.

It was as if his voice threw a switch in me. I started shaking. "What if I can't do this?" I whispered.

Micah hugged me suddenly, hard and tight. "If anyone can, you can," he told me. I clung to him, wishing with all my might that I could make this better, and fearing that I'd only be able to hold Harry's hand as he died. "It's going to be okay."

I made myself push away from Micah. "You need to look after Nathaniel," I told him as I picked up the bag. "If something happens to me--"

"Anita--"

"If something happens," I said, talking over Micah. "If something happens, I'll try and close the marks with Nathaniel." I swallowed against the sudden nausea, at the thought of losing Nathaniel and Damian and Jean-Claude and Richard. The knowledge that I'd be dead didn't make it any better. "Jean-Claude would be the only one who could probably save Damian, but I'm not sure if he'd be too overwhelmed by losing me--"

"Anita, stop." Micah took my face in his hands and kissed me desperately. "Stop talking like that," he whispered against my lips. "You're coming back to us."

I didn't say anything. More than anything, I hated making promises I couldn't keep.

* * *

Hovering between sleep and awake, Harry felt like he'd been swallowed whole by a basilisk. Things that had no business hurting felt like they were on fire.

At the same time, Harry was warm, warmer than he had been in a very long time. Since before he'd left St. Louis. It was as if he was curled up with the pack back home, werewolves all around him, their body heat keeping him warm and safe. In that protection and security, Harry slept.

And he dreamed.

Someone was planning something dangerous, but whenever Harry tried to get close enough to see, the sensations vanished into a haze of smoke. He was running as fast as he could, in a leafy maze, running past the bodies of his friends, his schoolmates, the pack, vampires. He didn't stop until he tripped over Cedric's body, but then it wasn't Cedric's body, it was Anita, lying cold on the ground, eyes wide and blank in death.

The sharp pain in his chest woke him suddenly.

"Harry!"

He had to still be dreaming, because that was Anita's voice and Anita was far away. Right?

Another blow. "Jesus, Anita, stop it!" Jason said.

Harry's eyes snapped open. Anita stood over him, hand pulled back for another blow. Her chin was trembling, but her eyes flashed with anger. "What the hell is going on?" she demanded. "Wake up!"

Harry sat up, pushing back the infirmary blankets. His chest hurt like a bitch, but not nearly as bad as it had the previous night when he'd been ripped up by a vampire. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Dumbledore brought us here because you were dying, you-- you-- jerk!" Anita's voice rose. "And now you're perfectly fine? What are you doing?"

Harry looked down at his bare chest. A few of the claw marks still oozed blood, but everything else seemed to be healed. How had that happened? "Wait, Dumbledore brought you here?" he asked, looking past Anita to Jason. "What's going on?"

"You tell us!" Anita put her hands on her hips, pushing back her jacket to reveal the butt of her gun in a shoulder holster. "Dumbledore said you went chasing after some kid into the woods at night? Are you stupid?"

Shaking off the spell of sleep, Harry went up on his knees in the infirmary bed. "Reece was being pulled out of the school by a night hag!" Harry shouted back. "He's under my protection, I had to go after him!"

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Anita demanded, pushing Jason's restraining hand away. "Do you think you're invincible? You went into danger without backup and without any idea what you were facing--"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Harry exclaimed. "Tell me you don't do exactly the same thing!"

"This isn't about me!"

"You're right!" Harry's voice rose and silenced all other noise in the infirmary. "This is about me, and what I had to do! I had to save Reece!"

Anita whirled around and stalked down the room, head bowed. Harry sat back on his heels, the adrenaline rush from the fight seeping out of his veins, leaving him feeling like crap. But he knew Reece was all right, and--

Harry's breath caught in his throat. The Horcrux cup! Was it safe? Where did it go? He glanced around his bed, but couldn't see anything that might be hiding a cup. _Dumbledore has to have it,_ he thought wildly. _Anita said Dumbledore was here, and Dumbledore would know what the cup was. He has to!_

Anita turned and came back. Her eyes were red, and Harry didn't understand why. "If you ever do anything so stupid again, I'll..." She shook her head. "You almost died!"

"I did what I had to," Harry said, so tired. He rubbed at his eyes. "Reece is just a kid, and Moroven..." Even thinking about what had happened the previous night, what Moroven had done to Reece, made his skin crawl. "I couldn't leave him with her."

Jason slipped onto the bed beside Harry, rubbing shoulders. The closeness of another wolf made Harry relax as he leaned against Jason. "You're stupid," Jason said mildly. He wrapped an arm around Harry's back.

"Shut up," Harry muttered.

"But you're still pretty hardcore," Jason finished. He smelled like expensive clothes and _wolf_ and he smelled so damned good to Harry. Like home. "One bad-assed mother--"

"Shut up," Anita snapped. Jason laughed at her, and she blushed. "I didn't mean that!"

"That's why we love you," Jason teased. "Come on, give Harry a hug."

Anita's eyebrows went up. "Not until he puts a shirt on."

Jason sighed dramatically. "Fine, I'll do it." He put his arms around Harry in a careless hug, although he didn't touch any wound, and even the hug was surprisingly gentle. Right up until he put Harry into a headlock and rubbed at his hair.

"Hey, get off!"

"Oh, kinky!" Jason twisted, Harry turned, and somehow they ended up wrestling on the stone floor.

Anita got her hands under Jason's chest and yanked him off Harry. "Schuler, don't make me have to hurt you!"

Jason went limp in Anita's arms, craning his neck back to look up at her. "Yes, Mistress."

Anita dropped Jason on his ass, then held out a hand to Harry. "Let's get you back into bed," she said. Harry didn't want to admit it, but he leaned heavily on her arm as he stumbled over to the mattress.

Jason watched from the floor as Anita tucked Harry back in. "You bled all over me," Jason said, looking down at his bloodied shirt while licking his fingers.

Anita made a disgusted face as she sat on the side of the bed, beside Harry. "Ew?"

"Werewolf?" Jason mocked. "At least I didn't start munching on Harry's bleeding wounds."

"Like you'd get anywhere," Harry muttered. He leaned closer to Anita, feeling the warmth emanating from her skin like a ghost of a dream. She smelled amazing, like wolf and rosemary and home, and some part of Harry wanted to wrap himself in that sensation. He closed his eyes and laid his forehead on her arm, wishing wistfully for the home he knew he couldn't have.

Anita put her arm around Harry's shoulder, regardless of his shirtless state. "It's okay, Harry," she whispered into his hair. "I don't know how, but you're safe."

Harry remembered the dig of claws into his chest, the feeling of panic at the thought he'd lose Reece. "It's not okay," he muttered. On his other side, Harry felt Jason settle onto the bed. "Voldemort's still around, now Moroven knows I'm here." He wanted to tell Anita about the Horcruxes, but now wasn't the time, not where anyone could hear.

Or was that the reason? Harry didn't want to think about what might happen if Anita learned that he had a bit of an evil wizard's soul stuck in him. Would she think that made him evil? Like one of those horrible creatures she had to take down?

"Hey," Jason rumbled. "Chill. We'll be okay."

"How do you know that?" Harry had to ask.

"Because." Jason slipped a little lower and ducked his head under Harry's chin. A wave of authority, of dominance, swept over Harry. "We're here and it's all going to be okay."

"Right." Harry concentrated on Anita's arm on his shoulders, the feel of Jason's heart beating against his side. "Hey, how did you get here?"

Anita tightened her hand on Harry's arm. "Dumbledore came to get us, to see if I could do anything to heal you. But then we got here and you were fine."

"The nurse lady didn't know what to make of it," Jason added. "She and Dumbledore are off arguing about it. He thinks someone came in here overnight and healed you."

"Why would anyone do that?" Harry asked. "Most people who would sneak up on me in the night wouldn't exactly want to make me better."

Anita grumbled. "This is a weird place. Portraits that move? What's that all about?" Harry glanced over and saw that Anita was glaring at the portrait opposite them. "The only moving paintings I've heard of are the haunted ones that jump out of their frames at night and kill their owners."

"That's why we love you, Anita," Jason said. "Your boundless levels of positivity and sunshine."

Harry reached for Anita's hand and ran his fingers over the scar in the middle of her palm. "Is Nathaniel okay?" he asked quietly.

Anita's breathing grew a little ragged. "Yes." She swallowed hard. "He's at home with Damian and Micah."

"That's not what I mean."

Jason sat up. "Nathaniel's going to be fine," he said.

Anita wouldn't look at him. "Really?"

Jason reached around Harry to give Anita a hug. "He's already almost all the way there, and you know why?"

Anita shook her head, her hair falling in her eyes. Harry felt the waves of sadness roll off her, and he couldn't help himself. He added his hug to Jason's.

"Because he's got you," Jason said. "That's all that matters."

Anita sniffled again. "Did he tell you that?"

"As a matter of fact, he did." Jason smacked Anita's arm lightly. "So cheer up, emo kid."

Anita wriggled away from Harry and Jason and stood up. "You really suck at reassuring the ladies, you know that?" she said, pushing back her hair.

Jason's smile showed white teeth. "That's not that they tell me," he said with exaggerated innuendo.

Harry gave Jason a shove. "Jerk."

Jason shoved Harry back. "Jealous."

"As if!" Harry was about to add more, but a slight hint of movement caught his attention. He whipped his head around to see a tiny black-robed figure trying to hide at the far end of the infirmary. "Reece?"

The boy peeked out from behind the screen. He blinked at Harry with panicked eyes. He was paler than Harry had ever seen him, with dark circles under his eyes.

Confused, Harry waved the boy towards him. Why did Reece look so bad?

Reece slowly approached, watching Anita warily. He ducked his head as he passed her, but he rolled his eyes to the side, to keep her in view as long as possible.

"Anita," Jason said in a low voice. "Why don't you come over here?"

Anita opened her mouth to respond, then closed it with a snap. She circled around Reece to the other side of the bed beside Jason.

"Hey, Reece." Harry slid out of the bed and went down on his knees on the floor. He wasn't much shorter than Reece like this. "Are you... I mean, what..." Harry's voice trailed off. He had no idea what he wanted to say.

"This is Reece?" Jason said in the same low voice. "Harry's told us a bit about you, Reece. I'm Jason. This is Anita."

"Reece and I met over the summer, at the train station," Anita said. "Harry said you guys had a bit of trouble last night?"

Reece nodded miserably. Tears filled his eyes, and he tried to brush them away with his hand.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," Harry said. He reached out to touch Reece's shoulder, and was shocked at how cold the boy felt. He laid his hand on Reece's forehead. "Hell, you're freezing!"

"I can't get warm," Reece said between sniffles. He was trying so hard to not cry, but there was a deeper pain in his eyes.

"We'll fix that right away," Harry promised. He stood up and caught the blanket Jason tossed at him. Wrapping the blanket around Reece only took a moment, then he scooped the boy up and put him on the bed. Harry spotted his wand on the side table and cast a warming spell on the blanket, then sat beside Reece and put an arm around his shoulder. "Why didn't you say anything to anyone?"

From deep in the blanket, Reece shrugged. "Everyone was so worried about you."

"Hey, you can't be doing that," Jason said. "If you get too cold when you're hurt, you don't heal."

Reece cowered against Harry. "I'm sorry."

Anita smacked Jason on the arm. "Reece?" She waited until Reece looked up at her. "Can you tell me what happened last night?"

It took a while to get Reece's story straight, but it seemed that Reece had gone for a little walk after curfew. He had known it was against the rules, but he only wanted to look at the moonlight without his classmates around.

As soon as he stepped outside, however, the vampire's pull had been too strong. He'd been drawn into the woods against his will. What Reece didn't say, but was apparent in his story, was how terrified he had been.

When Reece had finished telling how Hagrid had carried Harry into the school, Anita leaned forward. "Reece," she said, "As Harry's Lupa, I have to thank you for helping Harry last night."

Reece shook his head violently. "I didn't help him."

"You did. Even though you were hurt really bad, you still attacked the vampire that was going after Harry. You stood by him and you helped him. It was a very brave thing to do."

Reece gulped in air and sat up straighter. "Really?"

"Really." Anita smiled. "You did an amazing thing last night."

A commotion at the end of the infirmary drew everyone's attention. Madame Pomfrey swept into the room, followed closely by Hagrid and Dumbledore. Hagrid took one look at Harry and lumbered forward. "Harry!"

Jason jumped up off the bed and backed away as Hagrid barreled down on them. Even Anita looked apprehensive.

"Harry, we thought you was dead!" Hagrid reached out and clapped a meaty hand down on Harry's shoulder. The bed creaked in protest. "You was hurt so bad..."

"Hagrid, I'm fine," Harry said when the air returned to his lungs. "I healed up and everything." He looked over his shoulder. "These are my friends from St. Louis," Harry continued, mostly to keep Hagrid from bursting into tears. "Anita and Jason."

Sniffling mightily, Hagrid held out his hand to Anita. "Pleased ta meet ya," he said. He shook Anita's hand a little too hard, but Anita didn't flinch. "And Jason?"

"Yeah, hi." Jason had to crane his neck up to see Hagrid. "Man, they grow them big up here."

"Huh?" Hagrid said.

"Never mind," Harry interrupted. He looked around Hagrid to Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore. "What's happening?"

Dumbledore met Harry's eyes steadily. "We are attempting to find out how your injuries were--"

"No, not that!" Harry all but shouted. "The cup, what about the cup?"

A spark lit up in Dumbledore's eyes, although his face remained blank. "If you are referring to the cup that was in your possession last evening, Harry, then that is safe," Dumbledore said.

Harry almost collapsed back on the bed. "Where did you put it?"

"It is in a safe place," Dumbledore said. He looked past Harry to Anita and Jason. "I see you have been talking with Mr. Potter."

Turning his head, Harry was surprised to see the angry expression on Anita's face. "Yeah, we've been having a load of laughs," she snapped. "Same thing with Reece. It's interesting, how many little boys under your protection seem to get hurt."

"Anita," Harry said quickly. He knew Hagrid was bristling, and even Madame Pomfrey was becoming a little mad. "Can we not do this now?"

Jason moved to put a hand on Anita's arm. "Yeah, I'd kind of like to not get turned into a frog today."

"No one's turning anyone into anything," Harry said. He was beginning to get a headache, and his lack of proper attire was becoming annoying. Blanket-wrapped Reece at his side was the only warm thing he was feeling. "They don't... they don't have to leave now that I'm okay, right, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "At this time, given the lack of emergency, it would be best to avoid a magical Trans-Atlantic apparation."

"So we're just stuck here?" Anita demanded.

"Of course not, Ms. Blake. We can arrange transportation to London for you and Mr. Schuler in a few days, but until that time you are free to remain at Hogwarts as guests."

A tension eased from Harry's shoulders. Anita and Jason weren't going to leave him, not yet. He'd get to keep them for a few days at least, a tiny touch of home at Hogwarts.

Maybe he wouldn't be so alone.

Thinking of alone made Harry wonder about Ginny and Luna, and Ron and Hermione. Did they know he'd been hurt? What had Dumbledore told them? Were they worried? Harry's headache pounded a little harder. No matter what he did, other people got hurt, or worried. Some days, he thought it might be easier for him to just go at it alone, without having to worry about other people.

Reece snuggled up to Harry's arm, drawing him out of his burgeoning sulk. No matter what he did in this life, he had people that needed him. There was no way around that.

"Harry," Dumbledore was saying, "When you feel up to it, would you escort Ms. Blake and Mr. Schuler to the guest quarters on the third floor? I will have one of the house elves set up a room."

"Sure thing," Harry said. "But sir--"

"And then after you do that, please bring them to my office, where we can discuss the situation at length. We have much to talk about."

"I'll say," Anita growled. Harry ignored her.

"What about Reece?" Harry asked. "What if Moroven comes back?" Reece flinched, so slightly that if Harry hadn't been leaning against the boy, he never would have known.

Hagrid drew himself up to his full height, knocking his head against the hanging lamp. "If she comes on the grounds, we're ready for 'er," he declared.

"We have reviewed the castle's wards, and believe we have reinforced the weakness in question," Dumbledore added.

"You think you've got it," Anita repeated.

"We do."

"Well, isn't that just great."

"Harry?" Dumbledore said.

"Yeah, guest rooms." Harry rubbed the skin below a seeping wound on his chest. "Got it."

Dumbledore nodded once, then turned to Hagrid. "In the meantime, I have much to discuss with another emergency guest to the school. Come, Hagrid, we should continue."

"What? Oh, alrigh'," Hagrid said. "See you in a bit, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Hey, Hagrid? Thanks. For last night." _For saving my life,_ he added mentally.

Hagrid shrugged, looking embarrassed. "You'd do it fer me, right?"

"Of course," Harry said, frowning. What kind of weird question was that?

"Right, then." Shrugging again, Hagrid followed Dumbledore out of the room.

Madame Pomfrey stepped up. "Lie back, Mr. Potter, and we'll see what we can do with getting you out of my infirmary."

Sighing, Harry half-shoved, half-lifted Reece to the ground. The boy scampered across the floor and jumped up on the nearby bed beside Jason. Anita made a tiny noise in the back of her throat as she walked over to the window.

It was quiet in the infirmary until a few moments later, when Anita asked in a tired voice, "House elves?"

* * *

This place was freaking me out. The whole dump had me vibrating with magic. It wasn't magic like I knew it, no way. This stuff was in everything, making everything seem a little brighter, move a little fast. I'd never done drugs, but this whole thing was similar to what I'd heard mushrooms were like. I hated it.

Harry walked slowly down the hall at my side, still moping at having to leave his mini-werewolf shadow in the infirmary. Harry walked like he'd been clawed up by a pissed-off vampire--

I made myself stop that line of thought. No matter how much I disagreed with what Harry had done, there was no point. It would be like talking to myself about doing something noble and stupid.

"Grumpy pants," Jason said suddenly.

I stopped dead. "What?"

"Turn that frown upside down!" Jason said with a creepy grin. "The sun'll come out tomorrow?"

"Are you possessed?"

"Nah," he said, putting his arm over my shoulder. I squirmed around until he couldn't 'accidentally' cop a feel. "You're just in a doom and gloom mood, and it's my job to pull you out of it."

I ducked out from under his arm, bumping into Harry. "You want me to _cheer up_?" I demanded. "Harry almost died, as well as some little boy, at the hands of Damian's old master, and you want me to act like Pollyanna Appleseed?"

"No, Anita." The goofy expression wiped off Jason's face in an instant. "Don't you get what's going on?" he asked, edging closer to Harry and myself. "There's some severe shit going down, more than what happened with Harry and Reece, more than Moroven. If you keep pissing off Dumbledore, he'd going to boot us back to the States without letting us help Harry."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

Jason gave him a look. "Do you know who she is?" he asked as he pointed at me.

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Um, Anita?" he said slowly.

"She's the most--" Jason cut himself off, then moved even closer, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "She's a fricking necromancer," he said softly. "The most powerful one in the world, more powerful than anything seen in centuries. Even the Vampire Council is wigged out by her. Don't you think that she could lend a hand in this whole Voldemort mess?"

"What do you mean?" I demanded. "We're here because Harry was hurt."

Jason's glare was withering. "Right, because having a pissed-off necromancer seeking vengeance on the big bad that killed her vargamour wouldn't have crossed Gandalf's mind?"

"I couldn't go after Moroven," I said, more confused than anything. "The Vampire Council would have me killed, and with Jean-Claude--"

"I'm not talking Moroven," Jason interrupted. "What if we'd gotten here and Harry was dead and they told you Voldemort was the one who got Moroven to attack Harry? What then?"

"Dumbledore wouldn't have done something like that," Harry said. He was getting angry, I knew. "He'd never lie to Anita, not about this!"

"You're at war, right?" Jason didn't wait for a response. "War's not a game, Harry, it's trying to save your own skin and your own side by all means possible."

"That's not it!"

I put my hands up. "Hey!" I shouted to stop the developing fight. "Can we talk about this somewhere secure? Without any chance of being overheard? Like the room?"

"Fine," Harry bit out.

"Perfect." Jason stepped back and ran his hands through his hair. Then he closed his eyes. "Oops."

"Jason..."

He opened his eyes and gave me an apologetic smile. "I think I left the bags in the infirmary?"

Harry sighed. "Perfect."

He turned to head back, but I caught his arm. I didn't want Harry to have to move more than he had to. "Can you find your way back on your own?" I asked Jason.

Jason didn't bother to dignify the question with a response. He shook his head at me and padded off, slapping Harry on the ass on the way past.

Harry shook his head as Jason vanished around the corner. "He'll be okay," Harry said. "Nothing in this place will harm a guest."

I leaned against the wall beside an honest-to-god suit of armor. I wanted to go back to my house, to its plain white walls and level floors and the people I loved. "Like nothing here ever harmed you?"

Harry looked away. "That's different."

"It's really not."

Harry scuffed at the ground with his shoe. "Usually, things are fine. Just classes and flying and stuff." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "We had a dance last night, before... before stuff happened."

"A dance, huh?" I smiled as a faint blush crossed Harry's cheeks. "Did you take that girl--" My mouth snapped shut as I reached across the space between us and grabbed Harry's hand. There, on the pale skin of his palm, was a red scar. It was in exactly the same place as my scar from Olaf's little 'visit.'

A stab of remembered fear stopped everything in my head. All I could think about was the fear at losing everyone I loved, at seeing Nathaniel's broken body, knowing what Olaf wanted to do to me. Knowing he was dead didn't change anything.

I met Harry's eyes, and I didn't know what to say.

He eased his hand out of mine. "Anita, I know a lot's happened, but I can explain it all..." His voice trailed off and his head cocked to the side.

"What?"

"I hear someone." He turned and walked a few steps down the hall. "I know that voice."

"Who, Dumbledore?"

Harry held up his hand. Then, in the distance, I heard Jason shout, "Man, you seriously need to back the fuck off!"

"Back off, werewolf?" an unfamiliar voice exclaimed. "After what you did to Harry?"

Harry went so pale his skin looked grey. "Remus, no," he choked out as he pulled out his wand and started to run.

Fear exploded in my head. I pulled my gun out of the holster and bolted after Harry, wishing I could run faster, wishing I could move walls, wishing I'd never let Harry come back here at all.

"You've still got his blood all over you!" the unknown man shouted, his voice half-gone into a growl.

Then Jason screamed and we went around the last corner and things were moving too fast for me to know what was happening. I saw Jason flying backwards, blood and thicker things spattering on the walls, a ragged-looking man with hands half-shifted into claws moving after Jason.

Jason hit the cold stone floor, belly ripped open from hip to sternum. It was too much like seeing Nathaniel cut open as so much meat on my living room floor, but this as real, this was Jason and this was almost worse because I was the one who sent him back alone into this.

Harry screamed, "Remus, stop!" as I raised my gun.

I emptied the entire clip of silver bullets into the man before he hit the ground.


	73. Promise Me

* * *

"Jason?" I cried out, dropping to my knees beside him. His blood spread out in a growing pool around him, pumping out of his body as he fought to breathe. Distantly, I could hear screaming and yelling around me, but I didn't care. The only thing I cared about was the man bleeding out on the cold stone floor.

Jason turned terrified blue eyes to me. He was dying, and I couldn't think how to fix this, I couldn't _think!_

My panic blossomed outwards. Blindly, I reached out, looking for anything that I could use to help Jason. Across oceans, I heard Jean-Claude's horror, felt Richard's panic, and I didn't know what to do.

 _Help him!_ Richard screamed at me, his mental voice faint over the distance. _Do something!_

 _Do what?_ I screamed back.

 _Use Raina's munin, ma petite!_ Jean-Claude's words echoed in my head. _Please, before it is too late to save Jason!_

He was right, I could use the munin, the metaphysical power of the wolf pack, to heal Jason. I'd done it before to heal people I cared about, I could do it again.

I touched the edge of the gash on Jason's stomach. The other werewolf's claws had cut through Jason's skin and muscle, showing things that shouldn't ever see air, all squishy and bloody and it was too much like Nathaniel, lying on my living room floor, and I couldn't do this. Jason was going to die and I couldn't do anything to save him.

Someone grabbed my hand, jolting me back to myself. Harry gripped my palm hard, so hard that the recently healed bones and muscle ground together, shooting sharp pains up my arm, but the pain was exactly what I needed. What Raina needed.

Maybe I couldn't raise Raina's munin with Jason, but Harry was new to Raina, he was whole and fresh and an innocent to sink her teeth into, and she liked it. I felt Raina's power rise in me and reach out for Harry.

There was something I wasn't remembering, something that was important about Harry and me, but I couldn't think of what that was.

Then Raina's power, mixed with my necromancy and the edges of my ardeur, slammed into Harry. His wolf responded to Raina, to the blood and the power, but he wouldn't submit to me. He took the power, and pushed it back at me, at Jason, at everything.

The power blast was electrifying. It _hurt_ , clawing along my stomach, along my arms, along my legs, along every broken bone, every wound, ever bruise I'd ever had. It felt like I was on fire and buried in ice at the same time, every nerve ending being scraped by broken glass.

Then just like that, it was gone.

The room was echoingly silent. I opened my eyes, not sure what I was expecting to see. Jason lay on the floor, skin healed and flawless under a thick coat of blood. He blinked up at me, confused. Alive.

I didn't have time to register the fact that Jason wasn't going to die before movement down the hall caught my eye. The werewolf who had attacked Jason, the one I'd shot full of silver bullets, pulled himself into a sitting position. The rush of power that healed Jason must have healed him too.

He'd tried to kill Jason, and now he was fine.

He was fine to try to kill Jason again.

Raina, still lurking in the back my head, wasn't happy. The only person who got to hurt Raina's wolves was Raina. I disagreed with most of what Raina stood for, but we had one thing in common. We would destroy anyone who hurt our people.

A growl escaped my lips as I reached for my fallen gun.

Harry grabbed my arm. "Stop it!" he exclaimed in my ear, jerking me to the side. "Jason's better, everyone's better, you can't do this!"

"He tried to kill Jason!" I hissed. In spurts, noise came back into the hall. Angry voices, things banging, pounding feet. "I can't--"

"Anita!" Harry interrupted. "I can't let you kill Remus!"

"Mr. Potter!" came a thundering voice. My empty gun flew up into the air and away from me. "Come here at once!"

Harry turned, putting himself between me and the speaker. "Remus tried to kill Jason, I'm not going anywhere!"

Jason dragged himself into a sitting position, pressing himself against my legs. He rumbled low in his chest. The sound vibrated through my body, safe and warm and alive.

"Mr. Potter, this is not up for discussion!" The speaker stepped forward, and I saw that it was an older woman with square glasses, her wand pointed at us, my gun in her other hand, and I flashed back to Bellatrix in the woods, hurting me, killing Clay, and something twisted in my chest.

"Where's Dumbledore? I'm not moving until I talk to Dumbledore!" Harry shouted.

"The Headmaster is on his way, he will get here when he gets here!" the witch said. "Now move away!"

"Harry." Jason raised a blood-covered hand and pointed down the hall.

The little werewolf, Reece, was slouched against a stone wall. The only thing holding him upright was one shaky hand on the rock. His breathing came too hard, too fast, and as he lifted his head, I saw that his eyes had shifted to the bright grey of the wolf.

The boy was going to shift.

"Crap," Harry muttered with feeling, letting go of my arm. "Reece, come here." He cleared his throat and tried again, this time putting more authority in his voice than I though he had in him. "Reece, come here _now_."

For the longest moment, I didn't think the boy heard Harry, but finally, the little werewolf pushed himself off the wall and stumbled over to us. Harry went up on his knees and caught Reece as the boy collapsed to his hands and knees. Harry pulled the boy into a tight hug, murmuring something in his ear, too soft to hear, but my beast recognized it for what it was -- comfort, security, protection.

I tore my eyes away from the boys and looked down the hall. The older witch stood half to the side, her wand lowered a fraction. She was alternating between looking at us, and staring in horror at the werewolf at her feet. There were a couple of other people behind them, one a young woman with bright pink hair, the other a tiny, older man. But their wands were pointed at the floor, not at us, and I couldn't bring myself to care.

Jason was alive.

I started to shiver, not from the cold, and Jason turned in my lap. He wrapped one arm around my waist and gave me a quick squeeze. He was so warm wrapped around me, his hair soft and fine under my fingers, and he was alive.

 _Ma petite, you have saved him,_ Jean-Claude whispered in my mind, his relief mingling with mine. _You saved Jason's life._ Richard's presence in my mind was distant, but he echoed Jean-Claude's sentiment.

_But the guy who did this--_

Jean-Claude's presence flared up, suddenly sharp. _Ma petite, you are surrounded by this man's people, you yourself recognized that you were in danger. Promise me you will exercise caution._

_Jean-Claude--_

_Anita, please._ Jean-Claude's apprehension slid into fear, a fear of loss that tasted like the echoed remembrance of Julianna's perfume. _I would give this werewolf a thousand pardons if it brings you and Jason home to me._

 _You never forgive,_ I thought desperately. Against my better instincts, my gaze slid off the witches and ended up on Harry, still trying to calm the young werewolf.

 _I value you more than life itself, ma petite._ Jean-Claude's words came to me with a hint of a werewolf's' growl, and suddenly Richard was with us there. He must have been at the Circus with Jean-Claude. _You have to come home to me._

 _To us._ Richard's desperate words brushed over me like the softness of wolf's fur. In my lap, Jason suddenly went still, feeling his Ulfric's presence. _You're coming home and Jason's coming home and the pack's going to be whole again._

 _But for that to happen, ma petite, you must exercise caution,_ Jean-Claude whispered. _You are surrounded by these people and I cannot aid you. You can rely only on yourself and Jason and Harry._

_But--_

_Harry, who put himself between the witch's magic and you, after you shot that man. He may not know it, but he has taken a stand, and that is to be by your side,_ Jean-Claude said. _He stands by you and Jason and this young pup who he even now seeks to comfort, and that means he stands between you and his own people._ Jean-Claude's voice started to fade. _The sun rises, ma petite, I must--_

Silence. Then, before I could panic, Richard pushed reassurance at me. _He's fine, Anita, it's just sunrise. I'll stay with him until he wakes up. You take care of Jason and Harry._

 _I will._ With that, I shut down the marks between us, and Jason finally relaxed.

At the end of the hall, the tall witch started towards us, her wand down. "Mr. Potter, we need to get Mr. Trevelyan to the infirmary," she said imperiously.

"No, we don't." Harry glared at the woman over his glasses. "He's fine, Jason's fine, and Remus is fine. No one needs to go the infirmary."

"Mr. Potter, this is not your call," the woman snapped. Behind her, the werewolf was shakily pulling himself to his feet. "The Headmaster will be here shortly."

The werewolf lurched forward a step. "Harry--"

"Dumbledore's not here now and Reece isn't going to the infirmary!" Harry exclaimed, not listening to the werewolf. "And I'm not going anywhere, either!"

The woman looked so angry, but I don't think Harry cared. I know I didn't.

Then Reece sniffled. "I donna think I like it here any more," he whispered miserably to Harry.

Harry passed a hand over Reece's hair, a oddly paternal gesture in one so young. "I know," was all Harry could say.

* * *

McGonagall was so furious, Harry thought numbly as he closed the thick wooden door behind him. He had lost the argument on Reece going to the infirmary, but he'd managed to keep Jason and Anita together, in this thick-walled guest room on the floor below the infirmary.

And the whole time, Remus hadn't even tried to explain.

"Why did he do it?" Harry asked Jason.

"Huh?" Jason paused in stripping off his shirt to give Harry a look. "Which 'he' are you talking about?"

"Remus." Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Why did he attack you?"

"An excellent question," came Anita's cold voice. The woman dropped their bags onto the bed and dug around in a pocket. She emerged with another gun in her hands. "I thought you said he was a good guy, this werewolf friend of yours!" she said as she checked the magazine.

"He is!" Harry exclaimed.

"Who just goes around your school randomly attacking people?"

"Don't say those kinds of things!"

"It's true! He almost killed Jason! If I hadn't shot him, do you think he'd have stopped?" Anita stalked across the room, getting in Harry's face, too close. "What if Reece had been there instead of Jason? What do you think he'd have done?"

"Shut up!" Harry's anger swirled up in him like a living thing, anger at everything that had happened in the past few days, and he wanted to hit, to hurt. Instead, he forced himself to back away from Anita.

Of course, she followed him. "Jason almost died!"

"So did Remus!" Harry shouted. "You shot him and he'd have died!"

"He was trying to kill Jason!"

Jason suddenly appeared between them, pulling Anita away. "You two need to calm down," Jason said carefully. "You're both upset."

"Of course I'm upset!" Anita shouted, jerking away from Jason. "All that ever happens in this place is people I care about almost die!" She turned her back on the boys and walked across the room to the window. "Harry almost died last night and Jason--" Her shoulders hunched up, shaking. "I can't keep doing this."

Harry, who had been about to scream some more, felt his anger fall apart as he looked at Anita. "I'm fine," he said awkwardly. "And Jason's fine, even Remus is fine."

Jason padded across the room to Anita's side. "Hey," he murmured, nudging her arm. "You saved me."

Anita gulped in a deep breath. "I shouldn't have had to save you," she said, voice rough. "I should have gone back for the bags."

"No," Jason said, voice rising in sudden anger. He spun Anita around to face him, and Harry was shocked to see Anita had tears on her cheeks. "Then he would have attacked you and we wouldn't have been able to save you."

"No," Harry protested. "Remus wouldn't have... I mean, there's no way he'd have attacked Anita."

Jason gave Harry a dark look. "He thought I was the one who attacked you last night, and I'd come to finish the job," he said. "He said I smelled like your blood. He had seriously lost it, Harry. If Anita had been there, I don't think it'd have been any different."

"But you had my blood on your hands," Harry said, grasping at anything to make sense of Remus's actions. "Anita didn't, he wouldn't have... He was just upset."

"I don't care why he did it," Jason said. "If he was upset he wouldn't have attacked the first person he saw. What if it had been Reece? The kid smells like your blood, too."

"Remus wouldn't have attacked Reece!" Harry shouted. "I don't know why he did what he did, but he wouldn't have done that!" He unbuttoned his robe and dropped it to the floor, giving it a good kick. Blood stains spread up the fabric and along the side, and the sight of Jason's blood on everything made Harry want to scream. "He couldn't have!"

The impact of everything that had happened, Moroven stealing Reece away, hurting him, hurting Harry, the attack on Jason, hit Harry suddenly. People had almost died. He had almost died, and he hadn't been able to stop it. _Wasn't that the point?_ Harry thought bitterly. _I die, Voldemort can't use me as a Horcrux, and that's one step closer to stopping him. The harder I try to keep alive, the more chances I give Voldemort._

Hands were pulling at Harry. Harry let whoever it was push him into a sitting position on the floor. Jason put his arm around Harry's shoulders and rumbled deep in his chest.

"Why did it have to be like this?" Harry asked numbly. "Why?"

"I don't know." Jason shifted until he was pressed right up against Harry's side. "I wish I did."

Anita knelt in front of them, her dark eyes huge in her face. Her tears were gone, but the haunted look remained. "I don't know why your friend did that, Harry, but I had to do what I did," she said awkwardly.

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "It's not that," he mumbled. Moroven had said, the previous night, that Harry was the reason she had come to the Forbidden Forest. Was it to give him the Horcrux? If so, why had her vampires tried to kill Harry?

A cold sweat broke out over Harry's skin. Had she known Harry was a Horcrux? Had she been trying to do the same thing Harry was, destroying the Horcruxes and Voldemort along with them?

"Harry? What's wrong? Are you still hurt?" Anita asked, voice high and worried.

Harry couldn't help it. He started to laugh. "You should have let the werewolves eat me," he gasped out. It wasn't funny and he wanted to make it stop, but nothing was as it should be anymore. "Then none of this would have happened."

"Harry!" Anita grabbed his shoulders and gave him a hard shake. Harry's hysterical laughter stopped as if she had thrown a switch. "Don't talk like that!"

She was so close, her eyes so wide and scared. Harry remembered how wide her eyes had been in the woods, on the night Bellatrix had tried to kill her with the _Crucio Eternum_ curse, and the remembrance of her screaming echoed in his head like a premonition. "I should have died," Harry managed to say. "All these times people kept trying to kill me, I was supposed to have died!"

"Stop it!" Anita's voice was trembling.

Jason gave him a tight squeeze, just this side of painful. "You have to keep fighting, we all do," he said.

"You don't understand," Harry said, never taking his eyes off Anita. "I think I'm keeping Voldemort alive."

"How?" Anita demanded. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry blinked, looking down at his hands. He had Jason's blood on his skin, and all he felt was tired. "I have something to tell you, and I need to you to listen to me, okay?"

"Of course I'll listen," Anita said, looking more and more confused.

Harry breathed in deeply, to start his story, then let the air out again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have a clue as to where to start.

Jason rubbed a circle on Harry's back. "Hey, I almost forgot to tell you," he said quietly. "Nathaniel wanted me to say hi for him."

"He did?"

"He sure did." Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spied the familiar smirk on Jason's face. "And Damian was making some weird creepy Viking noise about you going to Valhalla place. You know about that place? It's like one of those Boris what's-his-name paintings, twenty-four seven."

Harry frowned. "Who?"

"This painter dude. He does stuff like half-naked busty warrior chicks draped over tigers and stuff."

Anita was looking like she was about to lose it, so Harry shook off his interest in this Valhalla place. "But they're both okay? Nathaniel and Damian?"

"They're fine," Anita said, still glaring at Jason. "They're worried about you. Especially after we learned that Moroven was the one who attacked you."

Harry shuddered involuntarily at the memory of Moroven. "She was freaky," he said. "So much more so than Voldemort." Harry picked at the fabric of his trousers. "She was toying with Reece. She thought it was fun to hurt him like that."

Anita nodded. "I know what she's like," she said.

"Through the connection you have with Damian?" Harry asked.

"And what he's told me, and Jean-Claude. Jean-Claude knows her too." Anita bit her lip. "Moroven could have taken a spot on the Vampire Council after... well, after one of the old members died. She could have just taken it, but she said no. She liked her lands and her solitude."

A faint suspicion drifted around in the back of Harry's mind. "What else do you know about her?" he demanded. "What's she like?"

Jason cleared his throat. "Last night when we were leaving St. Louis, Damian said that Moroven is wicked terrifying."

"That's not all," Anita said. She settled herself on the carpet, crossing her legs. "I talked to Jean-Claude and Richard when Dumbledore got there. Jean-Claude was really surprised that you weren't D.O.A."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"In a metal rock band," Jason said.

"Shut up, Jason! It means dead on arrival, sorry." Flustered, Anita twisted her fingers together. "Jean-Claude said that Moroven is ruthless and she never lets what she wants to get away from her, especially if that something is already wounded. She kills right there, or she takes the captives back to the castle and... keeps them."

"She was going to let me go," Harry said, confused. "She offered me a choice, Reece or the Cup, but then when Reece and me made a dash for it, the other vampires came after me. Not her."

Anita blinked at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe it does." Harry had the thread of an idea in his mind now. "What if... you said she didn't want to leave her lands. But that's here, up in Scotland."

"Yes..."

"But Voldemort's trying to take over up here!" Harry exclaimed. "Last night, Moroven said that Elsa hadn't been as discreet as she should have been, and Moroven knew about the Horcruxes! She gave me one! What if Moroven wants us to destroy the Horcruxes and destroy Voldemort so she won't have to? It makes perfect sense!" Harry jumped to his feet. Everything was coming together now. "She came looking for me, to give me the Cup, and she wouldn't have done that if she wanted Voldemort to win!" He took a deep breath. "But that means she wasn't trying to kill me after all."

Anita and Jason were both staring at Harry as if he had lost his mind. "What are you talking about?" Anita demanded. "What does any of this have to do with Elsa or cups? And what the hell is a Horcrux?"

Harry hurried back over to them. He had to make Anita understand. "Voldemort's evil, we've pretty much established that, right?" Harry said, not pausing for agreement. "Years ago, he found this kind of magic that let him splinter his soul into pieces, and he put those into pieces into seven objects! That's why we can't kill him, he won't die as long as he has these pieces of his soul he can use to come back to life!"

Anita had grown pale, too pale, but Harry didn't stop.

"The cup that Moroven had last night, it's one of the Horcruxes! Six of them are in the school, all we need to do is find the other one and destroy them all and we can kill Voldemort!"

Jason got to his feet. "You have pieces of the bad guy's _soul_ in a school? Doesn't that seem like a very bad idea to anyone else?"

"Of course it is!" Harry said impatiently. "But they're not all in one place. There's this hidden underground cavern where three of them are, and two of those are already destroyed. Neville's wand is another, only it's not really Neville's wand, it's Rowena Ravenclaw's wand, but no one knows that. Dumbledore took the cup last night and put it somewhere safe." Harry stopped. His heart was racing with possibilities. They might actually have a chance to stop Voldemort.

"What about number six?" Jason asked. "Three plus one plus one is five. Can you just tell us where the last one of these things is?"

"Right." Harry felt his good mood sliding away, down into the dark place he'd been the previous night. The place where he knew he had to die to save the world. "It, um... I'm pretty sure it's in me." He wanted to look up, but he was terrified of what he might see in Anita's eyes. "He had to murder someone to make a Horcrux, someone important, and he killed my parents, and he was going to kill me. It might have been to make another Horcrux, I don't know, but for the longest time I had this connection with Voldemort, like feeling his emotions and having visions through his eyes, and maybe that means something, I don't know." Harry realized he was babbling, and made himself stop.

The room was silent. Jason was looking between Harry and Anita, while Anita... Anita hadn't moved.

"Say something, Anita," Harry said, his voice shaky.

Gracefully, Anita rose to her feet and crossed the room to stand in front of Harry. Once again, she was too close to him, and he couldn't concentrate. What would she do? Would she be angry that he had an evil man's soul stuck in him? Would she turn her back on him, leave him to fight all this alone?

She lifted her hand. When her fingers brushed over his cheek, the contact felt like an electric shock. "Shh," she soothed, as one would to a scared animal. Her fingers traveled up his cheek, over his temple, and across his forehead.

He had forgotten how warm Anita's hands were, and how small she was, and how many conflicting emotions ran though him when he was so close to her. He wanted to say something, to ask her to save him, but all he could do was close his eyes as Anita's touch drifted over his skin.

After what felt like forever, she pulled her hand away. Harry opened his eyes. "What?" he asked, suddenly desperate. What was wrong?

"You..." Anita swallowed hard. "Did I ever tell you that I can see souls?"

Harry shook his head. Anita was still so close to him, and he was having trouble thinking clearly.

"When I was eight, at my Aunt Katherine's funeral... but that's not important." Anita looked at Jason for a moment, then back to Harry. "There's something... I mean, I think..."

Harry felt his last shred of hope, that he had been wrong and that he didn't have part of Voldemort's soul stuck in him, vanish into the darkness. "I'm a Horcrux," he said dully.

He had part of Voldemort's soul in him. That revelation should mean something, but all he felt was numb.

No, not numb. Other realizations flew at him. He had to die to make sure Voldemort could be destroyed. He was one of the reasons why Voldemort wasn't dead yet.

Out of nowhere, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. The murders of James and Lily Potter had made Harry into a Horcrux. His parents dying were the reason this happened. If they hadn't died, if they hadn't been so stupid as to die, if they'd left England, then none of this would have happened!

Harry turned blindly and walked away. A stone wall got in his way and he stared at it, blankly. His mum should have let Voldemort kill Harry, all those years ago. Then this wouldn't be happening now.

He wouldn't have had as much to live for. To die for.

Voices intruded on the chaotic thoughts in his head. He tried to push them away, but these were the voices of people who refused to be ignored. "There has to be something we can do!" Jason argued. "You're the necromancer, fix Harry!"

"I can't do that!" Anita shouted. "I deal with the dead, not the living! And in case you have forgotten that fact, Harry is very much alive!"

"What about what you did with Chimera?"

There was a wooden crunching sound. "I pulled his soul out of his body and I killed him!" Anita sounded so angry, Harry turned around. Her hair was flying and her fists were clenched and she looked like she was about to cry. "I will not even try that with Harry!"

"But you could?" Harry heard himself say. "Kill me?"

Anita went still. "I am not going to kill you," she said fiercely. "No one is going to kill you, no one is going to try _anything_ that might hurt you!"

"But--"

"You heard me!"

"But did you hear me?" Harry exclaimed. "I'm the reason Voldemort is still alive!"

Anita threw up her hands. "No, you're not! And don't you dare say that again!"

"Anita--"

"Stop it!" Anita shouted. "I did not get magicked across a goddamn ocean to kill you! I came here to save you and that is what I will do!"

"But Voldemort--"

"Harry, stop it! I will not discuss this anymore! Jason and I will protect you and that is the end of the discussion!"

She was so angry, Harry almost let it go. Almost. "But you're a necromancer, you have to have some idea about stopping Voldemort," he pleaded.

"An idea about what? Harry, until five minutes ago I never even dreamed that someone could put a part of a soul into an inanimate object!"

"Anita, please!"

"What do you want me to say?" she demanded. "That I'll go around killing my friends to save the day?"

Jason said, "Anita, stop it!" in a horrified tone.

Harry shook his head, hard. "All I want is for you to help me," he said. If she wanted him to beg, he'd beg. "I don't know if I can do this on my own."

Anita lifted her hand, then dropped it to her side. "You shouldn't have to," she said wearily.

Harry stepped closer to Anita. "I know this isn't your fight, but I don't--" He closed his mouth when Anita put her hand on his arm.

"If it's your fight, then it's my fight," Anita said. She squeezed his arm. "You're family, got it?"

"I--" Harry wanted to deny it, wanted to push Anita away, to go after Voldemort on his own, but his own words trapped him. He couldn't do this on his own, but who else could he ask for help? Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Luna? They had never killed anyone. They didn't know what it was like to watch someone die and know it was all your fault, that you had ripped someone's life away.

Anita wasn't like that. She understood death, and she understood killing.

Feeling years older and dirty and rather like a monster, Harry put his hand over Anita's. "You'll help me?"

"I'll help you." From the look in her eyes, Harry knew she wasn't fooled by what he was asking of her. "Voldemort comes after you, he's going to have to go through me."

"Wait, that's not what I meant!" Harry protested.

"I know." Her expression changed, growing darker. "He's playing with souls and death. Was he born a necromancer?"

Dumbly, Harry shook his head.

Anita looked over her shoulder at the sunlit window. "I didn't think so," she said quietly.

Into the horrified silence that followed that pronouncement, the door to the hallway slowly began to creak open. Harry quickly pulled out his wand and stepped in front of Anita, just in case. The door continued to creak open, to reveal...

"Elsa?" Anita exclaimed, shoving Harry out of the way. "What the hell are you doing here?"

The diminutive witch glared at Anita as she stepped into the room. The door swung shut magically behind her. "I got tired of waiting for you to figure out who healed young Harry last night and come in search of me," she snapped, the edge of her German accent sharp on her words.

"You healed me?" Harry demanded. "How? Why?"

Elsa rolled her eyes. "Children," she muttered. "Jean-Claude called Christoff to warn him that Anita may need safe passage out of England. Christoff learned of Harry's injuries at the hands of Moroven's men. He sent me to ensure that Harry didn't die because of Moroven's actions. It was a good thing, too. No one in this school even thought to keep you warm."

"Why would Christoff want to protect Harry?" Jason asked. "We're on Moroven's lands, isn't that like a conflict of interest?"

Elsa hopped up on the bed, ignoring Jason's question. "Harry is better, Anita had a marvelous time in shooting that werewolf," she said with a disturbing smile, "And everyone is healthy now. I didn't know you could raise wolf magic like that, Anita."

"Your information is out of date, then," Anita snapped.

Elsa giggled, and the sound sent chills up Harry's spine. "Then you can tell me all about it," she mocked. "After all, you must know what Jean-Claude promised Christoff in return for your safety this time."

Anita opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"You can ask your Master when he awakens," Elsa said. "In the meantime, what news did you bring?"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't sure how he felt in learning that Elsa had saved his life. "Moroven mentioned you, last night," he blurted out. "She said you're not being discreet. About the Horcruxes."

"Is that what she said?" Elsa asked, eyes wide.

Harry glared at her. "No, she actually called you a bitch, but does that really matter?"

In a blur, Elsa moved off the bed, knocking Harry to the floor. "Be careful how you insult me, boy," Elsa said in a dangerous voice. Her hands were holding him in place, no wand in sight, but Harry was suddenly aware that he was defenseless.

"Get off him, now!" Anita exclaimed, a gun in her hands.

Elsa turned her head, a wave of hair falling in Harry's face, making him want to sneeze. "You fired all your bullets earlier," Elsa reminded Anita.

A metallic click sounded. "This is a different gun."

Elsa sat up, all her weight on Harry's torso. She might look twelve, but she wasn't exactly a delicate feather. "Would you really shoot me?" she asked. "Endangering yourself and Jason?"

"Get off Harry," Anita said.

"No, I'll stay right here," Elsa said. "He insulted me."

"You attacked him," Anita shot back.

"If I had attacked, he would be dead now." Elsa sighed. "We may be reluctant allies, but I will not tolerate insult."

"I'm sorry," Harry gasped. It was hard to breath with someone sitting on him. "I didn't mean to insult you."

Elsa looked down at him. "Yes, you did."

Harry wasn't sure how she did it, but all of a sudden, she seemed to get even heavier. "I was angry, but I really am sorry."

After a very long moment, Elsa rose to her feet. Harry took a few deep breaths, thankful just to have the weight gone from his chest, before sitting up.

Anita wavered, making sure that Harry could stand, before putting away her gun. "This isn't going to work if you keep attacking us," she said.

"You are not dealing with the fools in this magical world," Elsa snapped. "I am the human servant of Christoff, Master of London. An insult to me is an insult to him, do I make myself clear?"

"Harry doesn't know vampire rules," Anita said.

Elsa cocked her head to the side. "I'm sorry, did I miss the part of this conversation where I care about Harry's obvious short-falls?" She twitched her black robe, and for the first time Harry spotted the tiny Ravenclaw crest on her chest.

"You pretended to be a student?" Harry blurted out.

"Of course I did!" Elsa whirled on him. "How else would one sneak into a school of children? It is Halloween, after all." She looked over her shoulder at Anita. "As I said before, do you have any news? I know you met with the head of the American Aurors."

Anita blinked. "John Cassidy? How did you know that?"

"I have my ways." Elsa smiled. "Now, what did he tell you?"

"Uh..." Anita looked at Jason.

Elsa snapped her fingers. "Faster! I haven't all day to dally here!"

"There was this guy who was killed in the summer in St. Louis, by Bellatrix Lestrange," Anita said. "She was a Death Eater."

"You mean Nigel Spencer?" Harry asked. "What does that have to do with the American Aurors?"

"Spencer used to build magical devices and stuff. The Aurors think that he built a large bomb, but they couldn't find it."

Harry frowned. "Was that why Bellatrix killed him? Because of the bomb?"

Anita shrugged. "I don't know. Cassidy didn't know either. He wanted me to get the information to you, and I was trying to figure out a way to do that. I would have told you sooner, but everything became a mess, you know?"

"Did Cassidy indicate what the bomb was made from?" Elsa interrupted urgently.

"Dragon's Breath," Jason replied. "Is that important?"

Elsa didn't respond. She gathered herself up and strode towards the door, which opened on its own. "Do not leave this school without me," she said on her way out.

"Why?" Anita demanded. "Where are you going?" The door banged shut behind Elsa before the witch responded. "Great."

Harry pushed his hair back from his face. "So Voldemort has a bomb?" he asked.

"A big one," Jason confirmed.

"But why? That doesn't sound like him."

"That's what Cassidy said." Anita went over to the window and stared out at the day. "Nothing is making any sense."

"I know." Harry looked over at Jason. The blond man still hadn't put on a shirt, and the blood on his skin was beginning to dry and crack.

No matter what Jason had said, Remus attacking didn't make any sense. That wasn't like the Remus Harry knew, not at all. Remus was a good man, and he had never let his lycanthropy endanger anyone in the school. What had made today so different?

Harry checked to make sure his wand was in place before turning to Anita. "Are you two going to be okay here for a little while?" he asked.

"Why?" Anita demanded.

"I have to go see Remus," Harry said.

Anita's eyes narrowed. "The hell you do."

"I do!" Harry exclaimed. "I have to figure out what's going on!"

"After what he did to Jason?"

"Especially after what he did to Jason! That's not like Remus, something else has to be going on." Harry shook his head. "I have to figure out what."


	74. Human Nature

* * *

Harry hurried through the Hogwarts corridors, lost so deep in his own thoughts that he wasn't sure if he passed anyone. He had to find Remus, he knew that much, but then what?

What on earth had possessed Remus to attack Jason? It didn't make any sense! When Remus had been at Hogwarts as a professor, he had always been so careful with the students, never putting anyone in danger.

 _Except when he almost ate us on the night of the last full moon in third year?_ Harry's traitorous mind pointed out.

Harry brushed that thought away. Remus had been in full werewolf form at the time, and if there was one thing Harry had learned from his time in St. Louis, that werewolves didn't act with restraint under a full moon.

But still, what had happened that day didn't make any sense! Jason hadn't been alone in the hall for more than a few minutes, not long enough for him to make Remus angry. Remus didn't get angry, not like that, no matter what.

Even though Jason had said Remus thought Jason the one who had attacked Harry. Harry's steps slowed. Why had led Remus to think such a thing?

The mental reminder of Jason brought back the moment of the attack in a rush, all blood and screaming and panic. Harry put his hand against the wall. Both Jason and Remus almost died, and Harry hadn't been able to protect them. Anita saved them. She always saved everyone, riding in and saving the day, even if her bullets were the reason Remus almost died in the first place.

A little Hufflepuff girl ran past Harry, robes streaming out behind her. Her hair was the same colour as Elsa's. The sight pulled Harry back to himself with a jolt. He had bigger problems right now than falling apart over things that were over. There were dangerous people in the school, and Harry had to remember that. It was Halloween, after all.

He continued down the corridor to the solitary room where McGonagall had sent Remus. He lifted his hand, hesitated for a moment, then knocked. He still didn't know what he was going to say to Remus.

Tonks pulled the door open, her dark purple hair falling in her eyes. "Harry," she said, clearly startled to see him. "Hullo."

"I need to talk to Remus," Harry blurted out. He tried to look over Tonks' shoulder, but she held the door fast and he couldn't see Remus. "Is he here?"

"I don't think--" Tonks started to say, but at the same moment another voice sounded.

"What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Harry slipped into the room through the narrow space between Tonks and the door. Remus sat slouched in a chair by the window. His ragged clothing was still covered in drying red stains. Harry drew in a deep breath, hoping to calm himself, but the very air was tinged with the coppery taste of blood. Deep in Harry's chest, his wolf stirred.

"What could I have to say to you?" Harry echoed. "Oh, I don't know, how about asking you what on earth you were thinking?" His voice rose on every word, until he was shouting. "You attacked Jason! You almost killed him!"

Remus didn't move. "I thought he was the one who attacked you."

"What?" Harry demanded. "How could you possibly think that? I wasn't attacked by a werewolf at all! Did you think it didn't matter if you attacked some muggle werewolf? Damn it, Remus, he's not my enemy, he's my friend! He's part of my pack!"

He hadn't really meant to say the last part out loud, but the admission hung in the horrified silence. Remus jerked his head up, starring at Harry for a moment, then he was out of the chair and across the room before Harry could move.

Remus grabbed Harry's shirt with both hands and pulled the boy off balance. Not sure if he was being attacked, Harry tried to shove Remus away and go for his wand, but everything was a confusion of hands and pulling and a woman's raised voice shouting Remus's name.

Then, just as suddenly, Remus shoved Harry away so hard he hit the wall. "Who did this to you?" Remus demanded, looming over Harry. "Who did this?"

"Who did this to me doesn't matter!" Harry shouted. "You tried to kill a friend of mine! What if Reece had been there instead of Jason?" He straightened up. "He probably smelled like my blood too, what if he had been--"

A loud bang, accompanied by a miniature explosion of purple sparks, made Harry jump. He whipped his head around to see Tonks holding her wand aloft. "That's better," she said into the resultant silence. Her voice sounded mildly strangled. "Why don't we all sit down?"

Harry stared at Tonks. "Sit down?" he demanded indignantly. "What are you talking about? I was--"

"Sit down, Harry," Tonks interrupted. She edged closer to him until she was within arms'-length, then she grabbed his sleeve and yanked him across the room into a chair. "Stay."

Still wound up from the interrupted fight with Remus, Harry let out a faint growl. He looked past Tonks to where Remus still faced the wall.

In this light, Harry could see the bloodstains and the bullet holes on the back of his shirt. Harry swallowed, suddenly queasy. Jason had almost died, and so had Remus. Harry knew Anita too well to think she'd had anything but silver bullets in her gun.

 _Everyone I care about keeps getting hurt,_ Harry thought. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. _I'm really sick of this._

"Are you all right?" he asked without looking up, his voice muffled by his hands. "I don't know exactly what Anita did to save Jason, but it worked on me too, and you. Right?"

Remus didn't answer. Harry raised his head to see that Remus still hadn't moved.

"Remus?" Harry rose to his feet. "Are you okay?"

Finally, the man turned around. "I should be asking you that question," he said, voice low. "Tonks told me--" He didn't look at Harry as he walked back to the chair by the window and sank into it.

Confused, Harry turned to Tonks. "What is he talking about? Wait, why is he here?" He looked back at Remus. "Did Dumbledore get you like he did Anita?"

Tonks tapped her wand against her leg absently, sending a cloud of pink bubbles across the room. "Hagrid ran into the entrance hall with you all bleeding," she said. "Only a few of us saw it, before he got you up the stairs to the infirmary." She took a deep breath and tossed back her head. "You were badly hurt," she continued briskly. "I knew Dumbledore went to get someone he thought could help you, but I thought that someone should let Remus know. And here he is."

"I got here as soon as I could get away, but what good did it do?" Remus asked, speaking in the general direction of the carpet.

"Get away from where?" Harry slid forward in his chair. "And _are_ you okay? I know Anita shot you, but..." He let his voice trail off uncertainly. Harry had been hit with a lot of curses in his life, but he had never been shot. He had no idea what it felt like. "Are you going to be okay?" He sounded like a hesitant child and he hated it, but he didn't know what else to say.

Remus picked at the loose stuffing on the chair's arm. "I should be asking you that question, Harry. Tonks sent me a message that you had been attacked, but she didn't know who had done it, if it was Voldemort or someone else. When I got here, I didn't know anything, didn't know if you were going to live, and the first person I came across was this werewolf covered in your blood." He let out a short, barking laugh. "Werewolves. Now I find that you..."

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's not like that," he said. "Ask Tonks, I didn't change into a werewolf last full moon! Ask McGonagall, ask Ron and Hermione! It's complicated, it is, but--"

"You called him part of your pack." Remus's eyes were suddenly on Harry. "There are some things in life that are complicated, Harry and some things that are not. This is not complicated."

"Yes, it is!" Harry glared back at Remus. "Look, I was clawed up by a werewolf in St. Louis this summer, by someone in Jason's pack, but I didn't change into a werewolf at the full moon! Even after Reece scratched me in September, I didn't change this past full moon, either!"

"If you're not a werewolf, then how can you call that-- that dog part of your pack?" Remus demanded.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He was getting angry, anger at Remus for not believing him tinged with lingering fear at what had happened in the hallways. "Don't call him that!" he exclaimed. "Maybe he's not as dominant as I am, but he's loyal and he's protective and he's my friend!"

"And that woman?" Remus pressed. "What is she? Werewolf or muggle?"

"She's not a werewolf, not really," Harry said quickly. "But she's Jason's Lupa and the pack's Bolverk. She had to protect him!" Even as he spoke, Harry felt his stomach twist. Here he was, trying to defend Anita to the man she had shot.

On the other side of the room, something changed in Remus's eyes. He slowly sat up in his chair. "You said St. Louis," he said.

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled by the apparent change in topic. "What about St. Louis?"

"This woman, you said she was from St. Louis," Remus pressed. "Lupa and Bolverk."

"Yeah, so?" 

The unease in Remus's expression was fast changing to fear. "What is her name?"

"Who, Anita?" Harry frowned. "What about Anita?"

Remus paled under his scars. "That was Anita Blake?"

Tonks stopped fidgeting.

"What about her?" Harry asked, looking between them.

Remus passed a hand over his face. "Anita Blake," he repeated weakly, then sat forward. "Harry, how long have you known her?"

"No," Harry said, shooting to his feet. "That's not right. Whatever you've heard about her--"

"She's a necromancer!" Remus exclaimed. "She's one of the most powerful necromancers who has ever lived! Tied to vampire and wolf, she is more powerful than almost any that have come before her!"

"Where did you hear this?" Harry demanded. "She's not--"

"She's a necromancer?"

"Yes, but--"

"Tied to vampire and werewolf?"

"Yes, but you don't understand--"

"Feared by the Vampire Council for how many vampires she has killed? For the dead she can raise with a thought alone?"

Unbidden, Elsa's anger at Anita flashed in Harry's mind. "That's not it!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "You don't understand! You stand there thinking she's all evil, but she's _not!_ She saved my life this summer, she protected me when she didn't have to! Ask Dumbledore! She's not evil, I don't care whatever wizards think about necromancers!"

Harry wasn't sure if he could stop yelling. Remus stared at him, and Harry found himself going on.

"Even after Bellatrix Lestrange almost tortured her to death, Anita didn't kick me out! She protected me, her and Richard and everyone! She almost went insane, but it was Jean-Claude and Richard and Damian and Nathanial that made her better and she didn't blame me, even if she should have! She came with me to London even though she hates to fly and helped me with Christoff and she didn't have to! So don't say she's bad!"

His breath caught in his throat, almost a sob. Remus still stared at him.

Harry pushed his hair out of his eyes. "And she shouldn't have shot you, but she was trying to protect Jason," he finished weakly. "I should have gotten there first, I could have stopped you and explained, but she's always been faster than I am and I'm sorry I didn't tell you what happened but things were just so messed _up_!"

That last part came out as more of a plea than Harry intended. Heat rose in his cheeks. He hated sounding like a child, but part of him was tired of being an adult all the time.

Then Remus was on his feet moving towards Harry. He gently gripped Harry's shoulders. "You do not need to apologize for what has happened today, nor this summer. Being attacked by a werewolf was not your fault."

A lump stuck in Harry's throat. He swallowed hard. "I would have told you if you'd been around," he said. "But you were on some mission, Tonks said, and I didn't want to bother you."

Remus smiled faintly. "Always the same, Harry." He let Harry go. "Now. We would best be served by having a cup of tea and talk this over." He pulled out his wand and gave it a wave, and a tea set appeared on the table. Another wave and a kettle settled on the fire. "There, that will be ready soon enough." He returned to his seat.

Harry reluctantly went back to his own chair. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

Remus nodded. "Although I will admit, I never again wish to experience being 'shot'." He shifted a teacup on the tray. "Does she always carry that weapon with her?" he asked.

Harry shrugged, not sure if he should tell Remus about Anita's second gun. "She usually does, back home. Silver bullets work on both vampires and lycanthropes."

"And she does not use magic in defense?" 

Harry didn't understand the cautious way in which Remus spoke. "What kind of magic would she use? She's not a muggle, not really, but she can't do our kind of magic any more than I-- I mean, she can't." He had been on the brink of admitting that he had tried to raise zombies in St. Louis, but had remembered in time how horrified Hermione had been by that admission.

The kettle let out a loud whistle, making Harry jump. Remus busied himself pouring the water into the pot. While he was busy, Harry snuck a peek at Tonks. The Auror was uncharacteristically silent, watching Remus with wide eyes. She noticed Harry looking at her.

"What really happened to Bellatrix?" Tonks asked abruptly. "You said she wasn't coming back. What happened to her?"

Harry swallowed. Remus was now pouring tea into the cups, but Harry could tell he was listening to every word. "She, um..."

"You said she tortured that-- that _woman_." The anger in Tonks' voice was apparent, and Harry wasn't sure he understood. "What happened?"

Harry sat up straight. "We were in the woods and Bellatrix just showed up!" he said. "She thought it'd be fun to play tricks on the werewolves, see? She hit Anita with the _Crucio Eternum_ curse and left!"

"No," Tonks said immediately. "That curse kills people, there's no counter-curse!"

"I didn't use a counter-curse to stop it," Harry said. "Didn't Dumbledore tell you? I told him, Richard was there and he's got that connection to her and the curse just... stopped."

Tonks opened her mouth to speak, but Remus laid a hand on her arm. "We should hear this story from the beginning," he said.

Tonks glowered at him for a movement, then sat down.

Remus handed Harry a cup of tea. "Now, Harry, please start from the beginning."

Harry took a sip of the hot liquid. "It's a bit of a long story," he cautioned, setting his cup into the saucer with a clatter.

"That's all right," Remus said. Tonks looked mutinous. "Please tell us."

Being as brief as possible, Harry spoke of being abandoned in the Missouri forest on the night of the full moon, of being chased by werewolves, how Richard saved his life from the attack. He mentioned going to Anita's house, then deciding to leave the Durselys on the following day.

He then jumped right to the story of Nigel Spencer's murder. He may have told his friends and Dumbledore about Damian, but emotions were running so high with Remus and Tonks that Harry didn't want to explain. Remus may have been a werewolf, but he was also a wizard. Harry wasn't sure he could deal with it if Remus held the Wizarding world's prejudices against vampire children.

As Harry explained what had occurred on the night's of Bellatrix's death, he took pains to paint the pack's actions in the best light. He thought Remus would understand more than Tonks, but there wasn't anything he could think to say to Tonks on the matter.

Remus listened to the story with silent concentration, his attention never wavering from Harry's face.

Harry took another gulp of his cooling tea, and launched back into the story. He tried to not sound too disappointed at not changing into a werewolf on the full moon, but from the expression on Remus's face, he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Harry glossed over most of the trip to England, mentioning the dinner at Christoff's briefly and omitting Elsa altogether. He still wasn't sure of the real reason Elsa was at Hogwarts. As much as he wanted to believe that Elsa had traveled all the way across the country, deep into an enemy vampire's territory, just to save him, he wasn't that much of an egoist.

"And then Anita went home and I hadn't seen her until today," Harry finished. "That's about it."

Tonks made a sound deep in her throat. "What he didn't tell you," she said to Remus, "Is that on the full moon in September, someone let the little Hufflepuff werewolf loose and that Harry stopped him from eating Snape." 

"That's not what happened!" Harry interrupted. "Reece wasn't set loose to attack Snape, he was set loose to go after Dumbledore!" He leaned forward. "Someone in the castle is trying to kill Dumbledore! They almost got Tonks when she was pretending to be Dumbledore, but he won't tell me who it is!"

"I thought Dumbledore told you to stop trying to find out who that was," Tonks said.

Harry looked sharply at her, but she seemed to be serious. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked. "It's one thing to go after a wizard who can defend himself, or even you, you're an Auror! But what about a first-year muggle-born? Do you really think Snape would have just tied a collar around Reece's neck and led him back to the infirmary? Snape hates werewolves!"

"According to him, he was trying to protect you." Tonks' eyes sparkled, but Harry wasn't having anything to do with her mischief.

"Why are you taking his side?" Harry demanded. "It was the first time Reece changed away from his pack! He didn't have anyone, he was all alone, and the Wolfsbane potion made him sick! Add to that the silver barb someone stuck in him-- Hell, he's only eleven! He's a pup and he should have had someone to protect him!"

"Harry, please calm down," Remus said.

"I will not calm down!" Harry shot back. "He's all alone here, changes on his own for the first time and all this happens! He knows exactly what happened! Then last night? How is it protection when Moroven can call him out of the castle and into the forest? She said she was going to keep him as a pet! If I hadn't seen him when I did, who knows what she would have done with him!"

Remus set down his teacup. "Did you say Moroven was at fault for your injuries?" he asked.

"She was in the Forbidden Forest last night," Harry said. "I followed Reece and found her toying with him. She broke his arm and then said she'd come to find me and, well, things sort of got bad from there. I killed two of her minions and wouldn't let her have Reece, so she's probably not too pleased with me right now." Harry thought of how scary Moroven had been, how she had hurt Reece for fun. He wasn't sorry he'd stopped those vampires the way he had.

"Find you?" Remus echoed. "Why would the vampire master Moroven seek you out?"

"Maybe she'd in league with You-Know-Who?" Tonks suggested.

"She hates him as much as we do, all the vampires do," Harry replied before thinking. "The old Master of London was none too pleased with Voldemort back when I was a baby, and the new Master hates all wizards. Moroven's probably the same, she likes to be the scariest vampire in town."

"Did she tell you that?" Tonks asked.

Harry stopped. He could have kicked himself. How stupid was he being, talking without thinking again? He twisted his teacup round on the saucer. "Not really," he admitted. "I heard about her while I was in London." 

Harry could tell from the expression on Remus's face that the man wasn't buying the story.

"In St. Louis, there was this vampire, Damian. He used to be one of Moroven's vampires, and now he's in St. Louis and he mentioned her a few times. And Anita said that Moroven's really ruthless and always gets what she wants, so she can't have wanted to kill me, right?"

Remus folded his hands in his lap. "Moroven is one of the most terrifying dark creatures on these shores," he said. "Her main prey is muggles, so the Ministry tends to leave her alone." His lips twisted up into an unhappy smile. "The only wizards she tends to deal with are the werewolves."

"Wolves are her animal to call, that's how she got Reece out of the castle last night." Harry shoved his cup and saucer onto a space in the bookcase. "She let me and Reece get away from her, but if she'd wanted to keep us, I don't know if we'd been able to escape."

"Did this vampire in St. Louis tell you this?" Remus asked. "You said he was once part of Moroven's pack, is he trustworthy?"

"Of course he is!" Harry said, wishing he could defend Damian more. "And it's not just him who told me, it's Anita and Jean-Claude and the London vampires and Damian and all that. Damian's always told me the truth."

Remus gave a little nod. "I have never heard of Moroven working with Voldemort, but I had to ask." He sank back into the chair. "Is there anything else that you haven't told me?"

Harry thought about the Horcruxes, about becoming an Animagus like his father and Sirius, about all the crazy things in his life over the past few months, and he suddenly didn't want to explain a single part of it to Remus. "Nothing important," he said. "Just minor stuff, like being Quidditch captain." He tried to smile, but it felt false. "Where have you been?"

Remus sighed. "With the Wizarding world's werewolves," he said finally. "I cannot tell say much about it. I have been trying to discover with whom they stand, but I still am not certain which with side they will fight, our side or Voldemort."

"Probably not ours," Tonks said darkly.

"Not all werewolves are the same," Remus said, but it sounded automatic and not entirely convincing. "Some may--"

"And some may not! How many are like Fenrir Greyback?"

"Who's Fenrir Greyback?" Harry asked, seizing on the name. "What's he like?"

Remus did not appear happy. "Fenrir Greyback is a werewolf, a Death Eater." He looked Harry directly in the eye. "He is the werewolf who attacked me when I was a child. My father had angered him and so he attacked me as retribution. Fenrir Greyback is, perhaps, the most savage werewolf alive in England today. I suspect, although I do not know, that he was this way before he was contaminated." Remus transferred his gaze to Tonks. "Not the other way around. Others of our kind may see the light before it is too late."

"Remus--"

"Werewolves will not use logic like you do," Remus interrupted. "You have no idea what it is like to live amongst werewolves, Nymphadora. They do not think as humans do, they do not use the same logic. Everything is much simpler. If you are attacked, you fight back. If your pack is threatened, you eliminate the threat. A werewolf cannot live for so long amongst such animal logic and not be affected."

Although Remus's voice had been calm and clear, Harry's heart was beating hard by the time the man finished speaking. Was that why Remus had attacked Jason without provocation? What had these wizard werewolves been like? How could they be so different from Richard's pack in St. Louis?

"I cannot speak further on what I have been doing." Remus shifted in his chair. "Harry..."

"What?" 

Remus attempted to smile. "You certainly do have your father's penchant for getting into messes," he said. "Are you certain you are going to be all right?"

"Of course!" Harry pushed his glasses higher on his nose. "I should be getting back. Are you... are you leaving right away?"

"Not right away," Remus said. "I need to speak with the headmaster."

"So we can talk some more, later, just us?" 

Remus nodded. "I would like that."

"Good." Harry rose to his feet, looking between Tonks and Remus. "Just... I'm sorry things got so messed up."

"As am I, Harry," Remus said. "As am I."

* * *

I stood staring at the door after Harry left. I hadn't wanted to let him leave, not with a crazy werewolf in the school and Elsa running around. And yet, with all of that, I hadn't been able to find the words to keep him here.

Behind me, Jason let out a long sigh. It was such an un-Jason-like sound that I turned. He was sitting on the bed, hunched in on himself, staring at the stains on his pants; dark red drying to brown on the pale fabric.

Jason's skin was whole and smooth under the drying blood on his chest, and every time I looked at him I saw the ruin of his body, flesh ripped apart on the cold stone floor. He'd been dying and there was nothing I could do about it.

The air was too thin to breathe. I kept trying to say something, anything to break that horrible silence, but no words would come out of my mouth.

Abruptly, Jason stood up. "I'm going to shower," he muttered, not looking at me. "I feel--" He broke off, swallowing hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. "I've got to get this crap off me."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then his head fell a little lower and he vanished into the small bathroom attached to the suite. I stared after him, wishing I knew what do to, wishing that I could get the image of his slashed body out of my head. Images of seeing Nathaniel the same way, his beautiful body slashed to a bloody ruin on the carpet, pushed at me around the more recent memory of Jason.

I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe deeply. I would not do this, I told myself fiercely. I did not have time to fall apart. Harry was in danger, we were all in danger in this insane place. I'd come to England to save Harry, and that was what I was going to do. Come hell or high water, I was going to protect him, even if it meant knocking him over the head and dragging him back to St. Louis with us.

I wasn't going to let anyone else get hurt. Not Harry, not Jason, no one. No more of my boys lying on the ground, bleeding to death, bodies slashed to ruin--

I put my hand over my mouth. A scream was bubbling beneath the surface, but I knew that if I started screaming, I'd never be able to stop. I had to be strong. Everyone needed me to be strong and that meant I couldn't fall apart. I had to get us home in one piece.

The faint sounds of the shower pulled me back to myself. I opened my eyes and blinked hard, taking in the cold stone walls, the ancient-looking tapestries, the bright sunlight pouring through the high window. As strange as everything looked, this was real, right now. Jason was in the shower and he was alive, safe, for now. I wasn't going to let anything happen to him again.

A faint brushing at my mind made me frown. _Jean-Claude?_ I whispered. _Why are you up? It's only been an hour since sunrise._

The light touch in my mind turned to a sigh. _We are awash in power, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude told me softly. _Nathaniel has arrived here, and he holds some of your power in him. With his touch, I find myself growing stronger, almost as if you are here with me._

I stared at the bright window, knowing that Jean-Claude could see the light through my eyes, the closest he would he ever come to walking in the sun. _Does he know about Jason?_  
Jean-Claude's voice grew sorrowful. _Jason is his friend, as Harry is his friend. He fears for all of you._ In my mind's eye, I saw Nathaniel, lying beside Jean-Claude on Jean-Claude's bed. His shortened hair fell in his eyes as he stared off into space, worry in his beautiful eyes.

I ached to touch Nathaniel, to draw comfort from him. Instead, I wrapped my arms around my chest. I felt so alone. _Did Richard leave?_

 _He did._ Although Jean-Claude hadn't wanted for me to see the memory, we were too closely connected for him to keep me out of his mind. Nathaniel had explained when Jean-Claude awoke that Richard had stormed out when Nathaniel arrived at the Circus and stripped down to enter Jean-Claude's bed, to offer the power of that triumvirate in any way that he could.

I let out another breath, more annoyed than anything. _Is he trying to be a dick?_ I demanded. _Nathaniel was just trying to help!_

 _I know._ Jean-Claude's mental caress was soft, almost like an embrace. _Ma petite, where is Jason?_

 _In the shower,_ I mumbled. _He's fine, just getting clean._

The ensuing pause was a little too long. _He is alone?_

 _He's safe,_ I said defensively. _There's no way into that room except through me._

 _That is not what I meant,_ Jean-Claude told me. A world away, he stroked Nathaniel's hair. I watched, more than a little envious, as Nathaniel closed his eyes and the stress lines around his mouth began to smooth away. _Jason has been through so much, and he is not an alpha wolf._

 _I know that._ What was Jean-Claude getting at?

Jean-Claude's tone turned slightly exasperated. _For all his bravado, ma petite, Jason is very much a pack animal. He seeks comfort from others of his kind._

Unintentionally, I turned to look at the closed bathroom door. _Are you telling me what I think you're telling me?_ I demanded, incredulity growing.

 _Anita!_ It took me a moment to realize that he had said my name out loud; Nathaniel looked up at Jean-Claude, frowning, then cuddled closer to the vampire. As he did so, I realized that both men were naked. Any other time, I'd have asked what the hell was going on, but I was still stuck on what Jean-Claude had suggested I do. _Jason is my wolf, as you are my human servant. He is my responsibility as much as--_  


 _Don't you dare say as much as I am! I'm responsible for myself!_ I had no idea how we'd gotten into this argument, and no clue on how to make it go away. But it was easier for me to cling to any shred of anger than to deal with the panic and worry that lurked in the background.

 _I was going to remind you that Jason's welfare is my responsibility as much as it is yours,_ Jean-Claude told me. He settled back onto the bed and drew Nathaniel with him, stroking Nathaniel's shoulders until my wereleopard relaxed against the sheets. _You are his Lupa, and that responsibility does not end with healing his physical wounds._

I kicked at the worn rug, my anger evaporating in the face of what felt like guilt. _He didn't seem to want company,_ I said softly.

 _That is not what he said,_ Jean-Claude reminded me. _Ma petite, I will speak frankly. I know you are upset and worried, and rightly so._ He let out a soft sigh. _In our lives, true comfort for comfort's sake is rare. I do not suggest this for any reason other than for Jason's sake, and your own._

I wanted to argue, about how crazy it would be to let my guard down in this place, about going to Jason when the man was still upset. But I was cold and scared, and even though I knew Jean-Claude was probably manipulating me, I was too tired to argue.

 _Only if Jason wants it,_ I warned Jean-Claude. _If he wants to be alone, I'm going to sit on that bed until he's done._

 _Of course, ma petite._ Jean-Claude drew back in my mind, taking away the images of him stroking Nathaniel's hair. I felt oddly bereft, alone without the two of them. It was ridiculous. Jason was less than twenty feet away from me in the shower. I didn't have to be alone.

I didn't go in right away. I first turned the metal key in the hall door lock, and shoved a chair under the handle. It may not stand up to magic, but at least I'd hear someone trying to get into the room.

The wood of the bathroom door was hard and echoing under my knuckles. After a moment, I heard Jason's voice rise up over the patter of the water in the shower. "What?"

I cracked the door open a crack, steam billowing out around me. "Can I come in?" I asked, hoping he didn't hear the waver in my voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked. He poked his head out of the shower to stare at me. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened." I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me. "I just... I mean, I wanted to make sure you were okay."

He blinked at me. "I'm fine."

"Good." I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing with all my might that Jean-Claude had never interfered, that I'd just stayed out in the room. "Good," I repeated.

He gave me a wan smile, hardly a Jason smile at all. "But I wouldn't say no to some company," he said. It was exactly what I'd expect Jason to say in this situation, but it sounded forced. Like he was also trying to act normally, but couldn't quite get the motions down.

"Really?"

His smile vanished, leaving him looking very young. "Yes, really," he said after a minute.

I breathed in the steamy air, scented with the smell of soap. "As long as there's room for the two of us."

Jason grinned suddenly. "We'll make room." He ducked back into the shower before I could think of a response.

I stripped out of my clothes, leaving them on a pile on the floor. The gun I left on a towel on the edge to the sink near the shower, where I could grab it easily. Before I stepped into the shower, I pulled an elastic band out of my jeans and tied my hair back, in what I was sure would be a futile attempt to keep it dry.

Naked and more than a little uncertain, I stepped into the rather large shower stall. There was no curtain, just a little stone step to keep the water from spilling out across the floor. Jason stood under the water spray coming from the old-fashioned shower head. His skin was already slightly pink from the water's heat. "Hey," I said, unreasonably nervous. Jason watched me very carefully. "There's soap in here, right?"

Jason nodded. "The water's fine, too." He held out his hands to me.

Feeling awkward, I took his hands and let him draw me into the water's spray. The water hit my skin, warm and soft, but Jason kept backing up, pulling me with him, until I was directly under the spray.

Jason's eyes were wide as he stared at me, silent for once in his life. I let out a shaky breath. We were so close, but not touching. Not yet.

"Do you want some soap?" he asked.

This close to Jason, wet and naked, I wasn't thinking about soap. "I'm fine," I murmured, closing the distance between us. I put my hands on his waist and kissed him.

We had been lovers in the past, but not enough for kissing him to feel familiar. The water from the shower poured over us, giving the illusion of safety in the steam. Jason slid his hands around my waist, pulling me against him as he kissed me back, softly at first but with increasing intensity. I shifted in his arms and a shiver ran down my spine, in spite of the shower's heat.

Jason pulled back from the kiss, never letting go of me. "What?" he asked, his eyes searching my face. "Is everything okay? Harry's okay?"

I nodded. "He's probably not going to be back for a while." I tightened my arms around Jason's back. "I bolted the door in the other room. We're going to be fine."

Jason looked down. In another man, I'd have thought he didn't want to meet my eyes, but in Jason, I took it as an excuse for him to stare at my breasts. "I know we're going to be fine," he whispered, nipping the side of my neck. I bit back a moan. "You're here."

"I never took you for an optimist," I said, but the throaty quality of my voice took away the annoyance.

"I'm not an optimist," Jason breathed. "I'm a realist." His lips traveled down my shoulder while he slid his hands down my waist. His lips moved back to my throat and I wasn't sure what to do. Yes, I'd come into the bathroom with all the intentions in the world of doing this, but we were going too fast. I couldn't think about the things I should have been, about Harry and us staying safe. All that came to mind were memories: The first time I had sex with Micah in the shower of the lycanthrope hospital in St. Louis; Jason huddled in the shower after rotting vampires had oozed all over him; of Jason slashed up, bleeding, on the cold stone floor.

 _Shh, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude breathed in my mind. _It is all going to be all right, you and Jason are safe._

My hands clutched at Jason's shoulders. He pulled back slightly, holding me in the cradle of his arms, secure under the pounding spray of the water.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, voice low and rough and edged with the rumble of a wolf's growl. I couldn't say yes, because nothing was wrong, but I also couldn't say no.

 _Stop thinking, ma petite._ I felt Jean-Claude's voice slip over me like a soothing hand on my skin. My eyes closed involuntarily. _Start feeling._

The panic subsided a bit, but not enough.

 _Feel Jason, ma petite._ Jean-Claude guided my hands down Jason's muscular arms. The soap and the water made his skin slick under my touch. _Feel the life within him._ Jason moved his arms, drawing me close once again.

I rested my head on Jason's shoulder and tried to relax. Unsurprisingly, it didn't seem to work.

 _Feel his heartbeat, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude whispered. _Feel the warmth of his body against yours, the rush of the blood in his veins._

I moved my lips to Jason's throat. The steam and the water had warmed his skin above the lycanthropic almost-fever. Any normal person would be over-heating. But I wasn't normal. The closeness to Jason, his animal heat, spoke to something deep inside me, something not so different than Jason.

My senses heightened, I brushed the faint pulse in Jason's throat with my lips, then my tongue. He shuddered against me. I had brief urge to bite down, to follow that pulse deeper.

Something fluttered in my head, and belatedly I realized that the impulse wasn't mine, but Jean-Claude's. Jean-Claude moved back, but the shift was reluctant.

I kissed up Jason's neck to his jaw, his cheek, at the same time as I slid my arms around Jason's shoulders. He took it as invitation and pressed his body against mine.

As Jason kissed me, and I kissed him back, the noise in my head went away. Across distant oceans, Jean-Claude was with me, as was Nathaniel, but I didn't push them away. I couldn't push them away. They were a part of me, tied to me by bonds of power and blood. If they were with me as I was with Jason, they would embrace it, as would Jason.

Today, I pushed away all the years of solitude and the way things _should_ have been, and let myself sink into what I _did_ have.

And what I did have, I would do anything to protect.

Anything.

* * *

"Stop it."

Jason lounged on the bed, grinning at me. "Stop what?"

I yanked the comb through yet another tangled knot in my hair. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything." Jason folded his hands under his head and let out a contented sigh. "Not like anything at all."

My comb hit another snag and I swore. "Where the hell is Harry?" I demanded. "He should have been back ages ago!"

"We weren't in the shower for that long," Jason reminded me.

"You want to be bragging about that?" Finally, the comb ran through my hair without hitting a single knot. I'd packed about six pairs of socks but no hair product, and I knew that when my hair dried, it was going to be a chaotic mess. With a sigh, I sat on the edge of the bed and began to braid my hair.

Jason moved across the bed to lay his head on my thigh. "Don't I have something to brag about?" he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

I sighed and shook my head. "Stop it," I told him.

Jason pouted. "Not even a little bragging?" His lower lip seemed to tremble.

I tied off my braid with an elastic and gave Jason a shove. He rolled back on the bad, laughing.

"Knock it off!" Even so, I smiled. Although I had no plans to admit it, Jason had every right to brag about his conduct in the shower.

A sudden knock on the door made me jump. I was on my feet in an instant, gun in my hand. "Is that Harry?" I asked around the pounding of my heart.

Jason slid off the bed. "Why would he knock?"

The knock sounded again. "Harry?" a young female voice came muffled through the wood. "Harry, are you in there?"

I glanced at Jason. "Should we open the door?"

Before he could answer, the girl knocked again. Jason shrugged. "May as well, before they break the door down, or magic it open, or whatever they do."

"You get it," I said, stepping back so I could have a clear line of fire. Just in case. I lowered the gun so it was at my side, however. I didn't want to go waving a gun around in case the girl at the door was as young as she sounded.

Jason turned the big black key in the door lock. He swung open the door and was almost punched in the nose by a teenage girl.

"Oh!" the girl cried, springing back. I relaxed my grip on the gun. She had been trying to knock again, not to hurt Jason. I swallowed hard. I needed to stop being so jumpy, especially around all these children. "Is Harry here? Madame Pomfrey said he was here!"

"He left to go talk to someone," Jason said with an easy smile. "He should be back soon, or else Anita's going to go storming the castle to get him back."

"Would you need to storm the castle if you're already in it?" came another girl's voice, low and dreamy.

"Probably not," Jason said. "Do you want to come in and wait for him?"

The girl in the door glanced over her shoulder, then nodded. "Thank you," she said stiffly. As Jason held the door open for her to enter, I got my first good look at her. Slightly taller than me, she had blazing red hair and a spattering of freckles across her cheeks. She looked me over carefully, and I suspected that very little escaped her attention.

The other girl had on the same black robes and she also had that painful slenderness of adolescence, but that was where the similarities ended. She had long blonde hair tied up into a messy bun, pale blue eyes, and she was shorter than me and Jason. They were both quite pretty.

"Are you Anita?" the red-head asked, drawing my attention again. "You are, aren't you? Why are you here? Did Dumbledore get you? We didn't know if Harry was going to live and then he was just gone from the infirmary and there are all these rumors and all the teachers are walking around like someone's let a chimera loose in the school!"

I twitched slightly at the mental image of the Chimera I knew in a school full of children. "Harry's fine," I said as I put up my gun. "He went to go see his former teacher, Remus What's-His-Name."

"Oh." The girl's worried tirade lost some steam. "But why are you here?"

"Because his grandfather cannot come out in the daylight, right?" The other girl drifted closer to Jason. "They're all like family, Ginny, that's what Harry said."

"You're Ginny?" Jason interrupted. "Harry told us all about you this summer."

The girl shot him an uncertain glance. "He did?"

"Of course he did." Jason smiled his heart-throb smile, the one he used on stage at the strip club. Ginny seemed to relax slightly.

"You're Jason," the other girl said. "Harry showed us your picture."

Jason turned his smile on the girl. "And who might you be?" he asked.

"I'm Luna." She held out her hand to Jason. Instead of shaking it, he took her hand in both of his and bowed over it.

"Enchanté, mademoiselle," he said with a horrid French accent.

Colour rushed into Luna's cheeks, but she didn't giggle or pull away like other teenage girls. "Are you the one that Professor Lupin attacked?" she asked.

Jason gave Luna's hand a squeeze, then let her go. "A misunderstanding," he said airily. "All water under the bridge."

His near-death by lycanthropic evisceration was the result of a misunderstanding? I opened my mouth to demand to know what the hell was wrong with him, when finally the obvious occurred to me.

Jason was _flirting_ with this girl. Why, she couldn't have been any older than sixteen, and he was twenty-two. That just wasn't right.

"That's not what the portraits said," Luna was saying, staring at Jason curiously. "They said you were hurt very badly, but that Harry saved you."

"Not just Harry," Jason corrected. "Harry and Anita, both of them."

Luna looked at me brightly. "Are you really a necromancer?" she asked. "I've never met one before. You don't look like any of the pictures in the books."

"What books?" I demanded. At my left, I heard Ginny give out a strangled sigh. "What am I supposed to look like?"

"The old books on death magic in the library's Restricted Section," Luna said, ignoring Ginny. "They are not very pleasant, but then Harry said that the books on vampires aren't accurate either. The Ministry does tend to censor reading material on certain subjects, I can imagine they would start in the schools."

"You guys have banned books too?" Jason asked. "Sounds just like home."

"Oh, the Ministry is quite willing to prevent knowledge from reaching the average witch or wizard," Luna told him. "They have been denying the existence of the Mome Raths for years now."

"Luna," Ginny said sharply. "Can we find out if Harry's going to be okay before we start on this?"

"Of course Harry will be fine," Luna told her. "If he wasn't, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't have let him leave the infirmary and she wouldn't have told us where he is, would she?"

Something in the blonde girl's voice made me look at her sharply. She was so very young, both in appearance and in her manner, but in that very moment, she reminded me so strongly of Nathaniel that for a moment my breath caught in my throat.

Luna continued. "Harry tells us that there's a real lamia in St. Louis, is that right?"

"What, Melanie?" Jason leaned against the wall. "Yeah, she works at the Circus of the Damned, too."

"Do you work there as well?" Luna asked.

Jason blushed. Jason Schuyler, werewolf stripper, smartass and all-around jaded man of the world, _blushed_ from an innocent question by a teenage girl. I wondered if pigs had started to fly around outside the window. Although, in this weird place, I supposed anything was possible.

"I, well, I live at the Circus," he finally stammered out.

Luna's eyes lit up. "That must be fascinating," she beamed. "Do vampires live there too? Other werewolves?"

The odd conversation was halted in its tracks as Harry blew back into the room in a whirl of robes. "I don't understand that man!" Harry stormed. He had been watching his feet as he came through the door. Once he was inside, he glanced up and stopped abruptly. "What are you two doing here?" he asked the girls.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jason step away from Luna at the same time as Ginny whirled on Harry, crossing her arms over her chest. "What are we doing here?" she echoed. "You run out on us at the dance and then we hear you were attacked in the Forbidden Forest and you're suddenly healed but Professor Lupin attacked a werewolf in the school and you ask us what we are doing here?"

"We were worried about you," Luna said when Ginny paused for air. "No one would tell us anything, so we came looking for you. The portraits are in rather a tizzy after what they saw."

"What they--" Harry broke off. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Damn it! Now this is going to be all over the school!"

"What are you talking about?" I interrupted. "What is this about 'portraits'?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "Wizarding portraits aren't just moving pictures like my photographs, they can talk and share information with each other," he explained, gesturing with his glasses. "Which means that since there were portraits in the hallway where Remus attacked Jason, all the paintings will soon know, and so will the ghosts, and soon everyone in the whole school will know!"

Luna edged closer to Harry. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Oh, just great!" Harry said sarcastically.

Luna just looked at him.

The wind seemed to go out of Harry, and he kicked at the carpet. "I'm fine," he said, more subdued. "Remus is fine, he's with Tonks. And Reece is... he's safe, anyway."

"What happened?" Luna asked. She took Harry's hand and linked her fingers with his. "Why did you leave the dance last night?"

"I just needed some air, you know?" Harry said quietly. "And I went outside and I saw Reece being pulled into the forest and I had to go after him. It was Reece, you know?"

Luna nodded. Ginny had been listening to Harry's story without moving a muscle. I glanced over at Jason, who raised his eyebrows at me.

"And it was Moroven who got him," Harry continued. "Did I ever tell you about her?" Luna shook her head. "She's a real scary vampire, she used to be Damian's master. She had the Hufflepuff cup Horcrux and she wanted me to pick one."

"Pick one what?" Ginny asked.

Harry took a deep breath. "She said I could have one or the other, Reece or the cup."

"And you picked Reece." Ginny hesitated. "Right?"

Harry lifted his head. "Of course I picked Reece!" he exclaimed. Luna squeaked, and Harry quickly let go of her hand. "Sorry, sorry!" he said quickly.

"I'm fine, I am," Luna said. She laid her hand on Harry's arm, then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

It took a minute, but Harry finally returned the hug. Then, confusing me even more, Ginny went over to them and hugged them both. They all looked comfortable. Very comfortable.

Harry was the first to pull back. He touched Ginny's cheek, then squeezed Luna's shoulder before backing up to put some distance between him and the girls. "Sorry about last night," he mumbled.

Luna gave a philosophical shrug. "These things tend to happen to you," she said. "We shouldn't be surprised."

" _I_ was surprised," Ginny interjected. "I usually am, even though I'm not sure why anymore."

Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."

At that moment, a short figure in the ubiquitous black robes careened into the doorway. "Headmaster Dumbledore wants to see you," the little boy said breathlessly. His face was red with exertion. "Mr. Potter and Miss Blake!"

Harry took a step towards the boy. "Did he say why?"

The boy shook his head. "He just wants to see you now!" With that, the boy ran off again.

"Don't you people have phones or a PA system like normal schools?" Jason asked. "They come in really handy."

"Yeah, but then you can't send the underclassmen on errands," Harry shot back.

"There's errands and there's sadistic torment. Didn't you ever watch any boarding school movies as a child?"

I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on to hide the shoulder rig and gun. "Can it, Jason," I ordered. "You can bug Harry on the way to see Dumbledore. I assume he's got an office somewhere in this school?"

"I'm not sure if Jason's supposed to come," Harry said. "Dumbledore didn't ask for him to go with us."

I flipped my braid over my shoulder with more force than was necessary and faced Harry. "Your point?" I bit out.

"Just that Dumbledore didn't say he was supposed to come with us," Harry repeated, some of that normal energy coming back to him. As good as it was to see his spirit returning, it was also really annoying.

"Jason can come with us," Luna piped up.

"He can?" said Ginny.

"We can show him the castle and the grounds and the preparations for the Halloween banquet," Luna explained. "If he wants to come with us."

"Sounds good," Jason said before I could protest. "When do we leave?"

I grabbed Jason's arm and pulled him towards the bathroom. "Don't go anywhere," I called over my shoulder to Harry. I shoved Jason into the room and pulled the door closed behind me. "She's sixteen."

"What are you talking about?" Jason asked, rubbing his arm.

He wouldn't meet my eyes, which told me all I needed to know. He knew exactly what I meant. "She's sixteen years old and she's probably Harry's girlfriend," I said, trying to keep from yelling.

Jason fidgeted, but he lifted his chin and stared at me. Coming from a werewolf of his status to me, his Lupa, it was very close to a challenge. "I know she's a kid, Anita. I am also very aware that she's Harry's girlfriend. He may have been covered in enough blood to mask it, but her robes and her hair smell like him. Both of them do."

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

Jason threw up his hands. "How many men are you involved with, and you ask me that?"

"That is not what's happening!" I exclaimed. "Harry's just a kid! He wouldn't--"

"So 'do as I say, don't do as I do'?" Jason interrupted. "And it's not that intense, just like they've been spending a lot of time together. _With_ their clothes on."

"They're teenagers! They shouldn't be doing stuff like... like..." I stopped, at a loss for a simile that didn't involve invoking me or any of my relationships.

"Can we please stop the after-school special?" Jason asked. "There's also another good reason for me to go with Luna and Ginny. I can see what life is really like here for Harry. Just in case he's not telling us everything."

"If?" I slumped against the door. I wanted to fight it, but Jason had a point. I wasn't sure I believed Harry when he told me things were fine.

Scratch that. I didn't believe him at all. His stories of soul magic and insane vampires and rampaging werewolves did nothing to ease my mind about leaving him in this deathtrap masquerading as a high school.

Through the bathroom door, I could hear Harry's voice. Most of the words were muffled, but I did hear him say, "Ron or Hermione?" His other friends, I recalled. Then he lowered his voice and I couldn't make out anything else.

"You were attacked once," I finally said to Jason. "I couldn't-- I can't deal with..."

"Nothing will happen to me again, promise," Jason said. He leaned in and kissed my cheek. "I'll be on my guard. If anything could happen, Harry would have said so."

"Harry also said that he would be perfectly safe at school. What Harry thinks and what really ends up happening never quite matches in the middle, does it?"

Jason sighed. "You know I'm right and you're just trying to come up with ridiculous reasons to not leave here without me."

I gave him a little shove. "You're not supposed to know me that well."

"I pay a lot of attention to you," Jason reminded me. "And not all of is me staring at your--"

I walked out of the bathroom before he could finish. Really, I didn't want to know.

* * *

"Have fun storming the castle!" Jason called back before Luna dragged him around a corner. Ginny followed, frowning.

Harry watched his friends go. He was glad Jason was going to get to see Hogwarts, but part of him was uncomfortable with Jason being alone with Ginny and Luna, and he couldn't figure out why.

He shook his head. They didn't have time for any of this. "Come on," he said to Anita. "We should go. Dumbledore's office is in another wing."

"Hold on a minute."

Harry frowned. "But you heard John, Dumbledore wants to talk to us."

Anita grabbed his arm and hauled him into a stony alcove by the window. "Do I look as if I care?" she demanded, dark eyes flashing in anger. "I don't care if Dumbledore has to wait five minutes or five days. You and I are going to have a little talk."

"About what?" Harry asked nervously.

Anita narrowed her eyes. "About what you haven't told me."

"I've told you everything!" Harry protested. "I told you about the--" He broke off and glanced down the empty hall. "About the Horcruxes," he said in a low voice. "That's all that matters."

"Like hell it is." Anita crossed her arms over her chest and glared up at him. She looked seriously annoyed. "I want you to tell me what's been happening here since we dropped you off two months ago!"

"Anita--"

Anita held up her hand. "Don't 'Anita' me! What the hell is going on with you?"


	75. Chekhov's Gun

* * *

"I told you about the Horcruxes," Harry said again. "That's all that's important."

Anita let out a growl. "Are you being intentionally stupid?" she demanded. "I'm talking about what's got you spun around so hard that you're convinced that the only way you can save the world is to die!"

Harry tried to shush her. "What if someone hears?" he asked.

"So magic us up a Cone of Silence!" Anita snapped. "Did you know about these Horcrux things when you were in St. Louis?"

Harry whipped out his wand and sent up a wall of sound-blocking haze around the alcove. "No, of course not!" He sat on the stone window seat, toying with his wand. "You want to hear something stupid? I didn't even figure out I was a Horcrux until yesterday before the ball," he said bitterly. "There I was, trying to help Dumbledore find a way to find and destroy the Horcruxes, and all along I was one of them myself!"

A warm hand settled on Harry's shoulder. "Is this what that stupid prophecy was all about?" Anita asked.

"I guess." Harry picked up a leaf from the ground, probably tracked in on someone's shoe, and transfigured it into a feather. He waved it through the air. "Back in the summer, I think Nathaniel figured out what was happening. But I didn't want to listen or I just didn't want to believe he was right, but he was." Harry let the feather drift to the ground. "He usually is."

"How are you sure he's right?" Anita asked.

Harry exhaled. "The prophecy said, _'either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives'_. Nathaniel thought that meant that for Voldemort to die, I have to die too." He transfigured the feather back to a leaf. "That has to mean that because I'm the Horcrux, he's right. If I want to stop Voldemort, really _stop_ him, I'm going to have to die."

"Stop saying that," Anita said. "I don't care what happens, we'll find a way to save you--"

"Even if it means letting Voldemort win?" Harry interrupted. "I can't do that, Anita! Stopping Voldemort has been my whole life for the past seven years! He killed my parents and he used their murders to shove a piece of his soul into me! My own parents!" He shrugged Anita's hand off his shoulder. "I used to wake up remembering the flash of green light that killed my mum! The only thing I can remember of her voice is the way she was screaming for me when she died!"

"Harry, you need to stop," Anita ordered.

Harry kicked at the stone floor. "I just don't know what to do," he said. "I hadn't told anyone but you and Jason about being the sixth Horcrux. The others know about the rest of the Horcruxes, that we have five of them. I was going to tell them about me today, but then the thing with Moroven happened and I didn't have time."

"Who are the others?"

"Ginny and Luna and Ron and Hermione," Harry said. "Neville knows about the Horcruxes too, I had to tell him because his wand is one, but I can't tell him this. Although maybe it may make him feel better about his wand."

"Is he your friend?" Anita asked.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"Fine, yes, he's my friend."

"Then learning that you're in danger isn't going to make him feel any better." There was something careful in Anita's voice that made the words even more painful to hear.

Harry imagined telling Neville about the sixth Horcrux, and all he could picture was the look of horror and pity Neville would give him. "Probably not," Harry muttered.

"You said the Horcruxes are in the school," Anita said. "Are they safe?"

Harry nodded. "The underground cavern I told you about, there's no way to get in or out except by portkey." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small metal box he'd taken from Dumbledore's office. "This is the portkey."

Anita looked at it. "Is it supposed to be that shiny?"

"No, not that," Harry said quickly. He opened the box and rattled the pebble. "This is the portkey."

Anita frowned. "That little thing?" she asked, reaching for the stone. Harry caught her hand.

"It's activated by touch," he said. Anita's skin was cool and her palm felt fragile. Too late, Harry realized he had grabbed her injured hand, the one with the angry red welt stark against her pale skin. He eased up the pressure of his grip, but he didn't let her go. "It goes off every half hour if it's in contact with skin or clothing."

"What if you have to get down there sooner?" Anita asked. "Can you do that Apparition thing?"

"You can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds."

Anita raised her eyebrows. "Then what the hell good of a hiding space is that?"

"Dumbledore chose it." Harry closed the box on the precious stone.

"Like he chose to tell you about the Horcruxes so you'll end up killing yourself for him."

Harry shot to his feet, but now Anita was the one holding on to him. "That's not it!"

"It's not? When I left you at the train in September, you promised me you'd do anything you could to come out of this alive! Now I get here and you're all suicidal?" Anita stood and turned Harry's hand over in hers. In the light, the red scars on their palms looked identical. "I have no idea how you did it, but you saved my life, you saved Nathaniel's life." She swallowed hard. "Now I get to return the favour."

"You don't have to return any favour," Harry said, unable to tear his eyes away from the reminder of pain on her palm. "How could I not help?"

Anita tapped his hand until he looked her in the face. "I am not going to let you think that the only way to stop this guy is to sacrifice yourself."

"You saw the part of Voldemort's soul that's in me! He's the man who killed my parents, he killed so many people! He has to be stopped!"

"So we stop him." Anita's eyes were dark. "Like Jason said, crazy necromancer here."

"But..." Harry wasn't sure what to say. "What about that thing Jason mentioned this morning? With that guy Chimera? You said you pulled his soul out of his body, could you do that again?"

A shadow passed over Anita's face. "It's a long story," she said, releasing his hand.

"You're the one who said Dumbledore could wait."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "I think I liked you better when you weren't being cheeky."

"Cheeky?" Harry echoed. "Since when do you use the word 'Cheeky'?"

"I call them like I see them." Anita sat on the stone ledge. "You want to hear this story or not?"

If Anita was willing to talk about something that obviously bothered her, Harry would listen. "Go ahead."

Anita shook her head. "This isn't common knowledge among the police back home, so I'd appreciate if you kept this to yourself."

"Does Jason know?"

"Our lycanthropes and vampires know," Anita admitted. "I'm not sure if Elsa and Christoff know. I hope not."

"I won't tell anyone," Harry promised.

"Good." Anita fixed her eyes at a point on the wall over Harry's shoulder. "I'm not sure where to start."

"With Chimera?"

"Not that simple." She gripped her hands together in her lap. "It starts in New Mexico, with Edward and with... with Olaf."

Anita had grown paler as she spoke, until Harry feared she was about to pass out. He opened his mouth, sick to his stomach that he'd reminded Anita of _him_ , but she kept going.

"It's not really a story about Olaf, but he was there." She paused to take a breath. "Back before I met Micah, Edward called in a favor so I went down to New Mexico. There were a bunch of really gruesome deaths, people being ripped apart or being skinned alive. Only they weren't alive, we discovered later, but were really zombies. So down I went, only since I wasn't talking to Jean-Claude or Richard at the time, I didn't realize that it probably wasn't the wisest idea."

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask why she'd been fighting with Jean-Claude and Richard, but he managed to restrain himself. "What happened?"

"The Master of the City was a vampire named Itzpapalotl. It means Obsidian Butterfly, and if you think it sounds silly, you're wrong. She's fucking terrifying. All vampires are told to avoid her territory. If I'd been speaking to Jean-Claude, he'd have mentioned this, but by the time I realized that it was too late for that. Me and Edward and Olaf went to see her, to ask her if she knew what was killing those people. She knew, all right, but she pretended she didn't... or maybe she really believed that she didn't know."

"Was that what made her so scary?"

Anita glared at him. "What do you think?" she said. "What made her scary, outside the fact that she really thought she was a goddess, was that she had the power to suck out someone's..." Anita waved her hands in the air. "I guess you could call it their life force. Her human servant would suck a person dry, leaving them as a husk, but they'd still be alive." She looked back at her hands. "They'd still be alive and aware of everything that happened to them, but she and her human servant had their energy."

Harry had to fight to swallow against the churning in his stomach. "But if they were just shells--"

"They could also put the energy back into a person, make them whole again," Anita continued. "She let me see into her head. She touched my hand and I saw it all, how she became a vampire, her powers, all of it."

"So you saw how she did it?"

"I could if you stopped interrupting me!" Anita exclaimed.

"Then just tell me!"

"Fine!" Anita rubbed at her left palm. "I saw her power and how she used it. I saw it and I _knew_ how to use it! And when Chimera came to St. Louis a month later, I stopped him. I used Obsidian Butterfly's power to stop Chimera before he killed everyone I cared about. I sucked out his life force and it was like I had his soul in my hands, and I let it go." She stopped suddenly. Her hands were shaking. "I decided to kill him, and I pulled his soul out of his body and I let it... I let it go."

The silence pressed down on him, but Anita's shaking hands and her quiet words made the story worse than Harry could have imagined.

"I was touching him, that's how I did it," Anita went on, relentlessly. "He had to die, I had to stop him before he could hurt or kill anyone else, or let him poison us anymore, but I was touching him when I did it."

Her voice shook on the last word. She must have heard it, because she clenched her fists.

"When I'm using my powers, my necromancy, I usually do it from a distance. You've seen me raise zombies. With Chimera, I had to be touching him to kill him." Anita looked up at Harry, her eyes wide. "It's the same way with the ardeur, now that I think about it."

Finally, something he could talk about without breaking into a screaming fit. "I thought that was something you got from Jean-Claude."

"It was, after I got back to St. Louis." Confusion passed over her face. "I didn't think they were connected, but maybe--" She shook her head. "Stop trying to distract me!"

"I'm not trying to do anything!" Harry said hotly. "You brought it up!"

"You brought Jean-Claude into it!"

"Are you going to tell me the rest of the story or not?"

"I will if you stop interrupting me!"

She was trying to distract herself by arguing, Harry could see that, but she was succeeding in making him angry in the process. He'd forgotten how easily she could push his buttons. With an effort, he closed his mouth.

"Thank you!" Anita crossed her arms over her chest. "The end result is that I killed Chimera by pulling his soul out of his body, which is exactly why we are _not_ going to try it with you!"

"You said Itz.. Itz... Obsidian Butterfly, she could put the energy back in, right? So you can suck me dry and see if you can take out Voldemort's soul and then put all the energy back!"

"I did not say that! I used that power once to kill someone!" Anita shouted. "I think I could put the life force back into the body, but I've never tried it--"

"If you think you can do it--" Harry spoke over her, but she reached over and hit him in the shoulder. It hurt.

"I'm not going to risk killing you!" she exclaimed.

"I'm fine with the risk," Harry insisted.

"But I'm not!" She stood and paced to the edge of their enclosed sanctuary. "I am not okay with the risk! Don't ask me to do something that may get you killed!"

"But Voldemort--"

"Fuck Voldemort!" There was a wildness in Anita's eyes, something Harry had seen before, one hot summer night as he'd held her down, screaming, in the Missouri forest. "I almost lost Nathaniel and I almost lost Jason and I am _not_ going to lose you! Do you understand me?"

Everything was all messed up, mixed around in Harry's head, and he felt sick as the echo of Anita's tortured screams played at the edges of his memory. Still, he had to try. "But I have to stop him," he pleaded.

Anita moved so fast he could barely see her, closing the distance between them before he could move. One hand closed around his throat, forcing his head back hard against the stone wall. His gasp of pain was knocked clean of his lungs as Anita's fingers tightened. Not choking. Not yet.

"Shut up," she hissed coldly. She was close enough to kiss Harry or to bite him, so close he could see himself reflected in her pupils. "Do not ask me to kill you because I'm not going to do it." She let go of his throat. "I may be many things, Harry, but I'm not going to kill someone I've sworn to protect because it would be _easier_ than looking for another way." The cold fury left her just as suddenly as it had come, and she was left looking so tired. She turned away from Harry. "I don't kill my friends. I'm not that much of a monster. Not yet."

"You're not a monster at all," Harry said. He resisted an urge to rub his throat.

"Then you're not paying attention." It sounded as if she was trying to make a joke, but the misery in her voice ruined the effect.

"Don't say that. You know it's not true."

"Harry--"

"Do you think I'm a monster?"

She swung around, startled. "What are you talking about?"

"What have you done that I haven't?"

"God, where would you like me to start?" Anita demanded.

"I can't raise zombies, but I've got my own magic, right?" Harry said. "Most everyone in the Wizarding world thinks I'm a dangerous lunatic, I've got powers they are afraid of--"

"Like what?" The question was a challenge.

"Like being a Parselmouth!"

"So what if you can talk to snakes? I can raise the dead! Try explaining that one at the family reunion!"

"I killed my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in first year! And what about Bellatrix Lestrange this summer?"

"I kill people on a regular basis--"

"You only kill when you have to! To protect people who need protecting!"

"Oh, like you go around bumping people off for fun?"

Harry jumped up. "That's exactly my point! You can't say you're a monster and say I'm not one because we're both the same kind of person!"

Anita glared at him. "This is a stupid conversation, and you are missing my point."

"You are missing _my_ point!"

"Oh my god, are we seven? You're not a monster!"

"And neither are you!"

"You have no idea what I can do!" Anita hit the stone wall with a closed fist. Harry jumped as her knuckles slammed against the rock. "I don't just raise corpses, I can do things you haven't ever dreamed about!"

Her hand was bleeding. As Harry watched, a tiny droplet of red slid over her fingers and fell to the floor. Was it his imagination, or did the castle sigh as the blood hit the stone?

When Harry looked back up, Anita was cradling her injured hand against her chest. "You're just a kid, Harry. It's all still black and white to you. You shouldn't have to give that up, not yet."

Harry wanted to argue with her, but could he? Voldemort was evil and he had to be stopped, there wasn't anything good about him left to be saved. "Are you still talking about Chimera?"

"No." Anita clenched her injured fist tight, then let her hand fall to her side. No more blood fell from her skin. "This isn't about Chimera."

"Is it about Olaf?" From her silence, Harry figured he had guessed right. "But he's dead. I saw Edward kill him."

"Edward killed him, but not before Nathaniel almost died." Anita lifted her eyes. Her blank expression scared Harry more than anything else he'd seen that day. "I could have brought Olaf back."

"Why would you do that? How could you bring someone back that was already dead?" Harry asked. He could barely speak, his mouth was so dry. "You said that zombies don't have souls, that they're just dead bodies."

"There's a way to do it." Anita was staring at him, motionless. He couldn't even see her breathing. "To put the soul back in the body. I could have made him pay."

The quiet words, said simply and quietly, sent a bolt of ice through Harry. _I could have made him pay._

"There's a reason that most people think necromancers are evil," Anita went on. "My grandmother tried to shield me from it when I was learning, same with Manny, but there comes a point where you just can't bury what you know. And right now..." She shook her head. "I'm in so deep I don't think I'll ever see daylight again."

"But you wouldn't do that," Harry said, finally finding his voice. "You protect people, you don't hurt them."

"But I could," Anita replied. In Harry's mind, all he could hear was an echo of her words, _I could have made him pay._ "You know anything about voodoo?"

Harry shook his head. "That's raising zombies?"

"Not just zombies, it's a whole religion based around the old magics. It has its roots in West Africa, and it was brought to the West Indies during the days of the slave trade. I'm not into that, I just raise the zombies, but my grandmother was a Bokar, a voodoo priestess. John Burke, that guy I work with, he's a Bokor too. When you're vaudun, it's not just cutting off chicken's heads and raising zombies." She lifted her hands, palms up. "Do you know what it means to serve with both hands?"

"No," Harry said, almost inaudible. He didn't want to be here anymore, didn't want to listen to Anita tell him stories of horrible death magic.

He didn't want to know what evils were running around in Anita's head.

" _Servir a deux mains_ , it's called." Anita pressed her palms together. "It's a reminder that good and evil are in all of us, and there's a balance that must be kept between the two in everything we do."

"But why not just go with the good?" Harry asked. "No one has to be evil!"

"No one can be good all the time," Anita shot back. "It's one thing to say so, but it's not in our nature."

"Whose nature?"

"Human nature." Anita rubbed at her wounded knuckles, and the dried blood came off, leaving her skin flawless. Her injury had already healed in the few minutes they had been speaking. "All the good and evil in this world comes from human nature, and that nature is never going to change. You do good, you do evil, and there's always a reason to what you do, but that doesn't change your fundamental nature."

"You mean we," Harry said. "You mean, 'our nature'."

"No, I don't." Anita blinked, but didn't look away. "Lycanthropes and vampires were all born human, they carry that same nature with them for their entire lives. I wasn't born human at all."

"That's not right!" Harry exclaimed. "You're as human as I am!"

"No, I'm not. Anyone who ever taught me anything, Manny, my grandmother, they always held something back!" Anita stepped forward, invading Harry's personal space, but he wouldn't let himself flinch away. "They saw something in me, they must have suspected what I would be capable of one day. When I was only three years old, my grandmother saw something in me that scared her. She was a vaudun priestess of the old ways, and _I_ scared her when I was juts a baby!"

"You're not evil!" Harry said. "I've seen the things you do, you're powerful but you're not evil!"

"When is that line crossed?" Anita asked. "When do the powerful become evil? When does 'necessary' evil just become evil?"

"I don't know, but you're not it!" Even as he spoke, Harry remembered something a Voldemort-ruled Quirrell had told him, six years before. _There is only power, and those too weak to seek it._ "You may know how to do dark magic, but you _don't_ do it, that's the point! I know spells that are dark magic, but I don't do them."

"Could you raise an army of the dead and siphon off their energy until you're invincible?"

Harry flinched and overbalanced, taking a step back to avoid falling over. It took him a moment to realize what he'd done, but by then it was too late to take the movement back. Anita clenched her jaw.

"See?" Anita said in a hardened voice. "I win."

She backed away from Harry and walked along the hazy cloud closing them into the alcove. She trailed her fingers over the haze, sending sparks like miniature lightening into the air.

"Would you really do that?" Harry asked when Anita reached the far wall. "Raise an army of the dead?"

Anita pushed her hand into the haze. "It's called Bokor Majeur." The name sounded like a curse in Harry's ears. "And it's not just raising the dead. It's like... It's like an addiction. After a while, the person using it needs more dead to feed the addition, and if they can't find a large enough source of death, they start killing." Anita pulled her hand back, trails of mist sticking to her fingers. "Wars have been started for Bokor Majeur, plagues inflicted upon whole continents. So much death, and in the end, it's never enough."

"Were they stopped? These people who did those things?"

"Eventually. The Vampire Council dealt with the last one, a hundred years ago."

"How?"

Anita shook her head. "It won't work."

"What won't work?" Harry asked, confused.

"You won't be able to use that way to stop Voldemort."

"I wasn't..." Harry couldn't even finish the lie. "How did they do it?"

Anita passed a hand over her face. "The Council sent an army. Jean-Claude told me they couldn't kill him, so they locked him away in a cavern without food or water, but he can't die, so he exists there like that to this day."

Harry wrapped his arms around his chest. He couldn't imagine being locked up all alone for eternity. "Is that really going to hold him?"

"Maybe not," Anita said. She gave a ghostly smile. "But if it doesn't, there'll be someone there to stop him."

"You?"

"Or someone like me, or the vampires."

Harry shook his head. "How can you say that and still think you're a monster?" he demanded. "You always do things to protect people!"

Anita flinched. She held up her hands in a motion that in anyone else, Harry would have called surrender. Anyone but Anita. "Remember, Harry. Every time I hold a weapon, I'm using both hands."

* * *

Harry and Anita stared at the closed door to Dumbledore's office. "One of us should knock," Harry said.

"Or you could finish telling me what else has been going on here with you," Anita retorted.

"Like what?"

"Like what's with those two girls with Jason?"

"Ginny and Luna?"

"Are there others?" Anita turned on him. "Nathaniel told me you didn't know anything about girls!"

"I don't!"

The potentially humiliating argument stopped abruptly when the door to Dumbledore's office swung open to reveal the Headmaster himself.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I was beginning to suspect that my message had gone astray. I sent for you almost three-quarters of an hour ago."

"We got the message," Harry said. Dumbledore stood aside, and Harry walked into the office. "We had to go over some stuff first."

"And this 'stuff' was important enough to disobey a summons from the Headmaster?" came a sneering voice from deeper in the office. "What an important life you lead, Potter."

Harry stopped so abruptly that Anita walked into him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Snape rose from the armchair by the window and swooped towards Harry, black robes billowing out behind him. "What place do you have to be questioning a teacher, Potter?"

Anita disentangled herself from Harry and stepped around him. "Who are you?" she asked sharply.

Snape drew himself up. "I could ask you the same question, _muggle_."

"Don't you talk to her that way!" Harry exclaimed. He would have gone for his wand, school rules be damned, but Dumbledore's voice froze everyone in place.

"That's enough!" Dumbledore walked between Snape and Harry, drawing off the tension of the argument. "Severus, this is Anita, one of Harry's American relatives. She came when we feared Harry would succumb to his injuries."

"There are no Potters in America," Snape said, never taking his eyes from Harry.

"Anita is related to Harry through his mother," Dumbledore replied.

It was as if Dumbledore had sent a hex at Snape. The man started back, paling underneath his sallow skin.

"I was unaware that Lily had any American relatives," he said.

Harry was about to demand what Snape knew about Lily, anyway, but Dumbledore kept talking. "The family ties go back two generations. Now, Severus, if you will excuse us, I need to speak with Mr. Potter about last night's vampire attack."

"Headmaster--"

"I will take your concerns about school safety into account, Severus. If you will excuse us."

Glaring daggers at Harry, Snape gathered himself up and stalked from the office. The door closed behind him.

"What was with that?" Anita asked as soon as the door latched. "Why didn't you want him knowing who I was?"

"Because, Ms. Blake, I would prefer to keep your presence at Hogwarts quiet," Dumbledore said. He sat down behind his desk. "A muggle relation of Harry's muggle-born mother will not raise suspicions. But your full name is known among certain wizards, as are rumors of your powers. I simply wish to keep matters uncomplicated."

A high laugh from the corner made Harry jump almost out of his skin. "He means he doesn't want Voldemort to find you here. What a tasty treat that would be!"

Elsa slithered down from the high window, robe hiked up so Harry could see her white knee socks and shiny Mary Janes. She flashed a wide, insincere smile at Dumbledore.

"What were you doing up there?" Harry asked.

"Watching the scenery," Elsa said in a mocking tone. "It's not every day I spend time in Scotland."

"Yeah, I bet Moroven puts a real crimp in any sight-seeing plans," Anita interjected.

"You have no idea," Elsa said. A faint German undertone was creeping back into her words.

"Does anyone know why Moroven attacked Harry last night?" Anita asked.

"Because he challenged her?" Elsa suggested.

"No, I don't think it's that simple." Anita crossed her arms over her chest. "See, Harry may have been stupid enough to challenge a Master vampire on her own turf, but that doesn't explain why she was here in the first place, trying to grab little werewolf boys from the castle."

"Then what do _you_ think brought such a Master vampires to these woods, Executioner?" Elsa asked.

Anita glared at Elsa. "Harry thinks that she wanted to give us one of the Horcruxes so she doesn't have to get personally involved with destroying Voldemort. And if you think about it, it makes sense."

Dumbledore had leaned back in his chair and was looking at Anita over steepled fingers. "In what way does it make sense to you, Ms. Blake?"

Anita turned her attention to him. "She comes to the forest and lures someone outside, it didn't need to be Harry at all. She had a bit of fun, shoves the cup onto the kid or whoever she pulled outside, and sends them back inside the school. She probably knows you're a powerful wizard, if you've been on her territory for as many years as Harry said. She probably figured that you'd know what the cup was."

Dumbledore's eyes slid over to Harry. "Quite possible. What I am uncertain of, however, is how Moroven would know about the Horcruxes?"

Harry's heart sunk into his stomach. "I, um..." He took a deep breath and lifted his chin. "I saw Elsa in Hogsmeade in September, sir. I mentioned the Horcruxes to her at that time. Moroven said last night that Elsa hadn't been discrete about asking about them."

Elsa sauntered across the room, her heels clicking on the stone. "Gryffindor to the end, putting the blame squarely on someone other than himself."

"Hey, I said that I was the one who told you in the first place!" Harry said hotly. "And it's good that I did, because how would we have gotten Moroven's Horcrux otherwise? We wouldn't have had any idea where to look!"

Elsa raised an amused eyebrow at Harry. "Always willing to rewrite history to put yourself into the role of hero. Some things will never change."

Harry gave up. He turned to Dumbledore. "That's what happened, sir. Do you have the Cup now?"

Dumbledore gave an inscrutable nod. "It is with the others."

How was that possible? Harry thought he had the portkey. _Unless Dumbledore had another way of getting down there,_ Harry said to himself. _Of course he would, or else he'd have asked me for the portkey back!_

"So if you and Elsa weren't talking about Horcruxes or Master vampires, what were you chattering about?" Anita was asking. "Were you talking about Harry?"

"Always a one-track mind," Elsa muttered. She spun in place, robe whirling out dangerously close to the knick-knacks on a nearby table. "We were catching up on old times."

Old times? Harry looked at Anita, who only shook her head.

"It has been many years since I saw Albus Dumbledore," Elsa continued. She stopped moving, locking eyes with Dumbledore. "Ever since he took the credit for defeating Grindelwald on the backs of hundreds of dead soldiers."

Harry stepped forward, and only Anita's hand on his arm stopped him from saying something stupid. He looked pleadingly at Dumbledore. The man would never do something like that, not what Elsa was claiming! Dumbledore would never take credit for something he didn't do!

Dumbledore didn't speak, and the silence stretched out, screaming on Harry's nerves. Finally Dumbledore separated his hands and nodded his head again. "We have had this conversation before, Elsa, and I fear that we will never reach an agreement on what happened in 1945."

"What happened in 1945?" Anita asked.

Elsa twitched her robes into place. "Before we came to London, Christoff was Master of our lands in Germany for centuries. The battles of Grindelwald and the battles of the Allied forces alike came to our doorstep. That was where I met young John Cassidy."

"You met him back in the day?" Anita asked. "Was he as annoying back then too?"

"He was an idealistic child who saved his men through sheer luck alone, not any special magical powers." Elsa shot Harry a look. "Rather like you."

"Can we get through one conversation without bringing up my 'obvious short-falls' again?" Harry asked. "I thought you were going to talk to Dumbledore about the Dragon's Breath bomb that Nigel Spencer built for Voldemort."

Dumbledore sat up. "Bomb?" he demanded sharply. "Harry, what are you talking about?"

"All I know is that Anita talked to Auror Cassidy about some bomb," Harry said. "Built with Dragon's Breath."

"Cassidy said Spencer had all the components for a big bomb, but that everything had gone missing right about the time Bellatrix Lestrange killed Spencer," Anita said, digging in an inner pocket of her jacket. "He also said that no one in your government was going to accept any help from the American Aurors." She pulled a small packet of papers out of her jacket. "I was trying to figure out a way to get this to Harry, it's something Cassidy gave me with information about the bomb."

The papers flew from Anita's fingertips into Dumbledore's outstretched hand. The Headmaster placed the paper in a fold in his robes. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. Blake," he said. "I will look into this at the earliest opportunity."

"Which means what, exactly?" Anita demanded. "Spencer was into some pretty fucked-up shit, who knows what else might be up with that bomb? He raised his dead wife as an Inferius and locked her in a cage in his basement, he was a magical arms dealer who wasn't above dealing with Voldemort. The only thing that stopped him was Bellatrix jamming his wand down his throat and killing him with magic!"

During her tirade, Dumbledore hadn't moved. After she wound down, he spoke. "There exist all sorts of people in the Wizarding world, as there are all sorts of people in the muggle world. Magical power does not alter fundamental human nature."

Hearing Dumbledore echo what Anita had said earlier that day made Harry look at him sharply, but the man continued.

"Now, Harry, if there is nothing else, you will excuse me. I have things to attend to."

"Hey, hold on!" Anita interrupted. "You're the one who called us up here, and we're the ones who did all the talking!"

"Perhaps because you will never shut up," Elsa muttered under her breath.

"I asked you to my office to ask Harry how he is faring, and to discuss the incident with Remus Lupin, but in the intervening time, Auror Tonks and Professor Snape both came to me with information that led me to believe that the matter has been resolved."

"Resolved in what way?" Anita asked. "You have a werewolf that totally loses it on Jason in a school full of children, and you talk to two of his friends and it's water under the bridge?"

"Rest assured, Ms. Blake, that Professor Snape's first priority is the safety of the students in this school." Dumbledore ignored Harry's sputtering. "Auror Tonks conveyed a message to me regarding the conversation between Mr. Lupin and Mr. Potter earlier today. As you did not bring up the incident with Mr. Lupin when you came in, I thought that an accord had been reached."

"Hardly!" Anita snapped. "Other stuff came up that may still come up to bite us in the ass, but that doesn't mean that I'm done with Remus!"

Elsa sighed. "I cannot believe that your Master has never told you to fight the battles that you can win," she said. "The day is growing old, Anita. Pick your battles and let go of the ones you have already won."

"I haven't won anything--"

Elsa whirled on her. "You saved your werewolf," she snapped. "Any day when your people do not die in your service is to be considered a win."

"Ms. Blake," Dumbledore said. "You and Mr. Schuyler are invited to join me at the teacher's table for dinner this evening. We will be having our Halloween banquet, and I can introduce you to the Hogwarts teachers."

"Like Remus?" Anita asked.

"Mr. Lupin is also invited to dinner tonight," Dumbledore conceded. "As is Elsa."

The witch in question just rolled her eyes.

"We will discuss sending you to London tomorrow morning," Dumbledore continued. "In the meantime, please enjoy Hogwarts hospitality. I hope we can put to rest some of your concerns about Harry's education."

"Come on, Anita," Harry said. "Let's go find Jason and the girls."

Anita didn't budge. "What are you going to do about the Horcruxes?" she asked. "You need a plan or something, you can't just keep them in a school."

"We will continue to seek the remaining Horcruxes and a way to destroy them," Dumbledore said.

"And what about asking for help?"

Dumbledore stared at Anita over his half-moon glasses. "Unlike certain wizards in the Ministry of Magic, I have no qualms about asking for help when it is deemed necessary."

Harry couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Then why not ask Anita to help us?" he exclaimed. "Horcruxes use death magic, and Anita's a necromancer! Maybe she can help!"

In the blink of an eye, Elsa was at Harry's elbow. "Do you mean these words you say?" she asked, cold power in her words. Harry's knees went weak under the onslaught. "Do you advocate using the one kind of magic that could have you expelled from your world?"

Her eyes were burning, intense, and Harry almost fell into her power. With an effort, he wretched his mental shields up and pulled himself free. "If that's what it takes to stop Voldemort, then yes!"

The portraits in the room went still. The air itself had changed, as if the world had shifted around them, but Harry had no idea what was wrong.

Grudging approval came into Elsa's expression. "So you have picked a side after all," she said cryptically. "I did not think you would."

"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. "It's the same side I've always been on! The 'stop Voldemort' side!"

Elsa shook her head. "Brave, but still stupid." She stepped away from Harry and made shooing motions with her hands. "Go away. I must question Albus Dumbledore on developments in his world since he left us in Hamelin."

Anita made a weird coughing noise. "Hamelin?" A half-smile spread over her face. "You and Christoff are originally from _Hamelin_?"

Elsa flopped down into an armchair and pointedly ignored Anita's question.

"Ms. Blake, we will see you at dinner," Dumbledore said. "I truest Harry will be able to entertain you for a few hours."

"But--" Harry started to say, but Anita grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door.

"Come on," Anita said. Her voice was bubbly with repressed laughter. The door closed behind them. "Oh, that's just perfect."

"He didn't say anything to my suggestion," Harry protested. "That we ask for your help with the Horcruxes!"

"You're the one who said that necromancy is frowned upon here," Anita pointed out. "Is what Elsa said right? Necromancy can get you kicked out of the British Wizard club?"

"I have no idea. Hermione said something like that, when she was getting on my case." Harry pulled his arm away from Anita and led the way down the spiral staircase. "What are you so happy about?"

"Come on, Harry, Elsa said she and Christoff are from Hamelin!" At Harry's blank expression, Anita sighed. "Christoff's animal to call is the rat! And they're from Hamelin?"

"So?"

"So didn't you ever read when you were a kid? Don't you know the story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin? He rid the town of rats and when the villagers didn't pay up, he took the children." The smile slid off Anita's face. "Actually, now that I think of it, that is particularly disturbing."

Harry led Anita down a corridor, not really taking in where they were going. "He could have at least said yes or no!"

"Harry, let it go." Anita drew abreast of him, walking fast to match his pace. "We'll figure out how to fix this. Without you getting hurt."

"Good luck," Harry muttered. He looked down the hall. "I should have told him about me. About being the sixth Horcrux."

"No, you shouldn't," Anita said. "You're not going to tell that man a thing until I find a way to save you."

"But what if--"

"In case there is an 'if', I will deal with it, understand?" Her jaw was set, and Harry knew the futility of trying to argue with her when she looked like that. "We need to find Jason. Where would those girls have taken him?"

"I have no idea," Harry said, mentally throwing his hands up. He slowed as he approached the Entrance Hall doors. The castle corridors had been fairly empty, but there were groups of students in the Hall. Conversations died off as students of all houses stared at him. Or were they looking at Anita?

"Let's go check for them outside," Harry muttered. He clattered down the stairs, his footsteps loud in silent chamber.

Softer footfalls followed him. Anita was right behind him as they walked the gauntlet of staring children.

The outside air was sweet and clear. Harry took a deep breath as the air chased away the cobwebs in his head.

"That was decidedly unfriendly," Anita observed. "Do all the kids at this school hate non-witches?"

"It's not that." Harry rubbed his face. "They must have heard what happened with Remus."

"Ah." Anita faced into the wind and closed her eyes briefly. "I guess you guys are more used to magical shoot-outs."

"Duels," Harry corrected. "We call them duels."

"That's bullshit and you know it." Anita looked over her shoulder at Harry. The wind caught a few loose curls and blew them around her face. In all the craziness of the day, with all the pain and panic and revelations, Harry hadn't looked too closely at her. But now in the watery sunlight, he could see the faint hollowness in her cheeks, the circles under her eyes. She'd lost weight since September, and there was a lingering pain in her eyes that not even Bellatrix's torture had caused.

_I could have made him pay._

"Harry?" Anita frowned. "Are you really going to be fine?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I was just..." He coughed, not sure if he should ask her about her physical state. "I missed you, that's all. You and Jason and everyone. What's bullshit?"

Anita raised her eyebrows. "We missed you too, but don't go trying to distract me. I'm talking about calling a magical fight a duel. Trying to cause each other violence with magic isn't a 'duel', it's bordering on attempted murder."

"We don't all use magic like the Death Eaters do," Harry said. "And we're not supposed to use magic in the corridors at school."

Anita shook her head. "Are you going to tell me you suddenly obey the rules?"

"Of course not." Harry shrugged. "It's all a matter of not getting caught, isn't it?"

"It's good to see they're teaching you about the morality of your actions."

"Didn't we already have a conversation today about right and wrong?"

"That was good and evil," Anita corrected. "They're not always the same thing."

Harry must have looked as confused as he felt.

"Sometimes, doing what is 'good' can be the wrong thing to do," Anita said.

"Like what?" As they talked, Harry led Anita down the steps and out onto the grounds, towards the lake.

"Like... like stopping a dangerous vampire. They may be destructive, but what if getting rid of a dangerous Master of the City would throw the city into more turmoil, causing more humans to die? You can tell what's good and evil, but what's right and wrong there?"

"What about the other way? You can't tell me that evil can ever be right!"

"Back to the idea of necessary evil," Anita retorted. "Is killing another human being anything but evil?"

They were both talking about Bellatrix, Harry knew. By taking away her wand in a crowd of angry werewolves, he had killed her as sure as if he had sent the Killing Curse at her. But what else could he have done? He was sure it had been the right thing to do.

"Maybe this just proves that you and me shouldn't be teaching a magic morality class," Harry tried to joke.

"Or maybe we should be." Anita shook her head. "I can't see myself as teacher, in any event."

A gaggle of first-year girls ran past, chasing an enchanted pumpkin. Their excited giggles sounded out of place.

 _Maybe I'm the one who's out of place,_ Harry thought.

"They're having fun," Anita said. "Is Halloween a big deal over here?"

"Not in the muggle world, only once we got to Hogwarts." Harry tried to smile. "What ever happens on Halloween, anyway?"

_His mother, screaming, and high-pitched evil laugher._

Anita stared at him. "I thought your parents were killed on Halloween."

"They were." Harry pushed his hair back from his face. "I was trying to be ironic or something."

"Well, don't. You really suck at it."

"What's this?" Jason's voice came around a bend in the hedge. "Harry sucks?"

The werewolf appeared, followed closely by Luna and a flushed and excited-looking Ginny.

Harry stopped short. A wild wave of jealousy flamed in his chest. What had Ginny been doing with Jason to look like that?

Then, right behind the group, Ron tromped onto the scene. He was as flushed as Ginny.

"Of course Harry sucks, he wasn't at Quidditch practice today," Ron grumbled.

Quidditch?

"You can't blame him!" Ginny snapped at her brother. "He was hurt by a vampire last night! McGonagall wouldn't have let him fly in any event!"

"He's looking fine now, isn't he?" Ron gripped Harry's shoulder briefly, unspoken relief in his eyes. "You're okay?"

"I'm good, Ron." So much had happened that day, things that Ron hadn't been a part of, and suddenly Harry couldn't wait to talk to him. "Where's Hermione?"

"Minor Head Girl emergency," Ron said. "We decided to have a short Quidditch practice, once Ginny bothered to show up."

"I was trying to make sure Harry wasn't dead!" Ginny exclaimed. "And don't pretend you weren't trying to do the same thing!"

"We watched the practice," Luna interrupted serenely. She smiled at Jason. "Mr. Schuyler wanted to see people flying."

"Back home we only have flying vampires, and I thought I asked you to call me Jason," he said.

A faint colour came into Luna's cheeks. "I don't know you well enough to call you by your first name."

"Whatever you want, Miss Lovegood."

Ron was glowering at the interchange. Harry wasn't particularly pleased himself, watching Jason hang all over Luna. He turned to his side. "Anita, this is my friend, Ron Weasley."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," Anita said. She held out her hand to Ron, but Ron didn't move.

"Awkward," Jason muttered out of the corner of his mouth as the scene stretched on.

"Ron," Harry said warningly.

Anita dropped her hand. "Don't worry about it, Harry," she said, voice deliberately neutral.

"We should go shower before dinner," Ron said. "I'll tell Hermione that you're all right."

All the friendly feelings Harry had towards Ron vanished in that moment. "Why don't you go do that?" he said coldly, stepping to Anita's side.

"Fine." Without looking at Anita, Ron stalked off.

Ginny stared after her brother. "That unbelievable--" she started to say, but broke off. "I can't believe him!"

"Don't worry about it," Anita said. "I get that a lot."

"That doesn't make it _right!_ " Ginny turned to Harry. "I'm going to go beat some sense into his head!" Quick as a flash, she darted in and kissed Harry on the cheek. "I'll see you at dinner!"

With that, Ginny bolted after her brother.

"He's been listening to Hermione again," Luna said.

"So _what_?" Harry demanded.

"She's been doing more research on why necromancy was prohibited in European Wizarding comminutes." Luna pulled her wand from her sleeve and tucked it behind her ear. "She doesn't want to believe that the vampires in France manipulated most of the magical governments into making the laws."

"Where did you hear that?" Harry asked.

"It was in those books you had on vampires," Luna said. "The ones Ginny borrowed to read."

"I didn't loan those to Ginny."

"She said she borrowed them, not that you loaned them to her." Luna looked at Anita. "Mr. Schuyler-- Jason says that you raise zombies that are very different than Inferi, is that right?"

Anita cleared her throat. "Yeah, it is, but I don't know if I should tell you..."

Luna waved her hand around her head. "All books in the library on necromancy are rather biased," she said. "It would be fascinating to hear about the subject from a practitioner."

Jason grinned at Luna like an idiot, and that stirring growl of jealousy came back to Harry.

"She's in Ravenclaw," Harry said, tearing his attention away from Jason and Luna. "They like to know things."

Anita shrugged. "I can't see what harm it would do."

"That's my girl," Jason said. It took Harry a moment to realize he was speaking about Anita, not Luna. "How long do we have until dinner? Do we get to stay for a while to make sure Harry's okay?"

"Yeah, Dumbledore invited us," Anita said. "And Elsa."

Jason nodded. "Figures that she's sticking around."

Harry closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and get some sleep--

"Who is Elsa?" Luna asked.

\-- except it didn't look like that was going to happen.

Harry breathed out in a sigh. Hopefully, the night would end early, and he could go to bed right after the banquet.

Then he could get some well-deserved sleep.

* * *

In spite of Anita's loud objections, Harry had been forced to sit at the Gryffindor table during the banquet. He perched on the edge of the bench, watching Anita more than he paid attention to his food. He ignored Ron and an uncharacteristically silent Hermione.

On his left side, Ginny was talking non-stop. Harry nodded in what he hoped were the right places, not really paying attention.

Anita, Jason and Elsa were at the far end of the head table, beyond Snape. Jason had made a few attempts to speak with Snape, who had looked at him as if he were some noxious form of slug.

At the other end of the table, flanked by McGonagall and Tonks and the other Aurors, sat Remus. He still looked pale. When the werewolf looked up, Harry gave him a smile and a nod. After a moment, Remus returned the nod.

Reassured, Harry went back to scanning the head table. Hagrid wasn't there, not really a surprise, nor were Professor Sinestra and Professor Flitwick.

The hall was awash with the noise of hundreds of excited children. The younger classes were having a grand time. More than once, Harry spotted young Reece laughing with his fellow Hufflepuffs. Harry felt better, seeing that even an attack by a psychotic vampire couldn't dim the boy's spirits.

"And then Luna took off her knickers and we were both completely naked and covered in chocolate."

Harry whipped his head around so fast he hurt something in his neck. " _What?_ "

Ginny smirked at him. "I knew that would get your attention." She inched closer to Harry on the bench. "Did it work?"

The idea of Ginny and Luna naked certainly brought parts of Harry to attention. "I... what?"

Ginny moved even closer. Harry slid back, surprised at how predatory Ginny was looking.

He bumped into Seamus Finnigan, sitting on his right. Seamus gave Harry a shove, pushing him into Ginny. Harry put out his hand to brace his fall, and thanked the heavens that he grabbed her arm, and nothing softer.

"Watch what you're up to!" Seamus exclaimed, amid Dean Thomas's laughter. "You should get Madame Pomfrey to give your skull a good look!"

Face flaming, Harry gave Ginny a weak smile and adjusted his robes. His eyes slid to the head table again. Jason was helping himself to more food, while Anita pushed a sprout around the plate with her fork.

"Hey, Harry, who's the little girl?" Seamus asked.

Harry, remembering Anita's amusement over Elsa's hometown of Hamelin, snorted. "Little Red Riding Hood."

Seamus looked confused, but Dean snorted. "The portraits are saying that Professor Lupin attacked the muggle werewolf," he said under the din of the hall. "And that your cousin shot him with a gun?"

Down the table, Hermione said something under her breath. Harry continued to ignore her. "She's not my cousin," he said vaguely, but Dean shook his head.

"Cousin, aunt, whatever. Was it true? Why did she have a gun? Did McGonagall really take it away from her?"

Harry knew Anita was carrying her second gun loaded with silver bullets under her jacket, but there was no need to tell anyone else that. "She's a federal marshal," he said. "It's like being in the police--"

"I know what a federal marshal is, Harry! Muggle-raised, remember? We used to watch American movies all we could." He paused to gulp down some pumpkin juice. "Was it as loud as in the movies? The gun?"

"It's different, more like a popping sound." Harry flexed his hand, remembering the recoil of the gun he'd fired in target practice in St. Louis. "It echoes more in stone corridors. Like today." He looked back at his plate.

Under the table, Ginny took his hand and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back, glad she was there.

Across the table, Neville leaned over his plate, almost putting his tie in the gravy. "Why would Professor Lupin attack someone in the school?" he asked. "Did that werewolf try to hurt you?"

"Who, Jason?" Harry said incredulously. "No! Jason was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Remus just made a mistake!"

"And did a vampire really attack you last night?" Dean asked. "McGonagall was in a right state when she broke up the dance and sent everyone back to our dorms."

"I'll tell you about it later," Harry mumbled as he spotted Dumbledore rise. The Headmaster tapped a spoon against his glass until the room fell silent.

"Thank you," Dumbledore said. "Before we move on to desert, I wanted to say a few words about what has been happening in the school over the last few days."

Harry looked at Anita. Her eyes were fixed on Dumbledore, a faintly annoyed expression on her face.

Then her face was wiped clean. She dropped her fork to the tabletop with a clatter, loud in the silent hall. A violent shudder ran through her body, throwing her head back. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn't looking at anything in the room.

Harry followed her horrified gaze to the side of the Great Hall. Over the hundreds of lit candles, the enchanted ceiling let in the light of the moon and stars.

As Harry watched, a sickly green glow began to gather on the outside horizon. A thousand glowing green sparks coalesced into an enormous shape, rising higher and higher into the motionless night sky.

The gleaming green skull opened its toothy mouth, and a snake made of glittering green sparks slid out hissing into the night.

The Dark Mark.

The Dark Mark at Hogwarts.

All around him, terrified screams ripped through the Hall.


	76. Push of Darkness

* * *

Harry leapt to his feet, going for his wand automatically. He couldn't breathe, couldn't _think_. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It was too soon; Voldemort never attacked at this time of year!

 _He killed your parents on Halloween,_ Sirius's voice whispered in his mind, and then it was as if a dam broke and Harry could see and hear everything around him again.

The other students were standing, agitated and panicking and the younger ones cried as everyone stared at the Dark Mark reflected in the magical ceiling of the Great Hall. Their panic was a living thing, growing and writing in the air and shattering every coherent thought in Harry's head.

Head.

Horcrux.

Voldemort was coming for the Horcruxes.

Harry stumbled forward. He had to protect the Horcruxes and _didn't know how_ when a bang at the front of the room spun him around, wand at the ready.

Dumbledore loomed large at the podium, no longer an old man, but full of power and the most powerful wizard in all of Europe. He held his hands up for silence, and Harry realized that only a few seconds had passed since the Dark Mark had first risen. It felt like a lifetime.

"Quiet!" Dumbledore shouted. The screaming died down, leaving the terrified crying of young children in its wake. Harry wanted to throw up at the sound. "Everybody must remain calm!"

"Is he _mental_?" Ron asked in Harry's ear, incredulous as only Ron could be and suddenly things were they way they should be with Ron at his elbow and Voldemort somewhere in front of them. Then Harry took another breath and things spun out of control again.

"The teachers will take you by House to a safe location," Dumbledore went on. No one dared look away from him. "Fifth years through seventh years will protect the younger students--"

A loud explosion blasted the castle, shattering every window in the Hall. Sharp glass rained down on students, teachers and Aurors alike. More sharp cracks filled the air. It took Harry an excruciatingly long moment to recognize the sound not as glass or stone breaking, but as the air bending for wizards Apparating. Blinking through the dust, Harry saw familiar bodies popping into existence -- Mister and Mrs. Weasley. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Charlie and Bill Weasley. Mad-Eye Moody. More and more of the Order of the Phoenix, along with new Aurors, filling the room.

Harry's momentary relief at seeing adults _who might be able to fix this_ shattered when Hermione grabbed at his sleeve. "They shouldn't be able to Apparate into Hogwarts!" she shouted in his ear.

"The explosion must have brought down the wards!" Ron exclaimed on his other side.

Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. The wards were down. Hogwarts was defenseless.

Voldemort was coming for the Horcruxes.

Another explosion, deeper in the castle, sent the castle walls shuddering. Harry tore himself away from Hermione's grasp. "You heard Dumbledore, get the children out!" he shouted, unthinking as he pulled away from his best friends.

"What are you going to do?" Ginny demanded, fighting her way to Ron's side as best she could with a hysterical first year girl clinging to her robes. "Come on!"

Harry shook his head. "I-- I'm sorry!" he blurted out. With one last glance at his friends, Harry ran over shattered glass and around terrified children, hoping he was moving in the direction of the head table.

Halfway there, a hand caught Harry's robe and almost yanked him over. A small figure dug in its feet and wouldn't let go. "What do I do?"

It took Harry a moment to recognize Reece under all the dust and blood. The little werewolf was probably the only child in the hall not panicking. He was excited, and that was enough to scare Harry to the core. Reece might have been a werewolf, but he was just a child.

Harry grabbed Reece by the scruff of the neck and shook him. "You go with the Hufflepuffs like the others!" he shouted. Fear clawed at his throat. What if something happened to Reece? He'd promised to protect the boy, but he had to protect the Horcruxes too!

"I can help!" Reece protested. The boy's eyes glowed with more than excitement. His wolf shone through the human guise. "I can fight Death Eaters!"

And he would, too, and he would die the same way as Cedric Diggory, as Sirius Black, and Harry won't be able to stop it.

"You go protect the Hufflepuffs," Harry said, heart in his throat and wondering if he was sentencing the boy to death. "The others, they're just children, they may need you to protect them if a Death Eater attacks." He shoved Reece in the direction of a herd of Hufflepuffs, gathered away from the walls in the centre of the floor. "Go!"

Reece raced towards his housemates, a grin on his face and ready for anything.

 _Eleven years old,_ Harry thought dully, picking his way through screaming children and debris. _He's only eleven years old and he's not ready for this._

Up ahead, Harry could see the Head Table. Most of the teachers were already deeper in the dust of the room, leaving only a few visitors by the remains of the table. "Anita!" Harry shouted, glass crunching beneath his feet.

Jason looked up at Harry's voice. Relief passed over his face. "You look like shit," Jason said in greeting. "You pull this show for all your visitors?"

"Fuck you, Schuyler," Harry said. "What's wrong with Anita?"

The woman's eyes were huge in her face, and she wasn't looking anywhere besides the Dark Mark, glowing obscenely against the night sky. "So much death," she murmured.

"She's been like this since the explosion," Jason said. "And Elsa's pulling a goddamned Emily Rose off in the corner."

Harry's head whipped around to see the small witch standing in place, eyes closed and rocking back and forth on her feet.

As Harry watched, Elsa went deathly still for a moment. When she opened her eyes, her pupils were larger than possible, black eyes gleaming against her pale face.

She turned those dark eyes on Harry, and Harry wanted to _get the fuck away_ from the bad, bad witch, and Elsa was suddenly in front of him, moving faster than was allowed by a human being.

Her hands dug into his robe, fingernails scraping against his skin. "Time to run, time to play," Elsa said in a voice that was overlain with _someone else_. "Bad men come on broken feet, snickety snack, the lash that broke the phoenix's back!"

"What the fuck is wrong with her?" Jason demanded.

Elsa shoved Harry away, sending him careening into the wall. "Voldemort's coming," she said, taunting in her normal voice. "Can you stop him?"

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked, righting himself.

Elsa smiled, showing all her teeth. They were particularly sharp in the light of the Dark Mark. "Christoff has given me permission to do whatever I want." She spun on one heel and skipped into the mess of the Great Hall, wand in one hand and hair streaming out behind her as she went.

"That girl is fucking terrifying," Jason muttered. He slapped Anita lightly on the cheek. "Anita, you need to get the hell back here, now!"

Another explosion rocked the Hall, so close that the fireball shot into the night sky and briefly illuminated the Hall through the magic ceiling. Jason involuntarily ducked, but the roof only shuddered under the debris.

"Let me try," Harry said. He needed Anita to stop Voldemort. He wasn't sure how, or what made him so sure, but all he knew was that Voldemort was after the Horcruxes and Harry would need the Necromancer at his side for this. He put his hand on Anita's cheek. She was so cold. "Anita?"

Anita's gaze slid to Harry. She blinked and slowly withdrew. "What's going on?" she asked, voice shaky.

Harry almost shouted in relief. "Voldemort and Death Eaters are attacking the castle and we have to go protect the Horcruxes," Harry said in a rush. "Come on, let's go."

"Hey, wait!" Jason interrupted. "You can't go running off!"

"If Voldemort's coming for the Horcruxes, he's coming for me!" Harry went on. "Anyone who goes with me is going to be in danger!"

"So you want Anita with you?" Jason demanded.

Anita stepped between them before Harry could respond. "Jason, I'm not defenceless," she snapped. "I'm armed and Harry's got a wand and if there are little evil soul bits out there, then who better than an animator to deal with them?"

Jason looked from Harry to Anita, then back again. "I'm coming with you," he declared. "Let's go."

"Jason--" Harry began.

"No!" Jason interrupted, growing more frantic with every passing minute. "I might be non-magical and all this bullshit, but I'm a werewolf and I can take care of myself!"

"I know," Anita said. She put her open hand on his chest. "But there are other people who need protecting more than me or Harry."

"Anita--"

"Jason, listen to me." Anita balled up her hand in Jason's shirt. "This castle is full of defenceless little children. Go help them. We'll be okay."

"I--"

Anita cut him off with a sudden kiss. Before Jason had a chance to react, Anita pulled away again. "Go," she said, voice shaking. "Go be a hero. We'll be fine."

Jason looked at Harry, a question in his eyes that Harry didn't understand. Then Jason looked back at Anita, gave her a short nod, and whirled, bounding over the glass and broken wood to catch up with a group of adults trying to herd the Ravenclaws out of the big doors. Harry couldn't see Luna's blonde hair in the crowd, and he hoped desperately she was at the front of the pack. She had to be okay.

"Do you have a plan?" Anita demanded under the din of the Slytherins trying to push past the Ravenclaws.

"Voldemort's going to go for the Horcruxes," Harry said, pulling Anita towards the side door. "We have to get there first and stop him."

"How do you plan to do that?" Anita demanded. "Can't you just do that disappearing trick the others used?"

Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Harry's throat. "I didn't learn how to Apparate," he said as they ran down the stone corridor. "Lessons start next month."

Another blast rocked the castle. Harry almost lost his footing before Anita hauled him upright. "So how do we get there?"

Harry stopped in a doorway and pulled out the small box holding the portkey. "I hold on to this and when it goes off, I get down to the cavern where the Horcruxes are. Just hold my hand."

Anita looked at the pebble, then at Harry. "When does it go off?" she demanded.

"I'm not sure," Harry said as he tipped the pebble into his hand. "Once every half hour, but I'm not sure when that is." He pitched the box into a corner and slid the pebble into his pocket. "Until then, maybe we can help."

Anita backed away from Harry. "Are you completely insane? What kind of stupid plan is this? Why doesn't Dumbledore protect the fucking Horcruxes and we get out of here with the rest of the school?"

"Because Dumbledore's got bigger things to worry about!" Harry grabbed Anita's hand and yanked her along. "There's Voldemort and Death Eaters and whatever is exploding--"

"Like magical bombs?" Anita said sarcastically, and more of the puzzle pieces fell into place.

"The bomb from St. Louis!" Harry came to a sudden halt, narrowly missing a hole in the floor. "There's been more than one explosion, maybe there's more than one bomb!"

"What kind of a madman tries to blow up a school full of children?" Anita asked, but Harry didn't know what to say.

They emerged from the hallway into another, this one larger and full of debris. At the far end, Bill Weasley and a woman in Auror robes were clearing a path in the rubble for the too-young Ravenclaws behind them. Harry pointed his wand at the floor and concentrated in pushing the debris to the sides of the corridor. Finally, the path was clear, and Anita and Harry stood back to let the Auror lead the frightened children down the hall.

Bill was at the back of the pack, a child with a bleeding leg carried on his back. He paused by Harry. "Where are Ron and Ginny?" he demanded.

"With the Gryffindors," Harry said, hoping he wasn't wrong.

Something in Bill's face eased. "You all right then?"

"I've got it sorted," Harry lied. He would have said more, but Bill just clapped Harry on the shoulder and ran after the Ravenclaws, the child bouncing on his back.

Harry watched them go, Anita's hand slippery in his sweaty grasp. The sound of someone calling his name brought him back around.

It was Neville, covered in dust and blood. He ran up to Harry, panting hard. "Is You-Know-Who coming for the Horcruxes?" he demanded.

"I think so," Harry said. Anita squeezed his hand hard.

"Right." Neville looked down at his drawn wand. Harry didn't even have a chance to process before Neville thrust his wand at Harry. "Stop him," Neville said with more vehemence than Harry had ever heard from him before. "This is one of the Horcruxes, right? You take this and you stop him!"

Harry caught up the wand automatically, fingers wrapping around both his and Neville's wands while his mind refused to work. Neville took a step back, looking levelly at Harry. He seemed to grow taller and older at the same time.

"Stop him!" Neville said again, then he ran back down the hall into the melee, wandless and defenceless and braver than anyone Harry had ever known.

His mind finally caught up with the happenings. "No, Neville, come back!" he shouted, trying to go after him, but Anita held him in place. " _Neville_!"

"He's made a choice," Anita said, pulling Harry in the opposite direction.

"But he can't do magic without a wand!" Harry protested. "If he goes up against the Death Eaters now he's going to die!"

"He knows that." Anita's voice caught in her throat. "Which means we have to stop Voldemort now."

"But..." Harry stumbled on a hunk of stone. "How do we stop him?"

"I wish I knew," Anita muttered. They came abreast with a row of shattered windows, and Harry looked out on to a scene of hellish destruction.

The east side of the castle was demolished. The stone walls had been reduced to rubble. Fires spotted in the wreckage, illuminating the scene. Harry turned his gaze away from the wrecked castle, then wished he hadn't.

Death Eaters and monsters beyond description were pouring over the wreckage and into the defenceless castle. Anyone who might have fought them off was still inside, trying to get the children to safety. The Death Eaters had no opposition.

Harry's gaze moved further into the woods. The Dark Mark hovering over a spot on the lawn too close to Hagrid's cottage _it's dark, I'm wrong, I have to be wrong_ cast a sickly glow on motionless spots of white, row after row hiding in the trees, overseeing the destruction.

"What is that?" Harry asked, pointing at the spots of white.

Anita made a choking noise in her throat. "Death," she gasped out. "Can't you feel it?"

Harry blinked against the darkness. "Did Voldemort kill all those people?" he asked, unable to believe that many people had died, then one of the spots of white resolved itself into a face and _looked_ at Harry. He jumped back.

"They're all dead," Anita said again, wrapping her free arm around her stomach. "And they're waiting."

Anita's hand tightened painfully around his. "What, like zombies?" Harry demanded. There had to be over a hundred faces out there, watching. Waiting.

"Not zombies," Anita said. "They have to be Inferii." She drew in a panting breath. "God, can't you feel them?"

Anything Harry might had said was interrupted by the huge blue fireball headed at the castle. Harry ran, pulling Anita with him. They made it around a bend in the wall just as the hallway behind them exploded in flames.

"Let's deal with the Horcruxes and then we'll tackle the undead army!" Harry shouted with more conviction than he felt, running faster. "Not a problem!"

Then they rounded another bend in the hall and there was a minotaur chasing a child, and the minotaur roared and flashed its teeth and dove for the child and Anita pulled out her gun and fired point-blank into the creature's face and Harry aimed both his and Neville's wands and shouted something, and the minotaur flew backwards into a wall, dead before it hit the stone, and a hook in the belly grabbed onto Harry and pulled him whirling backwards into darkness and all Harry could hear was Anita screaming in his ear.

Then nothing.


	77. Soul, Twisted

* * *

I was falling in darkness.

Before I could do more than observe these two rather important points, the ground rose up to meet me, sharp rocks cutting into my hands. All around me, darkness lay overwhelming, overpowering, and a scream rose up in my throat. I hated the dark, hated being closed in with all this magic around me, and I reacted instinctively, pushing back at the dark with my own power.

Before the darkness could do more than writhe gently around me, white light exploded in my eyes. "Anita!" Harry shouted, his shape all I could make out as I blinked hard. "Are you okay?"

I tried to swallow down my rising power, but it was like trying to pacify an angry panther. "What the hell just happened?" I demanded.

"Portkey," Harry said, breathing heavily. "It's a little abrupt."

I staggered to my feet, almost turning an ankle on the rocks. From the tiny light at the end of Harry's wand, I could see that we were in a huge cavern, even larger than the underground rooms in the Circus of the Damned. Jean-Claude had once threatened me over the Bokor Majuer in a cavern very like this.

But that wasn't the point. I checked my sidearm to make sure it hadn't shaken loose in the fall. I was still armed, although that did little to make me feel better. I turned to face Harry. He shut his mouth on whatever he had been about to say when he saw my expression. "I wasn't talking about the portkey," I said in a surprisingly calm voice, especially considering what we had just seen in the castle. "I'm talking about the undead army and the explosions and everything! What the fuck is happening?"

"I told you!" Harry yelled, his face white. "Voldemort and the Death Eaters are attacking the castle, they have to be coming for the horcruxes! The wards are down and the castle is completely unprotected!" He waved his arms, sending the light flickering around us. In the shadows, I thought I could see something move, but when I looked closer, the illusion disappeared. "We have to destroy the horcruxes before Voldemort finds them, it's the only way!"

As Harry scrambled towards the wall, I stayed where I was, crossing my arms over my chest and curling in on myself. I was trying to contain my power, but it was a little too late for that. This night felt like it had been going on for years, and my exhaustion was only making things worse. Even as I tried to stop it, a cold wind began to move through the cavern, responding to the death magic surrounding the castle.

So I did the only thing I could. I wiped the blood from my palms on my jeans, and followed Harry over to the wall.

He tore around with a manic energy, talking to himself as he pulled things out of a niche on the wall. "Goblet, locket," he muttered, dropping a gaudy gold cup on a rock beside a similarly chunky locket. "The diary's already destroyed and so is the ring..."

The light at the end of his wand flickered and lurched, and I felt bile rising in my throat as my claustrophobia merged with vertigo. I grabbed Harry's arm. "Stop it!" I ordered, holding on when he tried to pull away. "Harry, you need to stop and tell me what you are doing!"

Harry tried to free himself, but I spent long hours in the gym so I could fight preternatural bad guys. Holding onto one teenage boy wasn't a challenge. "We don't have time for this," he insisted. "We have to destroy the horcruxes, now--"

"I get that," I said, more to placate him than out of any real understanding. Earlier that afternoon, I'd felt the soul fragment embedded in Harry's body, had touched the twisting hooks and claws binding it to Harry's own soul. If the other horcruxes were as complex, we'd never destroy them in time. "But you need to explain what you're talking about to me."

Harry took a deep breath. "These are the horcruxes we have," he said. At least he wasn't yelling anymore. "I destroyed the horcrux in the diary in second year. The ring was destroyed earlier this year. But the goblet and the locket are still horcruxes, and so is..." Harry stopped and swallowed. "So is Neville's wand." He pulled the wand out of his pocket and balanced it on the rock next to the locket. "And then there's me."

I squeezed Harry's shoulder with a reassurance I didn't feel. "Locket and wand first, then we'll deal with you, okay?"

Harry nodded miserably.

"But first, you need to either put your wand down or light something on fire, because if the shadows in here keep moving, I'm going to go crazy," I went on. I wasn't joking. The moving shadows reminded me too much of Jean-Claude's Bokor Majeur ultimatum months before.

Harry pointed his wand at a small depression in a rock and spoke a few words. A pool of tiny blue flame appeared in the indentation. He did it a few more times, until our little corner of the cave was bright enough to see without his wand.

As the little blue fires burned steadily, the shadows stopped shivering on the corners of my consciousness. The flames barely moved in the cold breeze that still trickled around the cavern.

"Thank you," I said, wiping my left hand on my jeans again. The wounds on my palms, made from falling onto the sharps rocks of the cavern floor, had finally closed. If I had to pull my gun, I wouldn't risk getting the grip slippery with blood. "Let's deal with this and get out of here, okay?"

"Okay," Harry said faintly. "And we have to hurry, everyone's up there and they're in danger--"

I couldn't take any more of this. I grabbed his shoulder, the one Richard had clawed up months before, and shook him hard. "Harry! You can only be in one place at a time! I need your head in the game!"

He shoved away from me, but at least he was angry again. When he was angry, he got focused. Sound like anyone else I knew? "I know that!"

"Then act like it!" I reached for the goblet and lifted it gingerly. I had no idea what kind of magical shielding a crazy witch might have put on the cup, I only knew that Harry had said the horcruxes were protected.

I stroked a finger over the metal. The cup felt unpleasantly warm. I let out my breath slowly. It must be the light or the lack of sleep, but I was letting my imagination run away with me. Human souls didn't have any physical manifestation, and certainly couldn't be warming the goblet from the inside out.

"Dumbledore told me all about the spell," Harry was saying in the background, but all my attention was on the cup. "It's really complicated and it didn't work on the locket. Actually, it completely backfired and nearly killed him but it's all I have..."

I held the cup in my left hand, letting my power slide over the curved metal, and went _deeper_. There was a magic here I didn't understand, lying over the metal like clumsy wrapping paper. I might not comprehend what had been done to this object, but in the end I didn't need to. My power found a tiny weakness in the metaphysical amour and slipped inside on tiny cold tendrils.

"...and I'm not certain why Dumbledore wouldn't have written the spell down if he suspected that Voldemort might show up, but then who expects Voldemort to show up at this time of year?" Harry said, nervously arranging the horcruxes on the rock. I wasn't even sure he saw what I was doing.

But that didn't matter. The dark didn't matter, the cold didn't matter, the knowledge of a magical battle being fought over our heads didn't matter. Nothing mattered except for the cup in my hands.

I might have become many things over the years: federal marshal, Nimir-Ra, one third of a vampire triumvirate. But I was born a necromancer. In the dark of that cavern, the cold power I was born to found what it was searching for. A tiny piece of a soul, nothing more than a sliver, lay bound to the goblet. Unlike the soul shard in Harry, this tiny piece of soul barely clung to the inanimate metal. Only foreign and unnatural magic was keeping the soul fragment in place.

But I was a necromancer, and souls and death were as natural to me as breathing. The tiny piece of soul responded to my seeking power, and with very little effort, I slowly withdrew my power from under the protective magic surrounding the goblet. The tiny soul shard followed me, slipping out of the opening in the protective magic.

Then it did what all souls do when their living vessel is no longer available.

It went away.

The goblet fell from my hands to the ground with a clank, cutting off Harry's rant. He put the wand back on the rock and rushed over to me. "Anita? What happened?"

I looked at him. He was glowing faintly. I could see everything in the dark now as bright as day, every rock and every pebble and every faint curl of air.

He skittered back. "Your eyes are black!" he exclaimed. "How are you doing that?"

I touched his cheek with the fingers from my left hand, distantly surprised to feel the warmth emanating from his skin. He jerked away.

"Anita, what's happening?"

I didn't trust myself to speak. It had been such an _easy_ thing, letting my power coax the soul shard free of its unnatural prison, but that had been enough to break through the fragile barriers I'd erected. This cavern was full of an unfamiliar magic that I wasn't able to touch.

But my blood had soaked into the ground below us, and the dead walked the ground above, and that was enough.

"I'm fine," I heard myself say. "Really, Harry." I stepped over the cup on my way to the other horcruxes.

"But-- what about the cup?" Harry asked, leaning over to scoop it off the ground. "Anita?"

"Lesson one about souls, Harry," I said, lifting the locket. "They stick like glue to the living, and can't wait to get away from the dead. That includes inanimate objects."

I caressed the locket with a gust of cold power, sending the thing spinning on its chain as I found the dent in the protective magic. It took barely a thought to slip through a bend in a chain, and to guide the tiny shred of a soul out into the open air to freedom.

I handed the locket to Harry. "Give me that wand, and we'll be able to get back upstairs."

Harry stared at me, eyes wide. "But we have to destroy the horcruxes," he said faintly.

"You're a few pages back in the script," I told him, reaching for the wand myself. "Binding souls to the dead or inanimate objects can never end well. It's not in the natural order."

The soul shard in the wand wasn't quite as easy to find, as the entire object was a tangle of gleaming, fiery magic. But I managed to coax the sliver out from its hiding place and along the wooden shaft, to nothingness.

I laid the wand in Harry's hand. "Let's go."

Harry blinked. "Just like that? It's that easy?"

I glanced at the ceiling. Above us, fighting raged between magical forces, with hundreds of children caught in the crossfire. An undead army of Inferi surrounded the castle. And both Harry and I had nearly died more times than I could count, since he came into my life in the summer.

"Yeah," I said, letting the word out slow. "That easy."

"So the bits of Voldemort's soul that were in these things..." Harry dropped the goblet and locket on the rock beside the cracked ring and the ruined book. "They're gone?"

"Yes." Every part of me was cold. The necromancer didn't mind, but my beast stirred sluggishly in my chest, unhappy at the chill.

"Where did they go?" Harry asked, his voice small.

I shrugged. "They just go, that's all I know," I said. "That's all any of us can know."

"What about heaven and hell?"

I knew what he wanted to know, and I also knew I couldn't give it to him. Not even someone who raised zombies had any answers about the afterlife. "Come on, Harry, we should get back."

He scrubbed his hand through his hair, making it more of a mess than before. "We still have two problems," he informed me, shoving the former horcrux wand into an inner pocket of his robe.

"Like how we're going to get out of here?"

Harry froze. "Three problems?"

I stifled a few choice words. "You lost the magical pebble?" I demanded.

"Oh, don't worry, I can find it," he reassured me. "I meant, we still have to deal with the problem of how I'm a horcrux, and finding the seventh!"

"Seventh what?"

"The seventh horcrux!"

"Why?"

Harry got in my face, all teenage boy and angry, and this time I really did sigh. "Because otherwise we'll never be able to stop Voldemort from--"

"From coming back from the dead?" I snapped. I was starting to lose the power buzz I'd gotten from the soul shards. "Like he did the last time?"

"Yes, but--" Harry stopped dead while he mentally processed what I had said. I took the opportunity to triple-check the number of bullets in my gun. Some women check their hair as a nervous tick. I check ammunition. "Wait, do you think Voldemort used a horcrux to come back from the dead _last time_?"

"I do," I said, slipping the gun into the holster at the small of my back. It was the Firestar, with its shorter barrel, but it held silver bullets and that was enough to make me happy. "Which just leaves our third problem."

Harry glared, although I knew it wasn't aimed at me. "You mean me?"

"You started it," I said.

"And you can finish it," he retorted evenly.

With those few words, the air changed. "There is no way," I said, letting my hands fall to my sides. "There is no _way_ I will do that! I told you before--"

"But you're the only one!" he shouted. His voice bounced off the rocks overhead, echoing strangely in the cavern. "You did it to the other horcruxes, you can do it to me!"

"I have already told you, I can't!" I shouted back. My beast moved in my chest at the threat to one of her pack. "The last time I did this, I killed the person--"

"So? If it's for the greater good?"

"There's no greater good in killing you! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"But Voldemort--"

"Fuck Voldemort! I'll find him and put a bullet in his face, and then when he's dead we'll lock him in a box and figure out a way to keep you safe, okay?" I grabbed his robe. "Now go find that magical rock thing and get us out of here!"

Out of the darkness slithered a sibilant hiss, all dripping venom and danger. "Yes, Harry, do get us out of here."

I whirled, trying to position myself in front of Harry at the same time he tried to step in front of me. Into the circle of blue light stepped a man, only it wasn't a man at all. He was unnatural, like a half-transformed weresnake, but _wrong_ , with slits in his face where a nose should have been, and eyes so black that they could only had been red in normal light.

Harry grabbed me and physically shoved me behind him. "Voldemort," he ground out between clenched teeth.

Well, fuck.

* * *

Voldemort stalked toward them, wand out and at the ready. Harry grabbed his wand out of his pocket to defend them, but Voldemort was too fast for him. With a quick _Expelliarmus_ , Harry's wand was plucked from his fingertips and thrown across the cavern. He was defenseless. Taking a deep breath, Harry braced himself and tried to stand large so Voldemort wouldn't focus on Anita.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his voice oozing menace. "I suppose it was inevitable that we two meet here, on this day."

"There's still time," Harry said through gritted teeth. He could feel Anita's hand on his back, a cold pressure. "For you to walk away from all this."

Voldemort let out a high-pitched laugh, nails screaming down a chalkboard. "A child to the last," he said mockingly. "Blustering about in the dark, scared of his own shadow."

The darkness behind Voldemort moved in swirls, and a tall black-robed figure stepped into the circle of light. It was Lucius Malfoy, looking gaunt and hollow. His eyes locked with Harry's for a long moment, then he looked away. The Death Eater walked over to the wall of the cavern, holding something in his arms.

"And as once before, Harry Potter brings a friend with him into the darkness," Voldemort said, pulling Harry's attention back.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Anita had stepped out from behind him and was glaring at Voldemort. In the cold blue light from the flames, Anita looked impossibly young.

"Tell me, Harry," Voldemort went on, "How do you think I should kill your little friend? Shall it be quick, like the last one?"

Harry bit down on his exclamation, memories of Cedric Diggory's death rising hot in his head. Deep in his chest, his wolf stirred.

"Or shall it be a lingering thing?" Voldemort touched his wand to his lips. "So many choices."

"The only choice you're going to make is how to die," Harry said quickly. He glanced over at Lucius Malfoy, where the man was setting a small wooden chest against the cavern's stone wall. "Unless you turn yourself into the Aurors. Go ahead, I'll wait."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Why would I turn myself in?" he asked. "When all my plans have finally come to fruition?"

"What the hell kind of plan is that?" Anita demanded. "You sent monsters into a school full of children!"

Voldemort ignored her. "Mr. Potter, tell the mudblood bitch to hold her tongue, or else I will cut it out."

Harry faltered for a moment. Voldemort had spoken like Anita was just any other Muggle-born. He hadn't used her name.

He wasn't acting like Anita was a threat. But everyone else who knew who Anita was, knew that she was dangerous. Christoff knew, Elsa knew, even Dumbledore knew.

Did Voldemort not know that Anita was Anita?

Harry's wolf growled in his head. If Voldemort didn't know Anita, then he didn't know he was facing off against one of the best necromancers in the world. He didn't know what he was up against.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

Instead, to deflect attention away from Anita, Harry jerked his chin in Lucius Malfoy's direction. "What's he doing, then?"

Lucius Malfoy stood away from the chest, his wand in his hand. Voldemort laughed again. "This is my final message to the Wizarding World. That when they stood against me, it would cost them everything! That this precious school of theirs is no protection to their children!"

"That little box can't destroy Hogwarts!" Harry protested. "Nothing can!"

Voldemort tskd. "There is one thing," he said, stepping forward over the rocks. "One thing in this world that can blast through the enchantment on Hogwarts like metal through wet paper."

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded, but Anita squeezed his arm.

"Dragon's Breath," she breathed. "Nigel Spencer built a Dragon's Breath bomb, remember?"

Harry stared at the small wooden chest. It didn't look big enough to hold a bomb, let alone one that could destroy the entire school. "Is that what it is?" Harry demanded. "Is that a bomb?"

Voldemort was now glaring at Anita with narrowed eyes. "And how does your young mudblood know so very much about my plans?" he asked dangerously.

Anita stared back at Voldemort. "John Cassidy gave me a message to pass along to Dumbledore," she said. "That a former Death Eater named Nigel Spencer who was living in America made a Dragon's Breath bomb. Is that what that is?"

Voldemort was silent for a long minute. Then he said, "Why would an American Auror tell such things to you?"

"He knew she was coming to Hogwarts," Harry said before Anita could speak. "Is that what you're going to do? Blow up the school?"

As Harry suspected he might, Voldemort turned angrily on him. "The Wizarding World will remember what it is to fear me!" he exclaimed. "After I collect what is rightfully mine, I will destroy Hogwarts and everyone in it! After today, the entire world will know what happens if they stand against me!"

By the wall, Lucius Malfoy looked up sharply at Voldemort. "My Lord, surely not everyone," the man blurted out. "My son—"

"Your son!" Voldemort spat. "Your worthless son has failed me for the last time! You claim he is a wizard trained to follow in your family's path, but he could not even kill one old man!"

"My Lord, Dumbledore is no ordinary man—" Lucius Malfoy began, but at his words all the pieces from the school year suddenly fell into place for Harry.

"Draco was trying to kill Dumbledore!" Harry shouted, burning with rage. "He's the one who sabotaged Reece's cage on the full moon! He's the one who told Kretcher to put poison in Dumbledore's teacup!"

It hadn't been Snape they were after, or Tonks. All the threats that year had been on Dumbledore's life. And it had been Draco all this time?

"Draco is weak!" Voldemort glared at Harry, his face contorting in anger. "He will die like the rest of the sniveling children, cowards!"

"You can't do this!" Anita exclaimed. "They're children!"

"I can do anything I want!" Voldemort shouted. "I am the Dark Lord! I am Voldemort!"

Harry, who had been about to go for his wand in a desperate attempt to stop Voldemort from setting off the bomb, saw it a moment before it happened. Lucius Malfoy was staring at Voldemort with an expression of complete devastation, of loss, of grief.

Then, in a flash, Lucius Malfoy turned on the bomb, his wand out and pointing at the wooden crate. He had barely opened his mouth when Voldemort turned on him with a scream. Voldemort was fast, but Lucius Malfoy was faster. Lucius Malfoy spoke one word, and the wooden crate glowed a strange red, lighting up the entire cavern.

"Aveda Kedavra!" Voldemort screamed. The green curse crashed into Lucius Malfoy , picking him up and throwing him across the cavern. He was dead before his body hit the cavern wall with a sickening crack.

The green curse that had killed Lucius Malfoy ricocheted off the still-glowing wooden crate. The crate imploded on one side with a muffled _whump_. The air was still for a heart-stopping moment, then the crate exploded in an arc, blasting into the solid rock wall. Harry dove for Anita, pushing her against the wall, just moments before a large boulder fell where they had been standing.

The shower of rocks over their heads was brief; the far wall of the cavern had taken the brunt of the explosion. The ceiling above them groaned as dust and rocks continued to fall.

"Harry!" Anita yelled as she pulled her gun. "You okay?"

Harry couldn't answer. The blue flames spilled out of their places on the rocks and were flowing in a river of liquid fire over the cavern floor. In the flickering light, Harry could see the dark shape of Voldemort stagger to its feet, wand pointed directly at them.

Anita pushed Harry to the side and held up her gun, her finger already moving on the trigger when Voldemort screamed "Crucio!"

The curse hit Anita in the chest and her shot went wide. Anita dropped the gun and fell to the ground, screaming.

Voldemort pulled back his wand a heartbeat later. Anita's screams stopped. "Do you see why I will win, no matter what you do?" Voldemort demanded. He was breathing hard. "Even if I am betrayed at every turn, I will survive! I will simply take my horcruxes and vanish! My forces overhead will succeed where the Dragon's Breath has failed!"

Harry knelt by Anita's side. She grabbed him and pulled at him so hard he thought he would overbalance, but then he realized that she was just trying to stand. Bracing himself, Harry hauled Anita upright. The woman was shaking all over.

"And now," Voldemort said, "Before I kill you, I will kill your mudblood friend."

"Wait!" Harry shouted. He was desperately trying to figure out what to do. His wand lay on the ground, too far away to get before Voldemort could stop him. Anita's gun was similarly out of reach. All he had was the woman at his side.

"Oh, do you want to say goodbye?" Voldemort asked mockingly.

Anita growled under her breath. "You sonofa—"

"Please," Harry said in Anita's ear. "You have to do it. It's the only way to stop him. You have to get rid of the horcrux in me. You have to." Breathing was getting difficult, the air hitching in his chest. The blue light and rock dust were burning his eyes. "To save everyone. It's the only way."

Anita turned to Harry, put her hand on his cheek. "Harry, there is always another way."

"Not this time," Harry said, blinking hard. He didn't want to die, but he tried to smile, to reassure Anita that it was going to be all right. "Just... Tell Damian I tried, okay?"

Anita clenched her jaw. "I'm sorry," she said, and just as Harry thought that she wasn't going to do anything, she wrapped her other hand around his neck, and _pulled_.

It wasn't a physical pull, but that just meant it hurt so much more. Harry's entire body was being ripped apart, torn piece by piece, muscles and tendons shriveling, his skin shrinking around him. He couldn't help screaming, as the life was pulled from his body into the frantic gale of cold wind around them; Anita's magic, her necromancy, her power of death.

There was another screaming, and flashes of light as Voldemort tried to separate them with his wand, but the curses couldn't penetrate the vortex of death magic around Anita. She never let Harry go, never looked away from him as she pulled the life from his body. Her eyes were black as the blackest night, after the moon; before the sun.

Harry screamed until he couldn't scream any more, until his vocal cords dried and his lungs froze. Then he felt something slide deep inside his body, a metaphysical hand inside his head. It hesitated, feeling, pulsating, then it gripped a shard of _something_ embedded in him and pulled it free, let it go. The _something_ fluttered around Harry's head like a wounded moth, battering against his skull in a frantic fury, then it was gone.

Stillness in the dark.

Was he dead? Was this what death was going to be? All alone in the dark?

Then an explosion of power as life poured back into Harry, filling him up like a waterfall into a cup. He started screaming again as his lungs filled with air, as the blood came back to his heart, as his skin filled out and he was alive.

Anita released him and staggered back, her hair whipped around her in the hurricane gale of death magic. Voldemort tried to curse her, but his magic couldn't penetrate the vortex of magic around Anita.

Harry could understand now what the Wizarding World was so afraid of necromancers â€" because magic could not stop them.

That was a distant thought, however, as he fell to the ground. His body was whole once again, and he felt like himself, but what had Anita done? Had she been able to release the horcrux inside Harry?

There wasn't any time. Rocks fell around them and Anita wouldn't be able to deflect Voldemort's magic for long. Harry had to stop Voldemort before he killed Anita.

Harry looked wildly around for his wand. Dust obscured the air, and he couldn't see the place where his wand had been thrown. But as he moved, the blue flames flickered over the shining metal of Anita's gun, discarded on the ground.

One of Voldemort's curses slammed into Anita, knocking her off-centre. Harry didn't stop to think as he dove towards the gun. He picked it up with shaking hands and flicked off the safety, just as Anita had shown him so many months before.

Voldemort raised his wand, readying a final curse at Anita.

"Hey!" Harry yelled. "Tom Riddle!"

Voldemort whirled around, his mouth open in a scream, and Harry shot Voldemort in the chest. Black blood spurted out as Voldemort fell backwards and hit the rocks, motionless.

Voldemort was dead.


	78. Bokor Majeur

* * *

As the echo from the shot died away, I stared at Voldemort's body. Harry's shot had hit him in the chest, but I couldn't be sure from this distance if it had been a killing blow.

Climbing over the loose rocks to Harry's side, I hauled him upright. "Are you okay?" I asked. My voice reverberated oddly in the cavern.

"Sure," Harry said, and fell over.

I took the gun from his hand and half-led, half-hauled him to the wall. Then I walked over to the body on the ground. His eyes were half-open and he looked dead, but chest wounds can be funny things. He might just be unconscious.

I clenched my left hand into a fist. I could reach down and touch the body, pry out the soul of this evil man, hold that soul in my hand. I could make this man pay for all the evil he had done in this world.

 _Ma petite,_ Jean-Claude's voice trickled into my head, faint from so far away in St. Louis. _Ma petite, are you all right?_

 _No,_ I told him. _No, I'm not all right._

I could make this man pay for what he had done to Harry, and I would be no better than he was.

I raised the gun, sighted down the barrel, and fired my remaining bullets into Voldemort's skull.

Harry was standing beside me by the time I finished. He looked like he was going to be sick, which was a normal reaction to seeing what six nine-millimeter bullets did to the human skull .

"Is he really gone?" Harry asked weakly.

I put the now-empty gun in my pocket. "Yes," I said. "He's dead."

"And the horcrux in me?"

A large rock fell on the far side of the cavern, and both of us flinched back. Harry dashed across the floor to grab something off the ground, then ran back to me. He whipped the wand over us, and the next rocks that fell bounced off a magical shield over our heads.

"It's gone," I told Harry as I pressed against his side, to give the rocks less of a target.

"That thing you did, was that the thing you did with Chimera? And Iz... Iz..."

"Itzpapalotl," I said shortly. The far wall of the cavern was fracturing now, large cracks appearing as the blue flames trickled like water across the floor. "I couldn't find the horcrux without pulling your life-force away, otherwise I'd have ripped your soul away too."

From around the world, Jean-Claude heard my words, and he knew what I was not telling Harry. Even though I had pushed Harry's life-force back into his body, I was still riding on the power rush, cold down to my bones.

 _Ma petite, you must get to safety,_ Jean-Claude told me.

I looked around the cavern. The power rush faded slightly as I realized exactly how dire our predicament we was. "Harry, how the hell are we going to get out of here?"

Another rock fell against the energy shield over our heads. "I don't know!" Harry exclaimed. He pulled me against the wall and used his wand to blast the next chunk of rock away. "The portkey's buried, and there's other way in!"

"And you can't do that teleportation thing yet," I said, my heart sinking in my chest. Around the world, I felt Jean-Claude leap to his feet, wrap one hand around the bedpost as he felt my desperation. "There's no way out."

Underneath Jean-Claude's presence, I felt echoes, of Richard running through the Circus of the Damned to be with Jean-Claude; of Nathaniel curled up with the wereleopards, Damian awake in his coffin.

"Will they come looking for us?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"How would they know where to look in time?" Harry looked at me, his eyes dark in the blue light. "I don't even know if Dumbledore would think we came down here."

The dust in the air was like ashes in my mouth. We couldn't die, not like this. We'd been through so much, all of us, had survived so much. It wasn't _fair_.

 _I'm going to close the links,_ I told Jean-Claude and the others. _Maybe that way, you guys will make it if I die._

 _Ma petite, non!_ Jean-Claude shouted at me, as the rock wall started to cave in with a heavy rumbling. _You will not die!_

I griped Harry's arm. _I love you,_ I told my guys, Jean-Claude and Richard and Nathaniel and Damian. _Just know that, okay?_

Across the world, I could feel Richard's grief, Damian's despair, Nathaniel's fierce denial. _Anita, you have to find a way,_ Nathaniel told me. _You and Harry are smart, you will find a way out! Think of all the people who need you!_

He shoved an image at me, one from my own head, of all the children screaming in the dining hall earlier that night when the monsters attacked.

I pushed the grief down in my head. Plenty of time to mourn my death later. "Harry, is there anything you can do to get us out of here?" I asked. "Turn us into frogs or build a magic door or summon a dragon or something?"

"Summon a dragon?" Harry asked, sending a ball of light flying up into the cavern, then another.

"Work with me!" I demanded, getting angry. And when I get angry, I keep fighting. "We did not spend the last three months together so we'd get squished by an avalanche!"

"I know!" Harry shouted.

The cavern ceiling cracked, pieces of rock falling from a height. Harry's swirling lights flew past the new crack, and one of them was buffeted around as if by wind.

"And I wish I could summon a dragon, then we'd..." Harry's voice died away. I looked at him. He was grinning.

"What?"

In response, Harry straightened up, aimed his wand at the crack in the ceiling, and shouted "Accio Firebolt!"

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

"Getting us out of here!"

"Before or after we get flattened?"

"Hopefully before!" Harry waved his wand and a glittering force-field appeared over our heads. He pulled me out away from the wall and into the middle of the cavern. We had to walk past Voldemort's body, and when we were close, Harry knelt down and pulled the wand from Voldemort's dead hand.

"What are you doing?"

Harry stared at the dead man's wand. "Me and Voldemort, the cores of our wands came from the same phoenix," he said. "I used to think that it was fitting, you know, that we'd have to kill each other with wands like that."

"You killed him with a silver nine-millimeter manufactured by normal people in Tennessee," I said, trying not to wince as pebbles fell in a steady stream onto the shield over our heads. "Nothing magical about that."

Harry's lip curled up. "He would have hated that so much."

"Fuck him," I said with feeling. "He's a murder who tried to blow up a school, no sympathy here."

Harry looked over at the body as he shoved Voldemort's wand into his robe pocket. "We'll tell Dumbledore that he's down here," Harry said. "That way, there will be a body this time."

"What about that guy?" I asked, pointing at the place where the blond wizard had been thrown by the green curse. His body was partly crushed by the falling rocks. "Why did he turn on Voldemort?"

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, coughing on the dust. "He only tried to stop the bomb once Voldemort said that Draco was going to die with the rest of them."

"His son."

"So that makes it okay? He'd blow the school up if Draco wasn't there?"

I flinched closer to Harry as a large pillar of rock toppled towards us, and we stumbled out of the way just as an enormous bolder fell to the ground. "He tried to stop the bomb, and that's what matters!" I shouted. "When is this stupid plan of yours going to work?"

"Come on!" Harry yelled, pulling me along with him as rocks fell all round us. In my head, I could feel Jean-Claude and Damien feeding, to give me power, to give me strength. I ran as fast as I could, giving grim thanks that I had kept up the jogging with the wereleopeards. "Almost here!"

"Almost where?" I demanded, when something flew out of the darkness towards us. I nearly choked on my own words as a goddamned flying _broom_ came to a stop just in front of Harry.

"Get on!" he shouted as he straddled the broom and held out his hands for me. "If the broom could get in here, there's a hole in the rocks big enough for us to get out!"

I froze in my tracks. "Get on a flying broom, are you crazy?"

 _Anita!_ Jean-Claude screamed in my head, echoed by Damien and Nathaniel and Richard. I dove at Harry and climbed on the broom behind him, my arms barely around his waist when he leaned forward and the broom shot into the air.

Flying on a broom was nothing like flying on an aircraft. On a broom, I could feel the air whipping at my face, the sharp rocks ripping into my skin as we flew past them. My feet dangled and the only solid thing in the world was Harry. I buried my face in his shoulder and held on as tight as I could without squeezing him to death, as the broom rose and fell and darted side to side.

It felt like we were gathering speed. Harry shouted, "Keep your head down and your legs up!" and I didn't even have a chance to ask him what the hell he meant when we were squeezing through a narrow opening in the rock, so narrow that my elbows scraped along the rock on either side of us, and then we were up and out into the cold night air.

Nathaniel was cheering in my head, and I could feel the relief of all of my guys. Still holding tight to Harry's waist, I peeked over his shoulder as the broom came to a halt mid-air. What I saw ripped away all my relief.

Hogwarts was in flames.

Walls were down, holes blasted in the stones. Fire flowed like a river across the castle grounds, and down, far below, came flashes of light as people battled with wands.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

A sea of white empty faces milled around aimlessly, zombies without a master, hundreds of them. I felt the bile rise in my throat when I realized what had happened. Voldemort had raised these zombies as Inferi, and when he died, their ties had been cut.

"I'm going to land!" Harry shouted, and dipped the broom so we were falling to earth. I let out a moan of terror, trying to swallow so I didn't throw up all over Harry's back.

He pulled the broom handle up just before we crashed onto a stone balcony. I fell off the broom and landed on my knees. My stomach heaved, and I puked up my dinner onto the cobblestones.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

I spat onto the rocks. "No." My stomach heaved again, but noting came up. Wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I pulled myself up so I could look out over the balcony.

The fighting and the magic meant nothing to me; all I could think about were the zombies below. They still were confused, but soon, one or more of them would feel the hunger, would start to lash out, and the rest would follow mindlessly. If it had been one zombie, or maybe two, I could try to stop them, but attempting to gain control over a rogue zombie was difficult at the best of times, even when one had the proper supplies and had time to prepare.

A crack whipped through the air. Harry spun around, wand in his hand, at Elsa materializing out of the night. She held a wand in each hand, blood on her face, and she was breathing heavily. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

"Killing Voldemort," Harry said, lowering his wand. "What's going on?"

Elsa snarled. "What do you think, idiot child?"

"Shut up," I demanded, looking back out at the zombies. A few were starting to walk towards the castle with purpose. As I watched, two of them picked up the body of a masked man, and ripped the man limb from limb.

With the renewal of blood, more zombies began to move.

"Nothing can stop them," I said distantly. "It doesn't matter what kind of magic you have, you can't stop a zombie army."

"But you can," Harry said. "That's what you said can happen with Bokor Majeur, you can control an army of zombies!"

Elsa let out a hiss, and Jean-Claude's voice was suddenly loud in my head. _Ma petite, you cannot!_

 _What choice do I have?_ I wondered distantly. More zombies were moving toward the castle now. There were hundreds of them, and even if the first wave was destroyed by the wizards, they could never stop them all.

And all those children inside the castle.

"I have to," I said, to Jean-Claude as much as Harry. "There's no other way."

_Ma petite, stop! Anita!_

"I have to stop them," I said as I pulled off my jacket and pushed up my shirtsleeves. "I'm the only one who can do it."

I held up my arms, hands towards me, forearms bare. I let out a breath, took one in, and held it.

It was hard to explain what I was doing in words. All I knew was that as a necromancer, I knew death. As the human servant of a Master vampire, I knew what death felt like in my bones. And in this place, as I lowered my arms, I lowered every single shield I ever had around my powers.

I reached out on a cold wind, brushing past the recently dead lying on the ground, their blood still warm. I didn't want them.

When I reached the first of the zombies, they faltered, feeling my touch. The death lay on my tongue as I breathed in, past the smoke on the air, past the living. I kept reaching out, touching all of the dead, wrapping my power around them, but it only lay on the surface. They were not my zombies.

And then I did the unforgivable. I did what I had always been cautioned against, by my grandmother, by the men who had trained me.

I called those zombies to me, and when I had their attention, I made them mine.

It wasn't as simple as it sounded. I didn't just take their power into me; I stole everything they were. I made them _mine_ , not like you'd say with a pet or a child, but _mine_. They were mine, I possessed them, controlled them, as one might say, _these hands are mine_.

Gashes opened up along my forearms, the pressure of the magic too much for my body to contain. My blood dripped down to the stones of the castle, my power spreading to the very ground below us.

The Inferi were mine. I could do whatever I wanted; destroy this castle, lay waste to the countryside beyond.

Their power was in my hands.

 _Anita, please,_ Jean-Claude begged, a whisper. _Do not forget who you are_.

Who I was. What was that? I raised the dead, what was what I was.

But then I returned them to their rest.

Raise with one hand and lay to rest with the other, my grandmother had said so many years before. _Servir a deux mains_ , serve with both hands. _Good and evil in all of us, and you must remember to keep the balance in everything you do, Anita._

"I can keep them still," I said, my mouth dry. I wasn't just on the balcony with Harry and Elsa; I was in that field, looking at the castle. I was all. "I don't know how to lay them to rest."

"You don't have to," Elsa said. She circled around me to where Harry had dropped his broom. "Keep them still and don't let them move!"

"What are you going to do?" Harry yelled after her, but Elsa was already gone, zipping off into the air. "Anita?"

My hands were shaking. "I can't lay them down," I said again. When I spoke, the zombies mouthed along with me. They were mine. "I don't know how to stop this."

Elsa came to a halt high above the zombie mob. I looked at her, with my eyes and the eyes of every zombie. I could see her raise her wand, and through the noise of the fires, of the lingering destruction, I faintly heard Elsa shout, "Incendio!"

The enormous fireball hit the edge of the mob and I was on fire, burning. I screamed, falling to my knees, but I held on, held my hands still.

Another wave of fire washed over me, and another. I kept screaming as I burned, as my flesh charred, as my skin split open, as my bones roasted. Distantly, I felt Harry, hugging me, his face pressed against my neck, speaking words I couldn't hear over the flames.

And I wasn't alone. Jean-Claude and Richard, Nathaniel and Damian, I could feel their presence as close as if they were on that balcony with me, supporting me, taking the pain, giving me the strength I had to keep hold of the zombies as Elsa set them on fire.

I would not let the zombies move. I would not let them loose. I would not let them harm anyone else.

When the zombies crumbled to ash under Elsa's magical flames, I felt their loss. One by one, they were torn from me by the flames, and I understood now why a necromancer would do anything to keep their zombies tied to them with Bokor Majeur; I was losing parts of myself.

Eventually, my screams tapered off. Harry rocked me as I sobbed, but still I held my hands to the sky, my arms offering blood in sacrifice.

Serve with both hands, they call it. One hand to take power, and the other hand to release it.

When the last zombie crumbled to ash, I collapsed. Harry went down with me. He was growling deep in his chest, a familiar wolfy rumble. My beast moved unhappily in my chest; she hadn't liked the cold or the flames, but she was quieted as Harry held me.

A soft whoosh, and someone was kneeling by my side. I opened my eyes to see Elsa leaning over me.

"What you did was forbidden magic," she said in my ear. "The Council could rip you and your precious vampire to shreds for it."

I just looked at her, my breath hitching in my throat. I ached all over, with physical and metaphysical agony still gripping me.

"What are you going to do?" Harry asked over my shoulder.

Elsa bent over me, and licked my cheek. She came away with blood on her lips. "You saved those children from the flames when the magical world would not," she whispered, and stood up. "Can you walk?" she asked in her normal voice.

Harry helped me to my feet. I wobbled; my legs didn't feel like my own. "Now what?" I asked, my voice rough from screaming.

"Most of Voldemort's forces ran away when they saw the Inferi burning," Elsa said.

"Where did they go?" Harry asked, his arm around my waist as we walked towards the balcony door.

"Some went into the Dark Forest," Elsa said. She propped Harry's broom over her shoulder and walked at my side. "Some went north. Moroven will have them."

I stumbled. Harry was the only thing that kept me upright. "So it's over?"

"It appears to be." Elsa reached into her pocket and pulled out her other wand. She held both in one hand, the other keeping the broom steady.

"Do we know how many people died?" Harry asked.

"Many," Elsa said. "But far less than would have, if Voldemort had his way."

"Any kids?" I managed to ask.

Elsa looked straight ahead. "A few," she said after a minute.

Harry's hand tightened on my hip. "Is there anything else we can do?"

Elsa moved away from us. "Get Anita some help," she called over her shoulder. "Sleep. Be ready for tomorrow."

And with that, Elsa hopped onto the broom and flew away down the corridor.

"Where are we going?" I asked. My world had narrowed down to limping along in the corridor, Harry at my side.

Harry slowed us, and looked up at a painting. "Where is everyone?" he asked the painting.

A small painted head poked around a tree. "The wounded are in the Great Hall," the cherub said. "Most of the fighting is over now."

"Come on," Harry said to me, and we started moving again. "Let's get to the Great Hall."

"I need to find Jason," I mumbled. "Make sure he's okay."

"He'll be in the Great Hall," Harry told me. "He'll be okay, you know him."

"You're a bad liar," I said.

"I know."

Somehow, we managed to get to the Great Hall. Some of the corridors were reduced to rubble, but most were still passable. Here and there, bodies were visible, but we kept walking.

The doors to the Great Hall had been blasted to splinters. Inside, the room was a bustle of activity. The tables were gone, and in their place makeshift cots had been set up.

Harry and I limped in to no fanfare. I looked around for Jason, but I couldn't see him.

An older woman stopped Harry in the middle of the hall. "Mr. Potter," she said, touching his head, feeling along his arms. "Are you in one piece?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Harry said. "What about my friends? Hermione and Ron, Ginny and Luna?"

"Luna is up in the hospital wing, she'll be right as rain in a few days. I haven't heard about the others, dear, but..." She looked over her shoulder at the corner. "It's Remus Lupin. You should go be with him."

Harry went still. "Be with him? Why, what happened?"

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "He was attacked by Peter Pettigrew," she said quietly. "Auror Tonks managed to kill Pettigrew, but, well, with Pettigrew's silver hand and what he did..." She patted Harry's arm. "There may not be a lot of time left."

Harry looked down at me, panic on his face. "Go," I said, stepping away from him. "I'll be right behind you."

Harry took off at a run, darting around people sitting on the ground. I followed as quickly as I could.

Remus Lupin, Harry's werewolf friend, lay on a mat in the corner of the hall, a wide space around him. A young woman with dropping purple hair was a this side, holding his hand. She had been crying.

What I had at first thought was a fur rug along Remus's side moved at Harry's approach. A young werewolf, fully shifted, looked at us. The young wolf lifted his head and let out a keening howl as Harry rushed over.

"Remus!" Harry gasped, falling to his knees beside the mat. "What happened? Reece, get off!"

The werewolf licked Harry's jaw before curling up again at the man's side. Remus was as pale as paper, but he tried to smile at Harry. "You all right?" he breathed.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Voldemort's dead," Harry blurted out. "What happened to you?"

"Pettigrew tried to rip out Remus's heart with his silver hand," the young woman said, bitter through her tears. "The medics said with the silver poisoning, there's nothing they can do."

The young wolf lay his head on Remus's stomach, just below the blood-soaked bandages covering the man's chest.

"It's all right," Remus breathed. "I never thought... I'd be... the last to... go."

"Shut it," the woman said fiercely. "You're not going anywhere."

Behind us, a few gasps sounded. I turned around to see one of the professors escorting Jason in his man-wolf form through the Hall.

"Does this belong to you?" the professor asked.

Jason gave a snarl as he bounded over to me, crouching at my feet. "You smell like blood," he said, his voice low in this form.

"I've had a shit day," I told him, putting my arm around his shoulder and leaning against him. "You?"

"I hate this place," Jason grumbled.

In the meantime, Harry had turned to me, a beseeching look on his face. "You saved Jason before," he said in a hurry. "Please, Remus is the only one left, you have to save him!"

"How?" I asked, letting more of my weight rest on Jason's shoulder. He licked at the blood on my arm, and I was too tired to tell him to stop.

"However you saved Jason!"

"The munin doesn't work like that," I said. "I can't just turn it on."

"Anita, please." Harry gripped at my hand, desperation on his face.

Jason turned his head up to look at me. "You can feed off me."

"That's not—" I shook my head, and looked down at the injured werewolf. "Do you know what we're talking about?"

The man blinked at me, too exhausted to nod. "Animal magic," he said quietly. "Don't want it."

"Hang on," the woman said. "There's magic that can save him? Werewolf magic?"

"Yes," Harry said, just as I said, "Probably." We glared at each other for a moment. "It's possible," I said. "He may be too far gone, but the munin is wolf magic, it calls to lycanthropes."

The woman looked down at Remus. "Listen to me," she said fiercely. "I want you to live and I know that you want to live too. We've been through too much for it to end like this!"

Remus smiled faintly at her. "My dear Tonks," he said. "It may be... for the best."

"Bollocks! If it was me lying on this cot and you up here holding my hand, would you still be saying it was 'for the best'? Of course not!"

"Remus," Harry said urgently. "Please!"

Remus turned his head to look at me. "Would you do this for me?" he asked. "After all I did?"

"Jason's the one you hurt, not me," I said. "If he wants to help you, then I will."

"I do," Jason said. He shifted over to Remus's side, beside Reece. "Too many people are dead."

"What do I do?" the woman, Tonks, asked.

"You can hold his hand if you like, just don't get in my way." Grimly, I sat on the floor beside the man, my hpp pressed against his chest. "All right, Jason, you wanted this, pony up."

A world away, I could feel Jean-Claude roll his eyes as he summoned Stephen to him to feed. I got a flash of Nathaniel curling up with Zane and Cherry, all of them suddenly naked. _You're going to need to feed the ardeur if you want to raise the munin to heal Harry's werewolf,_ Nathaniel told me bluntly as he watched Zane lick his way down Cherry's body. _This works for everyone._

 _It's weird._  
  
 _Zane and Cherry like Jason and they like Harry and they like you most of all. Go._ And I was out of Nathaniel's head, back in the Great Hall with the injured. Jason had wrapped his arms around my legs and his face was pressed against me, the line of his muzzle nuzzling my belly.

It had been a very long day and the echoes of power still gripped at me. Raising the munin so soon after death magic was probably a really bad idea, but I was too tired to focus on that too much.

I felt the twin surges of feeding energy flow into me from across the planet; Stephen's blood hot in Jean-Claude's mouth, Nathaniel feeding on the sexual energy from Cherry and Zane. I gasped, and felt Jason's teeth on my belly as he bit down, his sharp teeth pressing against my skin.

With the wolves around me, riding the edge of death magic, the munin rose easily. Closing my eyes, I pulled away the bandages on Remus's chest and pressed my palms directly over the open wound.

Jason growled and Reece let out an answering yip, licking at my bloodied hands. The beast inside my chest uncurled, reaching out. Remus was new and interesting to the munin; with all the lycanthrope energy surrounding me, I gathered the power up into my hands and _shoved_ it into Remus's chest, pushing through his body, pushing the silver poisoning him out through his blood, through his skin, out to the air and away.

His back arched as he bit back a scream. I opened my eyes, pulled my hands back from his chest. Blood still covered his skin, but the wound was looking more healed. With werewolf healing, he would be good as new in a day.

The energy left me and I slumped over, nearly collapsing on Remus. Harry and Jason caught me and helped me around to Reece's side.

Tonks was pulling blankets over Remus. "He needs to stay warm," I said, the words thick in my mouth. "Hot, almost."

"Heating charms are my specialty," Tonks said grimly.

Jason settled down beside Reece, the two of them curling against Remus's side like little furry peas in a pod. "I'll keep watch," he said.

"I can do it," Harry said. He clutched at his robe, where I knew he had put Voldemort's wand.

"You're falling over," Jason pointed out. He licked his muzzle as I curled up against him, grateful for his warmth. "Sleep."

Reece pressed his head against Remus's side and let out a small bark. Harry smiled vacantly and stroked Reece's head.

Tonks bent over Remus, her forehead touching his as she whispered to him. She held his hand tightly all the while.

I reached over Jason's body to put a hand on Harry's shoulder. I squeezed in reassurance as I fell closer to sleep.

There was something I needed to pay attention to, something important. I roused somewhat when I remembered Elsa. Elsa knew what I had done to stop the zombie army. Was there something I needed to do about Elsa?

 _Hush, ma petite,_ Jean-Claude told me, his thoughts surrounding me like a warm blanket. _I will handle Elsa, you rest now. You have been so strong today._

 _I can't lose you,_ I told him. _Not you, not any of you._

 _And you will not._ I felt a phantom kiss against my cheek. _Rest, ma petite. You must be strong in the morning._

With the noise of the Great Hall in my ears, the rise and fall of Jason's chest as he breathed against me, I let sleep take me.


	79. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Warning: mention of character death_

* * *

Harry was pulled out of a fitful sleep by someone shaking him. Yelping in surprise, Harry pulled away, putting his hands up in defense as the shaking stopped.

"Harry."

Harry blinked. It was Dumbledore, lit by the early-morning sunrise over the Great Hall. The Headmaster looked so relieved to see Harry that Harry wasn't sure what to say.

Harry sat up, pushing away a blanket that had appeared in the night. Remus was asleep, breathing deeply, some color coming back into his face. Tonks was slumped against the wall, holding Remus's hand while she slept.

Jason and Anita were still out; Jason had reverted to his human form sometime in the night. Reece had also changed back from his wolf form, but the boy was awake and watching the hall with bright eyes, wearing a black Hogwarts robe. When he saw Harry looking at him, Reece grinned with sharp white teeth. "I'm keeping watch," the boy said in a stage-whisper.

"Good," Harry muttered as he staggered to his feet. Dumbledore led Harry a few feet away, so their voices wouldn't wake the sleeping werewolves. "Sir, is everyone all right?"

"There have been some casualties," Dumbledore admitted. "Harry, what happened to Voldemort?"

Harry pulled off his glasses and rubbed his hand over his face. "He's, um." Harry took a deep breath and put his glasses back on. "Voldemort is dead."

Dumbledore looked steadily at Harry. "You are sure of this?"

Harry nodded. "Anita, well, when Hogwarts was attacked I went do see if anyone was after the horcruxes and Anita came with me, and since she's—well, her, she broke the horcruxes with her power and then Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy cornered us with the Dragon's Breath bomb but then Voldemort said he was going to blow up Hogwarts with everyone inside including Draco and Malfoy tried to stop the bomb by Voldemort killed him and the bomb only half went off, and Voldemort got my wand but Anita dropped her gun and I shot Voldemort and he's dead."

Dumbledore let out a long breath. He clapped his hands on Harry's shoulders. "Harry," was all he said.

Harry felt his face heating up. "I'm not sorry he's dead," Harry said. "But..."

"Yes," Dumbledore said heavily. "There is a difference in acknowledging death, and taking joy in that death." He stood back, taking his hands from Harry's shoulders. "I will instruct a team of Aurors to go retrieve the bodies."

"Oh!" Harry said, his sleep-addled brain finally waking up enough for him to remember one salient point. "Draco, he's been trying to kill you all year!"

"Yes, I know," Dumbledore said mildly.

Harry's mouth dropped open. " _What?_ "

"I know that it was Draco who had made the attempts on my life."

"But—He almost killed Tonks! And Reece! And you did nothing?"

"Harry, calm yourself," Dumbledore said in a quiet voice. "There is much you do not know about Draco, nor why he took the actions he did."

"But—"

"Harry, I will handle Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore said, this time with finality in his voice. "Last evening, he and others in Slytherin defended a group of third-year students against the Death Eaters, at great cost to themselves." He straightened up. "Harry, I will return to hear more of your story later, but for now I need you to stay in the Great Hall."

"Yeah, fine," Harry muttered. He was seething with indignation, but what good was fighting Dumbledore on this?

"It is vital that you do not leave the Hall, do you understand?"

"Of course," Harry said. Dumbledore's intensity was unsettling.

"Good." Dumbledore smiled down at Harry. "I will return."

And with that, Dumbledore swept off.

"Why'd you have to stay in the Hall?" Reece asked at Harry's shoulder. Harry nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Don't creep up on people," Harry snapped. Reece just grinned at him.

"I'm hungry," the boy said. "You keep watch now."

And with that, Reece scampered away, his footsteps silent on the stone floor as he made his way to the far wall, where a few people were frying sausages in the Hall's fireplace.

"Brat," Harry said fondly. He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Jason had his eyes open, and went over. "How are you?"

"Hungry and naked," Jason said with a grin. "I need clothes."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out three wands. He removed his from the others, quickly transfigured some blankets into a shirt and trousers for Jason, and slid that wand and one other back into his robe. "I can't help with food."

"Whatever." Jason reached for the clothes.

"I'll be right back," Harry said, standing with the wand in his hand. He looked around the Great Hall, until finally he spotted the person he needed to see, along the far wall. Harry walked over to Neville Longbottom. The other boy had bandages all along his right arm, and some wicked bruising on his face, but his eyes were alert as Harry approached. "Hey, Neville."

"Harry." Neville looked at the wand in Harry's hands. "Is that..."

"Your wand." Harry handed it to Neville. The boy took it in his left hand. "It's not a horcrux anymore."

Neville looked back at Harry. "Did you stop him?" Neville asked.

Harry scratched at a bruise on his jaw. "Yeah," he said reluctantly.

Neville took a deep breath, clenching his hand around the wand. "Good," was all he said. "That's good."

"I know." Harry looked around. "So, how did you..." He pointed at Neville's face.

"Oh," Neville tried to smile, and winced at the pull on his bruises. "Some of the attackers came after us in the gardens; we enchanted the statues to get in their way."

"What he's not saying," came a new voice as Padma Patil joined Neville, handing him a cup of tea. "Is that when some of them got away from the statues, Neville got a stick and went after them on his own."

Neville flushed. "I just did what anyone would do," he said. "What you did with that binding spell on the minotaur, that was pretty cool."

Padma smiled at Neville. "Thank you."

"How's Parvati?" Harry asked, drawing Padma's attention.

"Safe," Padma said. "She's helping McGonagall with the front doors, so are Dean and Seamus."

Dean and Seamus were all right. Harry let out a breath at that. Now all he needed to do was to find Ron and Hermione and Ginny, and things would be okay.

Harry headed back across the floor to where Remus lay. Jason was dressed now, and Anita was sitting up and resting her head on Jason's shoulder. Mornings had never been her strong suit.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. He was almost across the room when something tackled him from behind. His wand was out before he could register that it was Hermione who had grabbed him.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, giving her a big hug. "You're all right!"

His elation at seeing her died away when she looked up at him, her eyes red. She had been crying. "Oh Harry, you _idiot_ , you're all right!" she said, trying to smile.

Harry gripped her arms. "What happened?" he demanded, trying not to panic. "Ron? Ginny?"

Hermione sniffled. "They're fine, Harry, but..." Tears filled her eyes. "Oh Harry, it's Charlie."

Harry's stomach dropped. "Charlie? Charlie Weasley?" he demanded. He had seen the young man the night before with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. But that couldn't be right, Charlie was an ace dueler, so full of life.

But Hermione was nodding. "He and Mrs. Weasley were trying to get some first-years to safety when Death Eaters attacked and Charlie was hit, b-but Mrs. Weasley couldn't stop protecting the children and..." Hermione bit down on her lip. "And we didn't know if you were alive or dead or what happened with Voldemort."

"Voldemort's dead," harry said, his stomach churning. It didn't make any sense that Charlie Weasley was _dead_. "Where are they? The Weasley, are they here?"

Hermione nodded. "They're in the teachers' lounge, Dumbledore let them gather there after.... Well, for now."

"I have to go see them," Harry said desperately, forgetting everything else.

"Come on," Hermione said, turning quickly. "I'll go with you."

They hurried out of the Great Hall. They were both breathing hard when they got to the first-floor teachers' lounge. Hermione looked up at Harry and quickly grabbed his hand for a quick squeeze, and then she pushed open the door.

The room was lit with the morning sunrise, streaming bright through the shattered windows. Fred and George were huddled together on the cold fire hearth, Ginny curled up beside Fred with his arm around her shoulders. Bill sat on an oversized couch, staring blankly at the wall. Mr. Weasley was in an armchair, his hand covering his eyes. He was crying.

Ron sat beside Mrs. Weasley, holding her hand. When he saw Harry, he smiled for a moment, then the expression faltered, as if he'd remembered all over again.

And Mrs. Weasley...

Harry's steps slowed when he saw the expression on Mrs. Weasley face. She wasn't crying, wasn't really _anything_. She just looked at him like nothing mattered.

Harry stopped, frozen in place. He shouldn't have come here.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said. Her voice was flat. "Are you all right, boy?"

Harry nodded. A weird lump was stuck in his throat.

"Good," was all Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron was staring at Harry, his mouth open in a question. It was more for him that Harry blurted out, "Voldemort's dead."

Bill looked up sharply, and the twins exchanged a look. Ginny took hold of Fred's shirt and let out a long shuddering breath.

Mrs. Weasley got to her feet and came over to Harry. She took his hand in hers, holding tightly. "Is he?" she asked, looking up into his face. She squeezed his hands, then reached up to pat his cheek. Her hands were like ice. "Good. That's a good boy."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, but she didn't even hear him. Ron stood up and went to help his mother back to the couch. The expression on his face said everything that he could not.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, backing out of the room. Hermione went with him, closing the door on the Weasley family.

Harry walked along blindly for a few minutes, until he had to stop. He rested his shoulder on a broken stone wall and stared down the corridor.

"It wasn't enough," he muttered. Hermione came over to lean against the wall behind him. "Killing Voldemort, it wasn't enough."

"Shut up," Hermione said fiercely. "You stop that right now."

"Charlie's dead—"

"That is not your fault!" Hermione exclaimed. "You didn't make Voldemort who he was, you didn't make Dumbledore hide the horcruxes at Hogwarts!"

Harry slumped down. "I know, it's just..."

"This isn't your fault," Hermione said again.

Motion down the corridor swung Harry around. It was Jason and Anita, and Anita looked angry.

"Why did you run off?" Anita asked, stalking towards him. She was still covered in last night's dust and blood. "It's still dangerous out here."

"Ron's brother is dead," Harry said. An expression of understanding crossed Anita's face. "I thought I needed to see his family, but... I shouldn't have done."

"It was the right thing to do," Hermione said.

"Thanks," Harry muttered. Standing like this in the corridor, Harry remembered what Dumbledore had said. "I should go back to the Great Hall, Dumbledore said I needed to stay there."

"Sure, we can go," Hermione said, but there was something going on at the end of the hall. Robed Aurors were slowly walking towards them from the end of the corridor.

Harry pushed off the wall, then swung around. More Aurors at the other end of the hall blocked their escape, and all of them had their wands at the ready.

"Harry?" Jason asked, stepping closer to Anita. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Harry said, tensing up. He felt Hermione at his side and he felt slightly better. Hermione was one of the best duelers in their year.

If it came to that with a dozen Aurors.

"Mr. Potter," came a deep male voice. Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour stepped between two of the Aurors. "Step away from the necromancer."

"What?" Harry demanded. "No! What is this?"

"Last night, in the battle at Hogwarts, the forbidden magic of necromancy was detected," Scrimgeour said. "We are here to take the necromancer into custody, to Azkaban."

"What?" Harry exclaimed as Jason moved in front of Anita. "There's no way you can do this! She saved everyone!"

"Harry," Anita said, the steel in her voice making Harry close his mouth.

"You were witness to this... abomination?" Scrimgeour spat. "Record that for the trial!"

"She's not from the Wizarding World!" Hermione burst out. "You can't do this!"

"She is in the Wizarding World now," Scrimgeour said. "Anita Blake, you are to enter into the custody of the Ministry of Magic, where you will be transported to—"

"No!" Harry shouted, stepping between Anita and the Minister. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blonde hair. "You can't do this, Dumbledore will never allow it!"

"Dumbledore is not here!" Scrimgeour exclaimed. "And if you do not stand aside, Mr. Potter, you will be charged with abetting necromancy, a change which can have you expelled from the Wizarding World!"

A small blonde witch skipped around the Aurors and down the hall. A few of the Aurors tried to reach for her, but the Minister held out his hands. "Stand your ground!" he demanded. "Child, this is a Ministry matter, come away from there at once!"

"I'm not a child," Elsa sang out without turning around. "And you're not my Minister." She took Jason's hand and made him take hold of Anita's arm. "This is why Dumbledore was trying to keep you in the Great Hall, you idiot," she hissed at Harry. "Now there are Aurors who get trigger-happy around necromancers."

"You could have mentioned this," Anita said vehemently. "Now what do we do?"

"Mr. Potter, stand away now and you may only be sentenced to a few years in Azkaban."

"Harry," Hermione tried to say, but anger erupted in Harry's chest.

"Azkaban?" Harry exclaimed. "Voldemort is dead and Anita saved lives last night and you're turning this back around on _us_?"

"Law is law, especially in war time," Scrimgeour said. "And Voldemort is dead? Show me his body!"

"Dumbledore's taking care of that," Harry said. "This is mental. We're going back to the Great Hall and when Dumbledore gets back—"

"That is not what will happen, Mr. Potter!" Scrimgeour was going red in the face. "You have been given a direct order by the Minister of Magic! Aiding and abetting the use of necromancy is one of the most serious crimes in our land!"

"I don't care!" Harry yelled. "Anita's a hero and I'm glad I helped her! I'd do it again!"

"A confession!" Scrimgeour roared. "Aurors, seize Mr. Potter's wand and place him in custody pendingÂ immediate expulsion from the Wizarding World!"

Hermione yelped in horror. But Harry was beyond caring at this point. He dug into his robes, pulling the long pale wand free of the fabric. All the Aurors tensed, their wands aimed directly at Harry.

"You want a wand, you can take it!" Harry shouted. Gripping the wand with both hands, he snapped it along its length. The red phoenix feather inside the wand gleamed in the morning sunlight. Harry threw the wand pieces at Scrimgeour. "Go on, attack us now, you coward!"

"Harry, _what did you do_?" Hermione gasped.

"I'm not going to be a part of a world that tries to kill people who save lives!" Harry said forcefully, loud enough that Scrimgeour could hear.

"But your wand—"

"Time to go," Elsa interrupted. She took Harry's hand and placed it in Jason's. "Say goodbye."

"What?"

Elsa looked over her shoulder at the approaching Aurors. "The only person who could protect you after this show you put on is Dumbledore, and he's off looking for Voldemort's body," Elsa said. "Now I am going to do what Christoff promised to do, and keep you safe."

Harry looked at Jason and Anita, both of whom looked as confused as he did, then at Hermione. Her eyes were full of the realization that hit them both; this was really happening.

"I'll call you," Harry promised. "Your parents, I'll call your parents, just keep everyone safe and tell them I'm sorry—"

Anything Hermione might have said was cut off as Elsa grabbed Harry and Anita at the same time, and Apparated them all away from the approaching Aurors.


	80. The End

* * *

They landed in a bright open room, surrounded by people. Harry blinked to regain his surroundings, and he realized that they were in the morning room in Christoff's London estate.

Elsa dropped Harry's and Anita's hands, and whirled on the surrounding people. "Fetch the pack leaders!" she shouted, twisting off her robe to reveal her shirt and knee-length skirt. A woman dove for the robe. "Get the brokers on a conference call, and prepare for an emergency meeting of all vampires as soon as the sun sets!"

People ran to do Elsa's bidding, while wererat bodyguards ran into the room. Elsa directed them with a few perfunctory commands, all while Harry and Jason and Anita stood in the room, still holding hands.

"What happened?" Jason asked after a few moments. "Did Harry just get expelled?"

"It is far worse than that," Elsa said, whipping around. Away from Hogwarts, she held herself as a woman, casting off the skin of a child. "Scrimgeour was going to have Harry ostracized from the Wizarding World for his association with the filth of necromancy."

"Hey!" Anita objected. She pushed past Harry and Jason to glare down at Elsa. "It's not—"

But Elsa turned her back on Anita. "The world changed overnight," she said, moving to the head of the table where her people were setting up computers and telephones. "The death of Voldemort will have repercussions across the globe, and we are at the ground zero. Our people, our vampires and our wererats, all others who swear allegiance to Christoff, they are my priority."

"But I have to go back," Harry insisted. "Hermione—"

Elsa stared at Harry. "Harry, you can never go back," she said. "It doesn't matter than you snapped your wand. You killed Voldemort; Scrimgeour was never going to let you walk out of there a hero. Politically, you are too dangerous to let loose!"

Harry's knees went weak, and only Jason's presence at his side kept him on his feet. "But Dumbledore—"

"Albus Dumbledore has a thousand children to keep safe from many dangerous people who no longer have a leader," Elsa interrupted. She waved her hand. "Gerta, escort them to the blue room until we can have them driven to the airport."

"The airport?" Jason said. "Just like that, you're shipping us off?"

Elsa laid her hands flat on the table, and the room instantly went silent. "I am faced with the possibility of civil war," she said, her voice quiet. "You are liabilities, and _he_ ," she pointed at Harry, "is the biggest target! You will go home." She sat down. "Everyone is safer that way."

A short dark-haired woman ushered the three of them resolutely down the hall, past the dozens of people rushing to the morning room. She neatly pushed them inside, then closed the doors behind them.

Harry took a few steps into the room, and stopped dead. "That's my trunk!" he exclaimed. "And my broom and everything! Why does Elsa have this?"

"Looks like she thought this would happen, that you might need to make a run for it," Anita said. She sank onto a nearby sofa and put her elbows on her knees. "What the hell is going on?"

"Voldemort's dead and I can never go back to Hogwarts," Harry said hollowly. "I mean, it was my last year anyway, but...."

Jason came over and pulled at Harry, over to the couch and pushed him down beside Anita. "Just take a minute to breath, okay?"

Harry buried his head against Anita's shoulder, nodding. She hugged him, while Jason pressed against his back. The wolf inside Harry was unhappy, but recognized the comfort of his pack.

"What am I going to do?" Harry asked, his breath hitching.

"You're going to come home with us," Anita said firmly. "You're safer in St. Louis. We'll figure out what to do from there."

"No, I mean--" He let out a breath. "I never thought what I'd do after I killed Voldemort. I don't know what I'm supposed to do next."

"You live," Jason said, his voice rumbling through Harry. "You wake up tomorrow and ever day after that, and that's it. You're alive."

Harry hugged Anita tighter, the panic and pain of the last few months fading slightly. Voldemort was dead, not that it made any difference to anyone who had died before that. His parents, Sirius, Cedric Diggory, Charlie Weasley...

But maybe no one else would die now. Maybe, they could all start living.

* * *

Six hours later, they were at the airport, showered and in new clothes, looking nearly respectable. Elsa had somehow managed to acquire Jason and Anita's passports, although she steadfastly refused when Harry asked her to Appartate them directly to St. Louis. Apparently that wasn't the done thing.

"Thanks," Anita had said as the car drove up to the front door of Cristoff's estate.

"Get out of my territory before sunset," Elsa had responded, and slammed the door in their faces.

Now they sat in the airport, waiting for a flight to take them to Chicago, then to St. Louis.

Harry sat slumped, his hands in his oversized hoodie sweatshirt. He had been cold ever since he'd been pulled awake by Dumbledore. Anita was at his side, slurping on a large coffee while Jason read trashy magazines.

"Plane starts boarding in twenty minutes," Anita said, putting her cup down.

"Why am I doing this?" Harry asked, sitting up.

"Because the Minister has it out for you and we can keep you safer in St. Louis?" Jason said, never looking up from his magazine. "It'll be okay, you'll be back some day. That Dumbledore guy, he seems cool, he'll let you know when it's safe to come back."

"I just hope Hermione is okay," Harry mused. "I shouldn't have left her there like that, with all those Aurors."

"She's a smart kid, she'll be fine," Jason said, picking up another magazine. "It's too bad about your wand, though."

"Huh?"

Jason looked over his magazine. Anita was frowning at Harry. "Your wand," Jason said, lowering his voice. "You broke your wand and threw it away. A bit of a statement, but kind of permanent."

"Oh," Harry said. "Yeah, no." He reached into the deep pocket on his loose jeans. "That wasn't my wand, that was Voldemort's."

He pulled his own wand out of his pocket, showing Anita and Jason the smooth brown handle.

Jason gaped at him, while Anita just stared. "You make us worry you threw your whole life away, and here you are just playing magic tricks?" Anita demanded. She punched him on the arm.

He slid the wand away and slumped back in his chair. "It was to distract Scrimgeour."

"Distract, hell, that was epic," Jason breathed. "Nathaniel is going to love that one."

Harry sighed, and Anita poked him. "What?"

"It's just..." Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "Are we going to be okay?" He lowered his voice. "With the horcrux gone, and what you did last night? That's a lot of weird magic all at once."

"I don't know," Anita said, pulling one leg up to her chest. "Honestly, Harry, with my life, I can never tell. But I'll tell you something." She waited until he was looking her in the eye. "You wake up every day and you do the best that you can."

"What about when your best isn't enough?" Harry asked.

Anita put her hand on his wrist. He could see the pink scars on the back of her hand. The gashes from the previous night's magic had already healed without a trace. "Then you throw a bit of your worst in there." She smiled faintly. "Good and bad, it's human nature. The most we can do is to find our balance in the world."

"You're a good person," Harry blurted out.

Anita smiled at him, and squeezed his wrist. "So are you."

"And I'm invisible," Jason muttered from Anita's other side. Anita rolled her eyes at this, and Harry couldn't help chuckling a little, in spite of everything.

Maybe, in one distant day, everything would be okay. Maybe soon, Dumbledore would fix things so Harry could come back to Hogwarts. And until then, Harry would be in St. Louis with his pack, with his grandfather, and his friends. And he'd just have to figure out what to live for now that Voldemort was dead.

Overhead, the loudspeaker announced the boarding for their flight. Jason bounced to his feet while Anita stood slowly. She held to her hand to Harry. "Come on, Harry," she said. "Let's go home."

_**The end.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invite you to read my final thoughts on this story, **[over at my livejournal](http://mhalachaiswords.livejournal.com/390506.html)**. I'm also on **[tumblr](http://mhalachai.tumblr.com/) ** if you want to hang out.


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